inside the subterranean library that runs the length of the palace. A vault more than a true library, the cavernous interconnecting chambers that housed the Seraphian treasures was different than the glorious library of Bell’s childhood. Instead of sunlight and rich maple wood and dust, the leather-bound books and scrolls below were nestled in cool alcoves carved deep inside the earth, the soft glow of sunlight traded for the cold ethereal blue of the dark magick veining the stone.
Still, it was one of Bell’s favorite places here in Shadoria. As luck would have it, he and Xandrian were in the chamber directly below when news came of the emissaries.
Or, perhaps that was unlucky, considering.
They were the first to arrive in the Hall of Light. Any other time, Bell loved this area of the castle. The windows were cut to form herringbone and other strange patterns that emblazed Shadoria’s purple-tinged light along the black walls and mosaic floors.
But it was the stunning magenta and amethyst crystal chandelier that filled the space above that Bell loved the most.
The first day they entered the Hall of Light, Xandrian had noticed Bell gazing at the masterpiece, thousands of crystals cut to look like feathers inside a massive display of wings.
He explained that the crystals used in the chandelier and all throughout the palace were a natural gemstone found in the island’s bedrock.
The crystal contained the highest concentration of naturally occurring light magick in any organic matter, save living things.
It didn’t take much to deduce the rest. That the Seraphians drew from the crystals to fuel their dark magick. Bell had always assumed they solely relied on living donors, just as he’d always assumed Shadoria would be a dark, dismal, crude place.
He’d been wrong on both counts. Thank the Goddess for that, considering this might very well be his home for the rest of his mortal life, however brief that life would be.
A ferocious laugh dragged Bell’s attention to the soaring walls. At least nine stories high, the vast chamber claimed the usual balconies and alcoves and passages that he’d learned made up most of the palace.
Any given day, in nearly any given room of the castle, one could look up and spot Seraphians nestled above, watching the commotion below, preening their feathers, even sleeping.
But the shadowy form soaring above was no ordinary Seraphian. Nasira Darkshade dove toward them at frightening speed, only to halt seconds before slamming into Surai, her silky black wings flaring out to stop the collision.
Midair, Nasira cocked her head, sniffed, her childlike expression shifting to predatory in that way Bell found unnerving. “Pretty. Can I have one? Perhaps the handsome head in the middle? He would look dashing on my bedside table, and his eyes match my bedspread.”
“No, Nasira.”
Bell recognized Nasira’s reaction—not exactly fear, but definitely subservience—before he did the elegant but firm voice, and he managed to drop to a knee beside the others as Stolas and Haven prowled across the hall.
The tension between the two bled into the air. Had they been arguing? No—not exactly arguing, Bell decided as he studied them beneath his dark lashes.
But . . . there was something about both their energies, like two contaminated barrels of plum wine about to burst.
Haven caught his stare before nodding at the group. The signal to stand. Only someone who knew her well could detect her unease at her new status.
To everyone else, she appeared regal and fierce, every bit the Goddess they claimed, a powerful being comfortable with the bows of her friends. The rose-gold hair he loved was pulled into a tight braid that fell mid-back, wispy strands framing her face. Even in dark leather pants, a loose tunic, and knee-high boots that had seen better days, she was radiant. Her eyes so gold they nearly glowed.
But beneath her confident smile and steady gaze, her jaw flexed.
Slowly, she swept her wary stare over the boxes.
He caught the shadow of surprise and then disappointment ripple over her carefully composed mask. The one she wore nearly all the time now.
A violent wave of something too quick to read fractured her controlled visage, cracks of emotion spiderwebbing over that veiled surface, breaking open to reveal a seething anger.
Her spine snapped taut. Her nostrils flared, her hands fisting and relaxing as she worked to compose herself. Behind her Bell noticed Stolas inch closer, his gliding movements so smooth he hardly appeared to move at all.
The Shade Lord had enough sense not to try and touch her.