Chapter Twenty-Nine
Astorm is gathering, Luna thought when she first opened her eyes, holding hands with the God of Shadow, and found herself in a totally new world.
They stood on a high balcony overlooking a city of knives. The buildings pierced the horizon like bladepoints, glinting in a light that didn’t truly exist. No sun or moon rose in the sky—the world below simply shone darker, wetter. The sun . . . somehow, instinctively, Luna knew that she could wait an eternity and it would never come. She could feel it on her skin, like a winter chill. She could feel something else, too—a strange, not-unpleasant energy that sent her every nerve tingling, the purr of electricity running up and down her spine.
Eoin released her and spread his arms wide, and it was only then that Luna realized his hand had actually felt warm and smooth and human in hers, not at all as she’d expected—though she had no idea why she’d expected otherwise in the first place.
His grin was blinding. “Welcome to my home! This is my favorite view. What do you think?” He pointed down at a patch of green situated along a winding river of scarlet. “See that lovely estate? That’s the Dusk District. Killian’s house is the one with the red roof and yours is just to the left—” A deep boom resounded across the city and far in the distance a column of oily black smoke billowed upward. Eoin frowned. “Oh, dear, there must have been another scuffle in the Pit.”
The god narrowed his eyes, and a swarm of writhing darkness collected over the Pit. The sheer power of his magic rocked Luna sideways. It numbed her senses to all but its godly strength, engulfed her like the cold shock of pitching headfirst into a freezing ocean. High above, the darkness shrieked down, straight as an arrow, and plunged into the Pit.
Luna could hear the screaming all the way from over here.
Eoin clapped his hands together cheerfully. “Anyway! Shall we go inside?” Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel and strode off.
What would it be like to be that powerful? To wield such potential for destruction?
Slightly dazed, Luna forced her gaze away from the sights below and followed the god, only to freeze again at the sight looming above her. Crystalline glass walls encrusted with huge chunks of raw gemstones rose infinitely skyward. From the right angle, the walls vanished, so that the gems appeared to float in midair. Beyond the walls lay a throne room, utterly barren save for a single, massive slab of glittering black stone.
Palms upraised, Eoin pushed open the balcony doors—no, not doors. Some sort of invisible barrier, surrounding the hall in every direction. It rippled beneath his touch and allowed him to pass through before congealing once more. Luna caught the already-fading outline of his figure in the barrier, an opalescent glimmer on the surface of a soap bubble.
Eoin beckoned to her.
Luna marched toward the barrier, her fingertips outstretched. She expected the touch of some cool, gel-like substance, but felt no difference between the barrier and the air around her. She only heard it—a little pop!—and then she emerged inside the hall.
Eoin cleared his throat. “Right, then,” he said and reached into his inner jacket pocket to pull out a heavy charcoal envelope, sealed by wax stamped with a pair of butterfly wings. “Back to business.”
She couldn’t help but hesitate when he offered it to her, knowing its contents full well. But she steeled herself and accepted it, broke the seal, and slid out a crisp sheaf of equally charcoal parchment folded neatly into thirds. Line after line of flowing silver text flourished across the black expanse in sweeping cursive, each letter a work of art in its own right.
Eoin clasped his hands behind his back. “Please read this document over very carefully, my lady.”
Luna arched an eyebrow. “As if I have any choice.”
The god had the gall to look hurt. “You always have a choice.”
The tiniest corner of Luna’s mouth twitched upward. She already knew what choice he truly meant. As if in reminder, the sheath secured and hidden by the belt at her waist dug into her back. “I suppose so,” she allowed, and then she began to read.
ANYGNÉ INDENTURE
THIS AGREEMENT is made this day of the eclipse between EOIN, God of Shadow, Ruler of Darkness, and King of the Immortals (hereinafter called “the King”) and LUNA EVOVICH of Ibreseos (hereinafter referred to directly) in the Shadow Palace of the Immortal Realm.
