Chapter 5

CHAPTER5

When Callan had first heard of the amulet going missing, he’d assumed the thief was just a thief. He would need a bit of magic to steal it from its magical protections, but the amulet’s creator was long dead, and whatever spells she’d placed on it weren’t as strong as they’d once been.

But the amulet wanted to stay with Myth.

It was strange, to feel the amulet hungering, yet it was a hunger that Callan could not access and had no way to fulfill.

It would be more convenient if it wanted to be used as badly as Callan wanted to use it.

The first place Callan went was to the sorcerer’s shop. The place reeked of magic, decay, and agonized suffering. Callan stopped by the front door, observing the spell placed on it to alert the sorcerer to anyone who stepped through.

It wasn’t a bad spell. Callan had placed a few of these himself, back when he was still a mortal with things to protect. But the spell had one very gaping flaw: It extended only over the doorway itself.

Callan dipped into the shadows, and appeared again on the other side of the wall.

The main shop floor was very unassuming, and all the products on display were simple charms and potions that anybody could have made. Not worth the amount of protections on the building itself.

The back room, on the other hand…

The sorcerer Izar came out from that room and visibly startled to see Callan. “What? How…”

Callan pointed toward the door. “Word of advice. Not everybody enters through the front door.”

Izar glared and clutched one of the many necklaces he wore, each one imbued with spells. It reminded Callan of his own rings, which had served a similar purpose hundreds of years ago, before he’d become a being made entirely of magic.

“What are you?” Izar demanded.

Callan shrugged and skated across the shadows to Izar’s side. “Somebody tried to sell something to you recently. A big, shiny amulet.”

Izar inhaled sharply and evaded Callan’s attempt to touch him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He reached up to fiddle with his glasses, scowling at Callan. “Whatever you want, you won’t find it here.”

Callan nodded in agreement. “I won’t, that’s true. But it might get me a bit closer. What did you see, when you looked at the owner of the amulet?”

Izar’s gaze slid over Callan. The lenses of his glasses reflected just enough light to keep Callan from trying to see into him. “Hmm. What would you pay for that information? I don’t give things away for free.”

If he wanted to, Callan could probably remove those glasses and break the many necklaces. Izar would be left scrambling to put together spells fast enough to defend himself from Callan. Once in the shadows, Callan would be able to find the one thing Izar wanted more than anything.

But the phoenix feather pulsed warmly, and Callan had a certain admiration for a sorcerer who did whatever he wanted to achieve his goals.

“I’ll give you a shadow,” Callan said, stretching his hand out and letting the shadow on the floor extend all the way to Izar. “Just one. It might help you bind something large. Or you could use it to travel somewhere once.”

The offer appealed to Izar. The glasses hid his true desires, but the simple yearning for a little more power? Callan could read that easily enough.

“You didn’t tell me what you were,” Izar hedged. “How can I know I can trust you?”

Callan skated backward, taking his shadow with him. “I suppose you can’t. Take the offer or leave it. But you won’t be able to cleave me to pieces as easily as those other poor creatures.” At Izar’s sharp inhale, Callan laughed. “Was that supposed to be a secret? You hide yourself very well, but you can’t stop the hunger of everything you have locked up in here.”

“Not a dragon or basilisk. And you’re obviously not an orc.” Izar adjusted his glasses again, and the tint of the lens changed. He sniffed in disdain. “A mere shade? Hardly worth dealing with. Begone, and leave me in peace.”

Izar tapped a jewel on his necklace, and a spell raced out toward Callan.

What a bother.

Callan ducked down into the shadows and evaded the spell. He popped out behind Izar, and this time, he wrapped his darkness around Izar’s limbs, immobilizing him.

“Mere shade I might be, but I’m still strong enough to take you down, little sorcerer.” Callan tapped Izar’s temple and sent a tendril of darkness inside, all while Izar writhed and struggled against him.

“F-fuck!” Izar shouted, doubling over as the cold seeped into him.

Callan laughed. “Let’s try again. What did you see, when you looked at the amulet’s owner? Answer, and I won’t take all of your memories.”

“H-how? You’re… You’re just… a shade…” Izar gasped in pain.

“I’ve never been one to settle for mediocrity.” Callan let his darkness settle inside Izar, and he began rooting around. “Let’s see… Do you need this memory? What a very pretty young man he was. Quite a shame, what happened to him. You’d be better off not remembering him anyway. It’ll save you so much trouble.”

