Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

Thalia

My gaze moves to Bastien, once again seeking his reassurance. He hates this. I can see it all over his face, in the stiffness of his posture, the way his hands clench.

When Bastien loved me once, he’d never let me spill a precious drop of blood. But that’s not how he feels anymore, and he’s going to remind me of my duty to my people.

He’ll keep me on track.

He gives the smallest of nods, and I swallow hard before nodding back.

Stepping into the circle, I sit cross-legged and pick up the bowl. Placing it on my lap, I look up to Heph. “How much blood does it require?”

“Enough to get his attention,” he replies with a grimace.

I take the knife, and Bastien steps forward to the circle’s edge, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Start slow,” he advises.

I manage a smile and look back to Heph. “What do I say?”

“It doesn’t matter what you say, only that you ask him to come. Pull on the nearest ley line to amp your power, spill the blood in the bowl, and make your request.”

“Okay.” I breathe out, willing calm into my body. My heart thuds painfully against my rib cage. I take the knife, intent on cutting into the fleshy part of my palm when a thought occurs. “Wait—I’m in a circle of protection. You two should be in here with me.”

“There’s no room,” Bastien says, which isn’t exactly true. It would fit three adults if we all stood.

“We can redraw the circle,” I say, my attention focused on Heph.

“The protection isn’t to keep Amell from us, but to keep Amell from the rest of Vyronas.”

Bastien rounds on Heph with a growl, grabbing his shirt. “You’re going to let him in there with her?”

“Wait!” I exclaim. “Let him go. He’s right. We can’t afford to give Amell free rein here. Summonings aren’t permanent, and we can send him back when we want, but we don’t want him wreaking any havoc while he’s here.”

My reasoning has no effect on Bastien as he still looks angry enough to throttle Heph. I take the opportunity to move forward with the magic and place the tip of the knife to my palm, just below my thumb. With the pointed end, I puncture my skin, deep enough that a stream of bright red blood wells. I turn my hand over the bowl, and the blood drips inside.

Closing my eyes, I silently call out. Amell… it is your daughter Thalia, calling to you from the dimension of Vyronas. I demand an audience with you.

I have no clue if those are the right words, but I do know they’re the simple truth.

Nothing happens, though, and I can’t imagine I had to say please or beg him to come. I don’t want to take any chances, though, so I add, Please. I beg you to come talk to me. I need your guidance.

Still nothing happens, and I open my eyes to find both Bastien and Heph watching me with concern.

“The blood offering may not be enough,” Heph suggests.

Sighing, I put the knife back to my palm and score a long line. Bastien growls as I wince from the pain, but significantly more blood pours into the bowl, creating a red puddle in the bottom as I squeeze my fist over it. Come on, you greedy bastard. Accept this amount I’m giving and at least have the guts to come talk to me face-to-face.

A huge boom rends the air around me, a light flashes so bright I’m momentarily blinded, and static electricity crackles so thickly that my hair lifts from my shoulders.

Standing before me is a creature—presumably my father—and he towers over me as he glowers down.

Taller than any man I’ve ever seen, he tops Bastien by a good four inches and is massively built, all brawn and muscles. He’s wearing black leather from head to toe—a tunic with criss-crossed leather straps over his torso, pants, and heavy boots. If I weren’t so scared, I’d readily admit he’s incredibly handsome, but I don’t resemble him at all. His dark blond hair is short and messy, like he just walked through a windstorm, and he has a perfect layer of facial hair, but it doesn’t hide his angular cheekbones. His eyes are blue but so dark they look like the midnight sky next to a full moon.

When two huge wings of inky-black feathers erupt outward, I scramble to stand and move away from him. The tips of his wings push past the barrier the salt provides, and another large boom fills the air. It feels like the oxygen is sucked from my lungs and I’m relieved when I suck in air to fill them back up again.

I know he’s destroyed the protection placed around us with just a brush of his wings and is free to roam at will if he wanted. We sorely underestimated his power.

