"Oh, I think not, dear boy. I wish to hear you speak it. Humor an old crone."
I've been tortured before. In training, while in the army, and once by seelie lords who caught me north of their borders. I let them slice my wrists and throat, providing a diversion while my men infiltrated their camp to free unseelie folk they'd poached on our land.
Yet never have I suffered like this. My entire body protests against what I'm about to do. I'm fighting every part of me, including the power of Myst, rising within my chest, burning me from the inside.
"Shadow King."
I will have to kill her one day. Pour lava down this well and seal it shut.
"My name is Shadow King."
The first time I knew true fear was when my men started to call me Shadow. That they may have guessed even part of my name was a terrifying prospect. I chose to embrace it, if only to show that it meant nothing. But I am Shadow—though King is a bit of a stretch.
"It has a nice ring to it."
I don't know how I stay on my feet.
I'm empty. I'm powerless. I'm weak.
Hell if I’ll let her see it.
"The book your leaders seek is buried with Nyx, in the valley between seelie and unseelie land, deep in the Murkwoods. It is of little use, for I can tell you each detail for that spell. Only the true owner of a land, a castle, or, say, a kingdom, may cast it over the entire territory.”
“So if it’s to cover the whole of Tenebris—”
He hag’s stained fangs flash. “The high queen has to be the one casting it, holding the very heart of Tenebris in her hands. Tears of an enemy, blood of a friend, and a sacrifice of one the caster loves need to be buried along with four elemental stones—water, earth, fire, and air."
"Sacrifice?" That’s an ancient word, from an ancient time, when we used to slaughter beasts, men, and folk in the name of power. No spell we rely on these days requires sacrifices.
But I’m not asking about modern magic.
The hag grins wickedly. "No one cares to recall how Queen Nyx's mother was killed, now do they?”
I know I hate Traffatel. She's enjoying this far too much.
But she's answered my question, so I thank her, before feeling my belt for the rope I need to tug on.
I don't need to look down to realize it's been cut when my hand can't find it.
"You said you'd let me go."
She clicks her tongue. "I never said when."
This time, I do reach for my sword, gripping it, though I don't draw it.
She laughs again. "That's unnecessary, pretty boy. I don't like your kind. Too rough. I much prefer the hearts of maidens. Soft and sweet and filled with hope. I am quite the scholar, you know. Why else settle here, of all places? I do love teaching children lessons. Yours is that you're far too easily trusting." She reaches upward, and my rope appears in her hand. "On your way, Shadow King."
I take the rope, and tug on it. On the surface, Erdun starts to pull me up. I climb along the walls, my hands finding cracks in the mold-infested, spider-filled, bone-littered well.
Only when I can see the sky do I realize the hag has used my name, wasting her one chance at commanding me.
Though I know better than to think it wasn't intentional.
Fire and Water
Drusk
Still reeling from my encounter with the hag, I should have taken a moment to calm down, collect my thoughts, ruminate over the ramifications, and most of all, think of the price I paid. I said my name out loud. Though it may not cross Traffatel's lips again, she knows it. She knows me.