“Stop!” Izar started shivering. “F-fine! Your friend, whatever. The magic on him… it’s old. And the—” He keened hard as Callan began pulling. “The amulet and the boy had the same magic. He said it was a family heirloom.”

That… was a little unexpected. Callan let go of the memory, tempting as it was to simply devour it, and withdrew from Izar. As soon as his hold loosened, Izar scrambled away, reaching for his necklaces with shivering hands.

Callan ignored Izar and considered the new information. If Myth and the amulet shared the same magic, it made sense that the amulet was able to bind Myth so easily. And if they shared the same magic, that meant… Myth wasn’t a mere thief.

“A family heirloom.” Callan smiled to himself. “Of course. That’s the only way it makes sense.”

Another spell was flung his way, this time one made of light. Callan resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he bent himself around the light and followed the shadows it cast. No matter how many times he pointed out that he didn’t hate light, everybody thought they could fight him with it.

“Thank you for the information,” Callan said, appearing again at Izar’s side. “A small tip for you, to help you on your quest: dragon horns are much more potent than orc tusks.”

Izar whirled around and cast another spell—fire, this time, and faster than Callan had anticipated. The flames lapped at Callan’s form, not nearly as hot as the last time he’d been consumed by flame, but still unpleasant.

The phoenix feather trapped in his chest heated in turn, filling Callan with an uncomfortable warmth. Callan sighed and backed up a few paces, waiting for the spell to dissipate.

Izar had a triumphant grin on his face, which dropped as soon as the flames died down and Callan remained standing there, unharmed. “What? How can you…”

“Yes, yes, I’m a mere shade.” Callan glanced down at his rings, scowling when he noticed the soot gathered on the new onyx one. “Why does everybody always insist on attacking me? I’ve been nothing but pleasant with you.”

“Pleasant? You threatened me, you rooted around inside me…” Izar shuddered.

“I did offer to pay you,” Callan pointed out. “But I’m going now. Take my advice, or don’t. I do hope you get the thing you want. It would be very interesting if you did.”

He dropped his form and sank back into the shadows, racing out of the sorcerer’s atelier and away from the city. He knew what his next destination had to be—

But he only got a few miles before the feather’s light became too strong, and he was forced back out to the surface.

Callan sighed in annoyance. The sun was still bright, and the roads in this part of Phassis were clear of trees that would cast long shadows. He could wait until nightfall, but even in the dark he couldn’t be able to escape the feather’s light for long.

He stared down at the hand with the onyx and pearl rings.

“I should have tossed you years ago,” he said to the pearl ring, but like Myth couldn’t be rid of the amulet, Callan had never been able to part with this one.

The last vestiges of his humanity. A symbol of how far he’d come, of what he’d given up to gain all this power.

“What do you think binds the thief more, Athan? The amulet, his wants, his needs, or… that ring of mine?” Callan twisted the onyx ring, and remembered how his silver ring looked on Myth’s slim finger. It wasn’t a bad look at all.

Callan imagined what else he could do with a pretty thief, the next time he found him. There was something behind those eyes of his that hungered desperately. He would look pretty on his knees, blindfolded, mouth open to accept everything Callan would give him.

The thoughts kept him entertained until he recovered enough strength to travel through the shadows once more.

* * *

The palacein Naran had seen better days.

Maybe it was more ostentatious now than it had been three generations ago, but the magic that had once clung to the walls was long gone. The stone was simply stone; the carcasses buried underneath the foundation had rotted away and taken their blood with them.

He was sitting in the soft, velvet lined chair, staring up at the ornate filigree molding, when the door opened and King Eoghan entered.

For the first few seconds, Eoghan didn’t notice Callan. He went to his desk and searched the drawers, muttering under his breath. Only when he sat down at his desk and looked up did he see Callan seated in the other chair.

Eoghan’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to shout, but before he could say anything, Callan wrapped a shadow around his throat and squeezed.

“None of that,” Callan said, watching Eoghan gasp for breath.

He waited until Eoghan’s face turned red before releasing him, just enough that he wouldn’t die.

“You’re looking for something,” Callan said, very matter-of-factly. “A trinket. A… family heirloom.”

Eoghan, clinging to the desk, eyed him warily. “Wh-what?” he wheezed.

“You once asked a phoenix to find it, but I believe his answer was that he doesn’t find things.” Callan had watched that conversation with extreme amusement. Athan was so predictable sometimes.

