The morning after the catastrophic destruction of the Sunstone, the Nightshade Court felt like a pressurized chamber. Every Fae in the Keep, especially Vesper, moved with a quiet dread, awaiting the King's public display of fury.
But there was no public execution, no dramatic announcement of my demise. Instead, there was silence, broken only by Vesper's grim efficiency.
"The King has decreed the new schedule," she informed me, her silver eyes colder than usual. "Two sessions a day, morning and evening, until the next lunar cycle. The Obsidian Pit has been... modified."
"Modified how?" I asked, pulling on the heavy, protective leather gloves Vesper had provided. They were thick, but I doubted they'd stop the raw solar heat I planned to unleash.
"The King will explain the terms," Vesper said simply, refusing to elaborate. "I will be present for documentation, but I am not to intervene unless the chamber's physical stability is compromised. This is a direct test of your capacity, Seraphina. Do not fail."
When we arrived at the Pit, I saw the modification immediately. The cracked marble circle was still there, a mocking testament to my instability, but the rest of the chamber was empty. There were no more runes on the walls, only raw obsidian.
And in the center of the circle, facing the wall, stood King Lorcan.
He was wearing only a thick, black leather tunic that ended at his thighs, leaving his powerful arms and the back of his neck exposed. He stood perfectly still, a massive, unmoving pillar of concentrated shadow. His presence was not just a cold anchor now; it was a physical challenge.
Vesper positioned herself at the perimeter, holding a scroll and stylus, her documentation role feeling morbidly unnecessary.
Lorcan turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting mine over his shoulder. The amber in his eyes was muted, clinical, and entirely devoid of the fury he'd displayed the night before.
"The Sunstone was a lie of convenience, Seraphina," Lorcan stated, his voice calm and precise. "It was designed by my ancestor to sustain his life, not to teach the Solar Fae how to live. You forced the truth, and now we must rely on the genuine stabilizing agent: my curse."
He turned back to the wall, presenting his broad, leather-clad back to me. "Vesper was correct. The Sun-Fire is chaos. My Shadow-Curse is the perfect antithesis. It is absolute order, absolute containment. It consumes light and warmth. We will use that consumption to force your discipline."
"And how exactly do we achieve this without either freezing me or incinerating you?" I challenged, walking slowly toward him, feeling the familiar, aggressive buzzing of my Sun-Fire responding to his intense coldness.
"Your fire wants out," Lorcan explained, his voice flat. "The pressure inside you will eventually lead to an explosion, as we saw yesterday. You will release the energy, but you will not release it into the air. You will release it into me."
He lifted his arms slightly, bracing his hands against the cold obsidian wall. His muscles tensed under the leather tunic.
"You will place your bare palms flat against my back, just below the shoulder blades," Lorcan commanded, without looking at me. "You will channel the purest, hottest Solar energy you can summon. You will use my curse as your conduit. The Shadow will absorb the excess volatility, and you will learn to modulate the flow before it burns me to the bone."
My stomach churned. This was an entirely new, terrifying level of intimacy. Not just touching, but actively pushing the most powerful, volatile part of myself into his core.
"If I lose control, I will hurt you," I warned, my voice tight.
"If you lose control, the pain will be instantaneous and severe," Lorcan agreed, his tone utterly devoid of reassurance. "But if you hold back, if you are timid, your power will not learn the difference between a trickle and a torrent, and we will both die during the actual ritual. Channel with intent, Seraphina. I am your shield, your conduit, and your consequence."
I walked up behind him, the raw cold radiating off his skin a shocking contrast to the heat in my core. I reluctantly took off the thick leather gloves, feeling the exposed heat of my palms. I could see the tiny, fine hairs on his neck standing up from the intense cold emanating from him.
With a deep, shaky breath, I placed my palms flat against the thick leather covering his back.
The contact was instantaneous and devastating.
The heat in my core exploded. It wasn't the reactive heat of anger or fear; it was the magnetic pull of fire meeting its perfect void. My Sun-Fire, previously trapped and fighting, surged forward, desperate to escape into the immense, beautiful cold of his shadow.
I shoved the pure, raw solar heat out of my hands and into his back. The leather tunic instantly became scorching hot beneath my palms.
A low, guttural sound, halfway between a gasp and a growl, escaped Lorcan's lips. His back arched slightly, and his fingers dug deep into the obsidian wall.
I didn't feel his pain as much as I felt the shock. The shock of the sun meeting the endless night.
And then, the magic settled into a steady, intense flow.
I was pushing pure heat into him, but Lorcan's shadow was instantly consuming it. I could feel the dense, crushing cold of his curse fighting my fire, filtering it, absorbing it, and returning a sense of powerful, clean stability. The agonizing cold I usually felt around him was suddenly purposeful.
But the intimate terror was the magical feedback loop. I didn't just feel his cold; I felt the loneliness of his soul. I felt the centuries of decay, the slow, agonizing knowledge of his failure. It rushed into me along with the filtered shadow, a raw, emotional truth that was far more shattering than any magical blast.
He is truly alone. And he is truly dying.
I channeled for thirty seconds and it was the longest thirty seconds of my life. My arms were shaking violently, not from the effort of pushing, but from the unbearable intimacy of the exchange.
"Enough," Lorcan rasped, his voice strained.
I instantly broke the contact, stepping back. The second my palms lifted from his back, a thick plume of smoke rose from the leather beneath my touch. The air where I had stood was scorching hot.
Lorcan slowly lowered his arms and turned to face me. His skin was pale, and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. He looked physically exhausted, but his eyes, though haunted, were clear.
"You pushed pure solar heat," he observed, his voice slightly hoarse. "More power than you released when you destroyed the Sunstone. And yet, it did not explode. You survived the transfer."
"It's agonizing," I whispered, rubbing my stinging palms. "I feel the curse, Lorcan. I feel the damage it's doing to you."
A flicker of something, vulnerability perhaps, crossed his face. "That is the price of the conduit, Seraphina. The pain you felt is the shadow absorbing your chaos. The pain I feel is the temporary, shocking intrusion of life into death. But the magic works. It forces your discipline."
He walked toward me, stopping close enough for me to feel the residual, comforting cold.
"You channeled with control, Seraphina Lyra," he said, his gaze intense. "You felt the agony, yet you held the line. We will repeat this in the evening session. And we will increase the duration. By the end of two weeks, you will either have the discipline to heal my kingdom, or you will have burnt through us both."
He didn't wait for a reply. He simply turned and left the Pit, leaving me trembling in the silence, feeling the awful, beautiful ache of being the one thing in his world capable of both sustaining and destroying him. The forced intimacy of the Shadow Conduit was a terrifying new reality.