8

A Shadow’s Puppet

Each step my kidnapper takes as he drags me through the city in his net of shadow is another step away from any hope of rescue. It takes leaving the palace for my mind to override the panic that had set me into a temporary stupor. That’s when I start struggling.

Grunting with the effort, I test my bonds, jerking and flexing against them. Only with each movement, the hold tightens down with an equivalent amount of force, like I’d cinched the shadows closer myself. A few more tests, and I’m more trussed up than before. Dammit.

Anger rears up inside me like the striking cobra of my house crest.

“Hey!” I yell at the back of his head.

He doesn’t acknowledge me, which only stokes the fury gathering sparks in my belly.

I grit my teeth. If I could get my hands loose, I’d chuck one of my knives at his stupidly handsome head. “Where do you think you’re taking me?”

Still not even a twitch, like I’m insignificant baggage he’s dragging along. I struggle again, only to stop as the bonds tighten.

If looks could turn into weapons, he’d have daggers embedded in his back. “Hey, asshole! I’m talking to you.”

The way he comes to a halt is so sudden, the shadow actually jolts me. After a beat, he whips around. I dangle there like a fish on a hook as he strides toward me, then crowds me, so much in my space that I’d back up if I could. The heat of him brushes against my skin through my thin dress.

Up close, he’s even more…

I swear to goddess, I almost thought the word “striking,” but I stopped myself in time. “Evil” is a better fit.

He studies me with the strangest expression—hostility and satisfaction and a searching kind of speculation all mashed together. The shadows around us seem to flicker, but it’s gone so fast, I’m not sure. So is his expression, now wiped void of any emotion whatsoever.

“Calling me names isn’t going to stop this from happening, princess.” So saying, he dismisses me, swinging back around and continuing on.

After a stunned beat, I snort, glaring at the back of his head. “If you think I’m coming quietly, you’ve got the wrong girl.” Literally.

No response.

I can’t move. No one but my kidnapper can hear me, the shadows seeming to contain all my sounds. I’m going to die.

Think, Meren.

What about smaller movements? The tiny part of me still rational offers up the idea.

I crook a finger. Nothing happens. Then another and another, until I am sure I can at least move my hands in minimal ways without backlash.

The uncomfortable, ostentatious beaded dress Achlys had made me wear is about to come in handy. Carefully I twist and twist at one of the beads I can reach until the threads holding it snap, and I drop it to the ground.

I wince at the tink it makes hitting the cobbled streets below my floating feet and wait, eyeing my kidnapper. But Eidolon doesn’t turn or stop, and my shadowy chains don’t tighten.

Good.

Maybe someone can follow me, track me. Not Tabra, because she’ll be busy pretending nothing happened.

Mother goddess. Tabra.

My sister will be on her own now. Dealing with the loss of Grandmother and now me, too. Facing people angry because of the state of the dominion. Dreading the oncoming winter that our walls can only keep out for so long. All without me.

Only, I can’t think about her right now. The only way to help her is to live, to escape and get home to her. Everything else will just have to wait.

Right. Escape. Who else might come for me—

Cain.

Please wake up fast, I will him. Come find me.

I’m going to leave him a trail to follow, and that smart mouth he used to tease me about is going to hide the sounds of my plan. I start plucking beads from the dress and dropping them every so often, timing them with my words. “Fine, if you won’t tell me where we’re going, I’ll figure it out myself.”

There goes a bead.

No response, as expected.

“Not out of the city to the Oasis Trail,” I ponder. “Too easy to follow.”

Another bead. Sure enough, he doesn’t turn left when he should. I didn’t think he’d be going that way anyway.

“You have to hide me quickly,” I muse to myself. “Given who I am and all.”

Another bead. Still no reaction.

“I mean, if I was a queen stealer”—does he flinch at that? No, just a trick of the lanterns—“I’d want to get somewhere others wouldn’t think to look.”

Another bead.

“Which could mean going across the lake.” I deliberately make my tone helpfully sweet. “In which case, you should turn here—”

Another bead. He keeps going straight.

“You missed the turn.”

“I don’t need directions,” he snarls.

Ah, so I am getting to him. Satisfaction overrides self-preservation for a moment. I forget about the bonds and shrug, then hiss as they tighten down. Damn.

We turn a corner, and a massive and ornate structure with columns and statues and carvings rises up in the night ahead of us. Easily recognizable even through the veil of shadow, it’s the Oaesys Temple of the Goddess Aryd.

