“Precisely,” he said with a nod. “And so it is in Midnight. Only in our case, it’s not diamonds or oil we’re fighting for. It’s magick. A magick that runs through every rock, every tree, every lake of blood in this realm. The magick of Midnight is a precious thing, Miss Barnes. Far more valuable than our cities and walls.”
“Why are you revealing state secrets to your prisoner?”
“It’s no secret. Not for the ones fighting to take it, nor the ones fighting to keep it. And not, I suspect,” he said, turning to face me full on, “for you.”
The intensity of his gaze made my skin burn.
“You’re… right,” I finally admitted. “I can feel it. There’s a hum in the air—in the ground as well. More than a vibration. There’s a palpable magickal energy here—sometimes I feel like I can actuallyseeit. Like a phantom glow.”
“It’s palpable toyou,” he said. “Because you’re a witch with Darkwinter blood coursing through your veins. The magick of Midnight—dark magick—is your birthright. The longer you remain in my realm, the more connected to it you will feel.”
Even as I blanched, his words sent a little thrill through my heart, making my pulse race.
But… no. Just because I had Darkwinter blood—severely diluted Darkwinter blood, considering how many generations ago my Darkwinter ancestors lived—that didn’t makemedark. Didn’t make me any more capable of harnessing and wielding dark magick than Hudson or Jax for that matter.
“I’m not dark, Keradoc. Not in the way you’re thinking.”
“No?” He crowded me, backing me up against the rough barrier that surrounded the balcony. “What do you see when you close your eyes, Miss Barnes? What do you find when you search deep in your soul, past all the things you believe make someone a good person, past the things you believe keep you safe from the dark?” He was standing so close to me now, I could feel his breath misting on my lips. In a soft whisper, he said, “When you sleep, little thief, where do the nightmares take you?”
He drew a fingertip across my forehead, his touch soft and cold, his magick whispering through my mind. It was the barest caress, but like Jax’s fear demon mojo, this magick unleashed a flood of images so real I swore I could reach out and touch them.
Flame and shadow bending at my command, breaking the laws of physics and magick both.
Power surging through my veins, crackling at my fingertips.
Death rising, a thousand raw-boned corpses clawing out of the black earth and bowing at my feet…
I drew back with a gasp and shut my eyes, struggling to believe it. No, I didn’t mean the visions themselves—those were as clear as the red-and-gold stars in the black sky, and I knew, somehow, they were real—as real as the fears Jax had brought to the surface to save me from the corpsevine.
Keradoc had just given me a glimpse of my future—that much was certain, even if I couldn’t yet make sense of what I’d seen.
But thefeelingsthose visions had unlocked inside me… How could I accept them?
How could I admit to the fact that rather than gasping in fear, I was gasping with excitement? With wonder? With hope that all of those things might one day be mine?
My whole body trembled with the possibility of it, and I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to calm myself. To bring myself out of whatever trance his magick had put me under.
“I… I should get back to my work,” I said, glancing desperately toward the doors. Keradoc was still in my space, too close, too… everything.
“Yes, you should,” he said smoothly. “But Miss Barnes?” He reached for my un-cuffed wrist, lifting it with a delicate touch, his thumb sliding across my tattoo. As I unfurled my clenched fingers, a black rose bloomed in my palm. Keradoc brought it to his nose and inhaled, unleashing a moan so lush I could’ve sworn he’d just come.
“Next time,” he whispered, finally releasing me, “perhaps you’ll think twice before passing judgment on my motives.”
23
KERADOC
Hands and teeth as sharp as knives, he chased me.
He always chased me. It was his favorite game. Refusing to play only made the punishment worse.
So I ran.
I ran in the dark. Ran through sharp-bladed grass that sliced my feet to ribbons, and I hid among barren trees that seemed to relish in giving away my position. They were nothing like the silver-leaved trees of home, the trees that cradled and nurtured and soothed.
These were the trees that burned and bled, and fed from the wounds of their victims.
Yet still, I hid behind them, just as he wanted me to.