WHEREAS, Priscilla Alessandra Montcroix has entered into contract promising her daughter shall choose one option as outlined below:
Option the First
1. Thou shalt be bound by thy word and immortal life to this Contract in both Mortal and Immortal Realms upon its formal signature until its formal termination, which shall transpire only under the willful decree of the King Himself.
2. Thou shalt obey the commands of the King above any and all others.
3. Thou shalt use any and all means to fulfill the aforementioned commands, within reason as defined by thine own judgment, under threat of corporal punishment should the King deem otherwise.
4. Thou shalt reside within the allocated living quarters bestowed by the King whenever thou dwell in the Immortal Realm.
5. Thou shalt never seek contact with any member of the Council of Immortals in any fashion or via any means unless under dire circumstances imperiling the King, the Shadow Kingdom, or the Mortal Realm.
6. Thou shalt preserve secrecy between the King and thyself in all matters of Mortal Realm assignments, including but not limited to location, duration, employment, and purpose.
7. Thou shalt—
These went on for some time. Luna flipped through two more pages, her eyes carefully scanning each provision one by one until she spotted the section she had been hoping to find:
IN RETURN:
1. Thou shalt be granted temporal immortality.
2. Thou shalt be granted use of the full extent of the elemental power of shadow, equivalent to the might of the nine other affinities combined.
3. Thou shalt be granted an anygné form.
4. Thou shalt be granted unparalleled self-regenerative abilities in all but fatal wing laceration.
5. Thou shalt be granted wings impervious to all but the most formidable sword, Nöctklavan.
And finally, at the bottom of the last page, just above the line designated for her signature:
Option the Second
1. Immediate death.
It was so plain-spoken that she almost giggled. Twice more she read through the conditions of the first option, her head cocked in consideration as Eoin watched on with a smug expression. Most of the provisions were fairly reasonable, and as a whole certainly more reasonable than the second option. On top of that, the first option had perks and privileges galore. Minus the subtle threat of execution by getting her wings chopped off with Eoin’s legendary sword.
She thought of Asterin and Quinlan and their omnifinance, powers they so often took for granted. For years, Luna had struggled to summon even a wisp of magic while Asterin had only to rein hers in.
Never would Luna forget those years before the curse suppressing both her true identity and her magic had been broken by the contralusio lake. Nor would she forget the days following. She hadn’t needed private tutors or Academia Principalis professors. She had always been observant. Picked up things that Asterin missed. Watching her train with Quinlan back at Harry’s cottage in the forest might not have taught her everything, but it had taught her enough.
So when the time had come to prove herself, to use her illusion magic to create disguises for Asterin and Rose and Quinlan and Orion to protect them from Priscilla, she had succeeded. When they’d had no one left to turn to, Luna had taken the helm and accomplished everything Asterin had asked of her. And more.
And still her best friend had not saved her.
As Eoin’s shadowling, Luna would never need anyone to save her again.
Armed with shadow magic, a power equivalent to omnifinance, no mortal would ever look down upon her again.
Not even Asterin.
Luna let her gaze linger upon the second option of the contract. Immediate death.
She knew what she wanted.
Eoin sensed that she had made her decision and beamed his loveliest smile at her. “All we need is your signature on the bottom line.” An exquisite quill of soft turquoise and emerald with an iridescent eye at the end materialized between his long fingers. A peacock feather.
Luna took it as a sign. She sent a prayer to Lord Pavon, the God of Illusion and the protector of the House of the Peacock. Her house—because regardless of which kingdom she lived in or that her father descended from the House of the Viper, her illusion affinity would always run strongest in her blood.
Eoin offered her the quill. “I really do look forward to working with you, Princess Luna. Although we’ve only just met—in person, at least—I sense that our souls bear a certain . . . camaraderie. A solidarity, if you will. Don’t mention it to the other anygnés though,” he added with a wink, “or they might get awfully jealous.”
Luna took a deep breath. And then, with unwavering confidence, she told the God of Shadow, Ruler of Darkness and King of the Immortals, “You’ve misunderstood. I choose Option the Second.”
Eoin’s smile froze on his face. He blinked at her in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?” he uttered. The quill slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor.
Luna’s smile only grew. “I choose death.”