Bastien pulls his sword once he realizes the creature isn’t contained and moves around the circle to stand near me.

I brandish my knife and try to steady my voice. “Are you Amell?”

The winged man cocks an eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest. “I am Amell. And I’m wondering why you would summon me only to threaten me with that knife?”

“You startled me,” I admit, refusing to lower my weapon.

Amell smirks. “Why would that be? You summoned me. Surely you expected me to come.”

“But you didn’t come right away,” I point out.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “You hadn’t spilled enough blood to interest me.”

Bastien steps forward, sword held at an angle over his shoulder, prepared to swipe if he needs to. Amell watches him with interest and, if the curl of his lip is any indication, amusement.

His regard comes back to me. “You are Thalia… daughter of Selena.”

“Are you my father?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t have come if I weren’t. The price I require to leave my domain is way steeper than a tiny cut to your palm.”

“And what did you demand of my mother?” I sneer. “Was her blood not enough?”

Amell drops his arms and spreads them. “Your mother got exactly what she wanted from me, and I got exactly what I wanted from her. Neither of us was disappointed in the end.”

I screech in anger at the implication, and before I know it, I’m launching myself at the Dark Fae in an attempt to drive the knife into his heart. Just as I bring it down, he disappears and I stumble forward. I turn around quickly to find Bastien swinging at Amell’s head, but with a snap of his fingers, the sword disappears.

Amell smirks at the easy defeat.

Bastien doesn’t return the smile and instead lobs a fast uppercut that catches Amell right under the jaw. His head snaps back and rocks him off balance a few feet.

“Watch your tone with Thalia,” Bastien warns.

Amell swivels his jaw back and forth, rubbing it gingerly, but doesn’t appear perturbed.

His gaze comes back to me, and he says, “Let’s take that knife off your hands.” It disappears into thin air. “Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself.”

So fast I barely have time to blink, Amell appears right in front of me to grab my wrist.

Bastien charges but with a flick of his free hand, Amell sends him flying backward. “Stay down, warrior. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Pulling my palm up, he inspects the cut, smeared with blood. Bastien is back on his feet and releases a war cry as he charges again.

Amell doesn’t even spare him a glance but enacts some sort of magical wall around us. Bastien slams into it with such force, the ground shakes. Ignoring him completely as Bastien pounds his fists in anger, I watch, mesmerized as Amell rubs a thumb over my palm, and my cuts instantly heal.

He drops my hand and turns to Bastien who has gone still as he takes in Amell’s ministration to my wounds. “I’m going to release this shield, but if you try to attack again, I will drop you in another realm. I mean her no harm.”

“Bastien,” I say in a pleading voice, “back off.”

It is with a fierce glare at Amell that Bastien takes a few steps back to give us space. The Dark Fae waves his hand, presumably to make the shield disappear, and fortunately, Bastien stays put.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Amell turns his attention to me. “Why did you summon me, child?”

It’s weird to have him call me child. He doesn’t look much older than me, but he’s Dark Fae and therefore doesn’t age. He’ll always look the way he does right now. Moreover, I’m not his child. He’s never done a single thing for me in my life.

But I don’t have time for petty grievances, so I explain my summons. “A sorceress has taken over my land using blood magic.”

Amell nods with a slight smile. “Ferelith. Big fan.”

My jaw drops and I glare at him. “You’re a big fan of hers?”

The Dark Fae snorts. “More like she’s a big fan of mine. She summons a great many demons from my realm and sends me plenty of souls in return.”

I shake my head, trying to get my bearings where this man—rather, fallen angel—is concerned. “Do you support her?”

“When it furthers my cause,” he drawls.

Too vague. “Does it further your cause?”

“It doesn’t hurt it,” he says blandly.

I curse in frustration and make my request. “I need to know how to defeat her. If I use blood magic, it won’t be strong enough. I don’t know enough about it. I’ve been led to believe that you may have passed on other magic that I could use. Is this true, and if yes, how do I tap into it?”