Please don’t be going there.

“Maybe you’re headed to the Cinnamon Cliffs.” Keeping up my words is more of a struggle as the temple draws nearer. I swallow hard and drop another bead. “But my way across the lake would have been faster—”

“Seven hells.”

I’ve driven him to muttering. That’s something at least.

I force what I hope is an easy grin. “What did you expect? A pampered princess too afraid to speak?” Instead, he got the one raised in a hovel.

My eyes go wide.

The hovel. Wait. He was in Enora last night. He saw me. I can’t fathom a single reason King Eidolon would be in a run-down town like Enora…except one.

Has he figured out where we hide the spare princess? Or has he always known?

Fear is a living thing inside my chest, because of course he knows. He must. Were we ever safe there?

Hands shaking, I drop another bead.

“Fear and cowering would’ve been preferable to this,” he snaps.

Fear, he got spot-on. But cowering? No matter how shaken I am, I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Is that what all the others did?” I demand, dropping seething hatred into my every word. And a bead, too. “Did they scream and cower when you stole them, too?”

That gets a reaction. He pauses, turning his head so I can see the side of him. It’s difficult to read his expression. I would say confusion, but that makes no sense. Then his face contorts into something darker. Scarier. I’d flinch if every limb wasn’t bound in silky, impossibly immovable shadow. Probably even run.

Then it’s like he buries whatever he’s dealing with, turning so cold I shiver. Without comment, he continues on, taking a direct path into the temple itself.

A new wave of panic wriggles through me like a worm through a corpse.

Hells and damnation.

The only reason to come here is to use the glass portal. Aryd has many, one in the temple of each major city. Meanwhile, the other dominions have one each. Eidolon can take me anywhere—and Cain will never find me.

It’s eerily quiet as we enter. The late hour and the pre-coronation going on at the palace has left the gleaming black temple empty except for a single acolyte walking the halls. The light of the oil lamp she carries tells me exactly where she is.

“You hurt her, you answer to me.” I hurl the words at him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he drawls.

His amusement only ups my fear. “You killed the guards before I could stop you, but I mean it. She’s an innocent—”

“I’m not going to hurt her, damn it.” Surprise cuts off my next words. “Not unless you give me a reason to.”

It’s a threat, and not one I’m willing to test.

Eidolon tucks us both out of sight into one of the many alcoves—this one dedicated to the Goddess Tyndra, the frozen dominion, the exact opposite of Aryd. His dominion. I shiver at the images of ice, so cold they’d been painted blue in the detailed stained glass window. The symbols of knowledge, strategy, and stars are emblazoned into the stained glass sky like oddly shaped moons. Stars have always seemed cold to me.

The acolyte’s steps come closer, and he moves into me, crowding me again. His head is angled to watch, and I take the opportunity to study him. He’s so young. No more than a few years older than I am. Younger than I expected an ageless king to be.

As she retreats, he turns his head, his face disconcertingly close to mine now.

He doesn’t look away.

Neither do I.

And our breaths mingle in the night air.

Eventually, the flicker of light from the acolyte’s lamp travels to the opposite side of the temple, disappearing and reappearing as she passes behind thick columns of onyx. As if we hadn’t just been locking gazes, he moves, taking me with him. Right into the chamber that holds the portal.

I’m as good as dead.

The urge to vomit fights the urge to try to bring the glass down on top of us both. If I’m going to die, I’d rather take him out with me, damn it.

He scans the massive block of glass. It’s bloodred, made ages ago from grains of the Crimson Desert, legend says by a sand Imperium far more powerful than me.

Most people who use these portals have to pay a priestess for access because they can’t do it themselves. Only Imperium—Enfernae and Hylorae alike—can make the portals work. It has nothing to do with the specific ability, and something, people think, to do with an Imperium’s innate magic speaking to the magic in the glass. Which means I don’t need a priestess to make it work…but Eidolon won’t, either.

Almost like I blinked and woke up somewhere else, the shadows covering us disappear and we are suddenly standing there, side by side in the portal’s reflection. However, the bindings remain tight about my body.

But I still have my voice.

I suck in a breath—

Eidolon moves fast, though. Too fast to be real. He clamps a hand over my mouth. “Scream and I’ll be forced to kill whoever comes running.”

Which gives me only two options. Save myself…or someone else.