“I do still have one question.”
His voice rumbled in the back of her skull.
I’m listening.
Wren flexed her hands and shadows slipped between her fingers.
“Why me?”
The Soulless One hummed, though it felt more like a purr, the sound dripping down Wren’s limbs in a vibrating warmth.I was wondering when you’d ask.The Soulless One paused, a deep sigh fluttering in Wren’s mind.You see, though Silas had grown to think of himself as a god, he was, and is, nothing more than a man. Flawed. Capable of error. And when he chose your soul—when he forced your death and dragged your soul to Blackwood—he made the greatest mistake of his existence.
There was a tense beat. A weighted silence.
He hesitated.
Wren cocked her head.
“He…hesitated?”
When he approached you on the road that night, when he bent down to steal your soul from your dying body and thrust you into Blackwood…something in him faltered. Though the doubt didn’t last long, it was enough to distract him. And when he cast death’s kiss upon you…something went wrong. A drop of his magic entered your soul. The tiniest amount. So small he didn’t even notice the moment it burrowed into your soul. But it’s been there, from the beginning. Waiting inside you.
Wren traced her index finger along one of the jagged black veins marring her forearm.
“I don’t see how a fraction of his magic living inside me changes anything.”
The Soulless One chuckled—a deep and velvety rumble of laughter.
Patience, sweet catalyst. I’m getting to that.
“Go on, then,”Wren instructed.“Get to the point.”
I am the only one who can wipe the slate clean.The Soulless One’s voice grew louder, resounding within her skull.Who harbors the power to burn Blackwood to the ground. But I can’t do it without you. You are the link. The key.There was a strange hesitancy in his voice, something oddly human.I…require something. A ring. Silas stole it from me—many years ago—and keeps it hidden within a box. The box only opens through his touch…through his magic.
Understanding bolted through Wren.
“And I carry a droplet of his magic in my soul.”
You can open the box, Wren.A wretched desire burned beneath the Soulless One’s words, an untamed yearning.You can unleash my full power. And once you find the ring…you must bring it to me.
“But how?”Wren asked.“Don’t you…don’t you only exist in my head?”
The Soulless One exhaled. Wren swore she felt it brush upon the nape of her neck.
No, my sweet catalyst. I have a physical form. But it is fragile. Only a fraction of the power I should wield.
“Then…how do I find you?”
I’ll be waiting for you in Blackwood.His next words were more of a promise than a warning.Iwill findyou.
Wren parted her lips to speak, but the entrance to the tent fluttered open without warning, and just like that, she felt her connection to the Soulless One waver. It wasn’t severed…it wouldneverbe severed. But he grew dormant. Quiet. Waiting patiently in the shadows of her mind.
Edith strode into the tent, fitted in armor. A chain-mail hoodhad been placed over her midnight-black hair, shadow crown positioned atop it. A leather cuirass cinched her waist, the Demien Order sigil etched into the hardened black leather. Scalloped trim and rivets accented the front, while a set of buckled straps adorned the sides. As her eyes landed upon Wren, they widened for a fraction of a second, a momentary flash of surprise, though it quickly vanished when her lips curled into a smirk.
“You clean up nice.”
Wren rolled her eyes.
“You can save the sweet talk, Edith.”Wren sauntered closer, a delicate stream of shadows flowing out of her with every step.“I harbor no ill will for the torture you put me through. I see now that it was necessary.”