Amell doesn’t answer right away but rather studies me for a long moment. He circles me, his long wings tucked away, the tips dragging through the grass, but I don’t turn my back on him.

Bastien moves closer, despite Amell’s earlier warning.

Amell stops and his gaze slides to Bastien, mouth curving in amusement. “You’re very protective of my daughter, aren’t you, warrior?”

“She’s my sovereign,” Bastien growls. “Of course, I’m protective.”

Amell tips his head back and laughs from deep in his belly. “You’re only being dishonest to yourself.” His attention comes back to me. “To answer your question, you are half Dark Fae. You have the ability to wield dark magic.”

“Shadow magic?”

“Shadow magic, if it pleases you to call it that. But it comes from a dark place. Some consider it evil.”

“Evil?” I exclaim, then resoundingly add, “I am not evil.”

Another careless shrug. “That’s relative, isn’t it? I’ve often been told your actions determine your morality, not what’s inside you. However, you have my blood, and I can grant you the gift of my magic if you so desire to use it to regain your kingdom.”

“It’s not in me already?” I ask.

“It is,” he says with a slight smile. “But I need to awaken it, so to speak.”

“You’d do that for me?” I ask with immense suspicion in my tone.

“I would,” he replies.

“And what will it do to me? Will it… change me?”

Amell’s eyes flash with mischief, but I can’t tell if it’s sinister in its intent. “Of course, you’ll change. You’ll become more. What I would give you would kill a mere mortal, but because you have my blood, you can accept it, harness it, and wield it. You can combine it with your own powers, or you can add blood magic to create spells that Ferelith wouldn’t be able to stop. I’d be giving you the weapon you need to defeat her.”

I chew on my lip, considering. It’s the answer I’ve been looking for. The way has been shown for me to save Vyronas.

But still, I’m hesitant.

Scared to change, and there’s no doubt I will change once he awakens the shadow magic within me.

“Tell me what you are. I need to know more about this part of me that comes from you.”

Amell looks slightly irritated I’d question his gift but sighs and says, “Very well.”

With another flick of his wrist, he conjures a massive throne made of craggy obsidian. His wings spread and lift, enabling him to drop into the seat so they rest over the back. He sits imperiously with feet planted on the ground and hands resting on carved chunks of shiny black rock.

“I’m one of the original fallen angels expelled from Heaven when Kymaris tried to lead a rebellion against God.” I know this story, but it’s taught as more myth than actual history. Same as the gods we worship. “We were banished to the Underworld and sealed within, known to all as Dark Fae. Most of our powers were stripped, but over time, pieces of the meteor came into our possession, and we evolved. Witches, priests, and such from the First Dimension often summoned Dark Fae to perform services, so some were able to come and go. Some never returned to the Underworld, settling into lives above. As you should be aware of your history here in Vyronas, Light and Dark Fae mated and produced daemons. Your people here are descended from druid daemons, although much of their original characteristics have been bred out over the millennia.”

“That’s a fascinating recap of what we already know,” Bastien mutters. “But it doesn’t tell us who you are.”

Amell’s head pivots slowly toward Bastien. “I don’t think I like you very much. My daughter is too good for you.”

“She’s not mine in that way,” Bastien snarls back. Pain twinges in my chest to hear him confirm that, especially after what we shared last night.

It’s almost as if Amell can feel that pain in my heart, for his head whips my way and his mouth draws downward. “You deserve better.”

I don’t want to talk about Bastien, and most certainly not with this father I don’t know. I must refocus him. “But what are you? Who are you in the Underworld?”

Amell bows his head, twirls his wrist with a flourish, and says with an ego-filled smile, “I’m the newly crowned king of the Underworld.”

“Maddox said Kymaris is dead,” Bastien muses.

“The demigod spoke true. Zora is now the god of Life, and she has appointed me the new ruler.”

My gaze drifts to the side as I digest this news. I guess I’m a princess in more than one realm, if you think about it.

