Page 14 of Cursed Shadows 4
Then, with a flexed grip that is meant to be a final farewell, Melantha turns for the grandstands.
General Agnar follows not far behind her, but a distance that—if I cared for anyone or anything other than myself right now—I might recognise to be cautious yearning.
I watch them go.
Melantha passes her eldest son, Caius, who cares so little about his family that he departed Hemlock House before us.
I forgot his existence until this moment, seeing him peel away from the dark contenders and approach his mother.
There is no affection to be witnessed. He merely bows a gesture of respect, and in answer, she gives a curt nod.
I lift my gaze to the grandstands. The faces of the dark ones are warped by tears brewing in my eyes, but not yet falling down my cheeks.
I sat there once. I was among them.
For the first passage, I shamed my fellow litalves in my defection, then I sat on the stands for Dorcha.
A slight I didn’t give much thought to beyond pinning a silly, delusional hope on a future with a male who loathes me.
A slight I will pay for in the Sacrament.
My lashes flutter as movement ripples through my vision.
Rune splits away. His bootsteps are soft as he moves for the right, around the edges of the portal that looks like spilled tar over a window.
Dare is quick to shadow him, Samick at his heels.
Unmoving, I frown at their backs a moment.
A choice rears up in front of me.
Which side to join? The light or the dark?
At my side, Daxeel hesitates.
He turns his chin to frown at me. His mouth twists, and I feel the beat of hesitation, a nag in my heartspace.
He wants to reach out, touch me, take me with him.
His echoed feelings can go shove themselves up his arse.
I stare at him, dead-eyed.
His jaw tightens.
His inked fingers shift at his side. His hand inches closer to mine—as if to touch me, soothe me, steal me away with him to the dark warriors.
I fall back.
All my weight slams onto one boot, a purposeful retreat.
Outrage hardens my gaze, it flushes my cheeks, and I aim every speck of that stirring hatred on him.
From all around the courtyard, the sear of stares burns into me. I’m convinced that every fae close enough to listen is watching us.
Waiting.
Because this moment, right here, right now, determines the fate of the Sacrament.