It was a pity that the rest of that day hadn’t quite gone to plan.

“I am very good at finding things, in fact,” Callan went on. “For a price, of course.” He loosened his shadow and let it travel over Eoghan’s face, feeling every shudder and tremble.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Eoghan asked, but he had enough sense not to move or shout. His interest was piqued, too, a surge of desire that was predictable.

Predictable, but useful.

Callan stood and gave a half-hearted bow. “My name is Callan, Your Majesty. I am… Let’s call me a sorcerer for now. You could use my talents.”

Eoghan sneered at him. “I have a sorceress already.”

“You do. A woman who doesn’t know what she’s doing. Has she found the altar yet? Has she managed to track down your thief, or your priceless family trinket?” Callan walked over to the desk and perched on its side, making a show of admiring his rings. “I was thinking about it, while I made my way here. How does a thief manage to steal an item that is so tangled up in your family? It shouldn’t have been possible.”

Predictably, Eoghan paled. “He must have used magic,” Eoghan said.

“I wouldn’t have been able to take it.” Callan buffed the onyx ring. “No, in order to get past not just all the defenses, but to be able to hold onto it for so long…” Callan twisted his neck unnaturally to look at Eoghan, and was gratified by the spike of fear. “He has your family’s blood. He’s too old to be your daughter’s bastard. And you have no siblings to produce one either. That simply leaves…”

“What’s your price?” Eoghan spat out. “To bring back my family heirloom, with or without the thief?”

Callan thought about what he wanted from Eoghan, and realized—

There was nothing.

But a hint of acid in his throat reminded him of what was at stake.

“You simply need to tell me who the thief’s mother is.” Callan called his shadows back and closed his hand around them. “I can find her if I know who she is.”

Eoghan barked out a laugh. “Good luck with that. I’ve been trying to find her since that little worm showed up here, demanding payment.”

“Her name. Who she was. A memory of her, so I know what she looks like.” Callan slid through the shadows to lean on the other side of the desk, right by Eoghan’s side. He raised his hand to Eoghan’s temple, and waited for the answer.

If Eoghan refused him, Callan would have to dig through his memories manually. That might be fun, too: taking apart a proper king, who was the same as a prince save for having been born first.

Unfortunately, Eoghan wanted that amulet so, so badly. “Kiara. Her name was—is—Kiara. She was a servant here, until…”

Callan reached into Eoghan.

Beautiful Kiara, who’d tempted Eoghan every time he’d seen her. She’d been assigned to cleaning his rooms, and she laughed at his jokes. He’d given her a few tokens so she could buy herself nicer clothes or sweet-smelling perfumes for the baths.

It had fallen apart when she’d revealed she was with child. Eoghan had told her to go to a healer and be rid of it, because he couldn’t afford to have a bastard with a servant. She’d disappeared entirely instead, and although Eoghan had looked discreetly, he’d never managed to find her.

He’d assumed she’d gone back to her home country of Priyana and had mostly forgotten about it entirely, until Myth had appeared a few weeks ago, bearing one of the tokens Eoghan had given to Kiara and demanding gold to cover some debt.

“I didn’t want to believe him,” Eoghan said, his teeth chattering from cold. “He looked like her though. And then… he was able to sneak in. The door was sealed to my bloodline. Only my direct relatives can enter that room…”

“How unfortunate for you,” Callan murmured, rubbing sticky darkness all over Eoghan. “How could you predict that your own offspring would steal from you?”

He pulled away from Eoghan and watched in amusement as Eoghan dry heaved into his hand.

There was a certain satisfaction in watching a man like Eoghan suffer. He was sure he had all the power, and that nobody would ever dare question him. This setback was probably the first time Eoghan had ever felt any form of desperation at all.

Callan toyed with the idea of simply ending his life here and now. It wouldn’t be difficult. Callan had killed stronger people than Eoghan.

But if he killed Eoghan now, it would ruin some of the thrill. Besides, Callan would be foolish to destroy a tool before it had been used.

“I need the amulet back,” Eoghan said once his breathing had calmed. “At any cost. You can do what you want with the thief.”

“Hmm. Yes, I suspect I can.” Callan met Eoghan’s eyes and smirked. “I’ll keep in touch. Or I won’t.”

“What? You just said—”

But Callan had already stepped out of the office and into the pitch dark.