A million questions spring to mind, mostly about how I came to be. What occurred between my mother and Amell? Did she really do this just for my father, or was my mother susceptible to the dark arts like her brother was? Was she bored and looking for excitement? Did she have feelings for Amell?

All legitimate curiosities a daughter might have, but I find myself unable to ask a single one because I’m more terrified of those answers than I am of Ferelith.

“What more do you wish to know?” Amell asks, and it occurs to me that he’s not in a rush to leave. He seems too patient and accommodating, not what I would expect from a Dark Fae king of the Underworld. He probably has thousands of offspring given his immortality, and I am but one asking for help at this moment. How many others are waiting in line behind me?

“Nothing,” I reply. “I would like your help, if you’ll give it. Give me the shadow magic and teach me how to use it.”

Amell stands, and the obsidian throne fades. He paces toward me, and Bastien stiffens with wariness. I don’t think any of us doubt that Amell would send him to another realm if he came at him.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want Bastien’s input. His eyes meet mine and I ask, “You agree? This is the way?”

“I don’t like it, but I think it’s the way if you want to defeat Ferelith.” Bastien turns his head toward Amell briefly, before coming back to me. “But if you don’t want to do this, I will take you away from Vyronas right now. I’ll take you somewhere you can live out your days in peace and safety. You can build a new life and have happiness.”

“You could come live with me in the Underworld,” Amell offers, and I blink at him in surprise. “Since Kymaris died, I’ve made parts of it quite nice.”

“She’s not going to live in your sulfur pit,” Bastien mutters.

“She’d be happier there than with you here, living a half existence because you won’t give her what she wants and deserves,” Amell retorts.

Bastien pulls a dagger from a sheath at his hip, and Amell raises his hand. Blue sparks crackle at his fingertips, but I jump in between them as I yell, “Stop it. Both of you.”

Amell’s hand drops, and Bastien reluctantly pushes the blade back into the scabbard.

I step up to Amell and have to tip my head way back. “I want the shadow magic. Give it to me.”

“As you wish, Princess,” he says with a smile. His hands come to the sides of my neck, and a wind swirls around us. My eyes lock to his, and I’m fascinated by the dark storm clouds brewing in his irises.

Amell bends toward me, and I have a terrifying moment when I realize I’ve put my trust into not only a complete stranger but a fallen angel who rules Hell. I half expect him to open his mouth to devour me, but instead, he presses his lips to the top of my head.

The kiss unleashes what feels like an icy waterfall sweeping through my body, chilling me to the bone. Just as my teeth start to chatter, Amell steps away, and I’m warm once again.

The wind dies, and I feel… normal.

No different at all.

“Did it work?” I ask with a frown.

I’m sure in a move calculated to irritate Bastien with his inability to protect me, Amell lunges at the speed of light and grabs my wrist. A knife appears in his hand, the blade glinting against the sunlight, and before I can even think to scream, he drags the tip across my palm and cuts into the flesh he’d healed for me.

I yipe from the pain but the cut is shallow. Just as quickly, the knife disappears, and Amell nods downward.

I stare in horror and understanding as I see that my blood is black instead of red. Extending my arm, I show it to Bastien and Heph, who inch closer.

“Fae blood,” Heph murmurs. “It’s black.”

“Daemon blood used to be black too,” Amell says, a fact we know from our histories. It seemed pointless until he adds, “I suspect those latent genes from your daemon ancestry helped kick-start the change.”

“Will my blood always be black?” I ask, aghast.

Amell waves his hand over my palm, the cut heals, and the inky blood disappears. “As long as you have the shadow magic, yes.”

“Does it mean I’m evil?” I look deep into myself and now I feel something…lurking, waiting, anticipating.

My father actually rolls his eyes and refuses to answer. “What else might you require of me?” he asks with a tip of his head.

“Knowledge,” I blurt without hesitation. “Teach me how to use it. Show me what to do with this power. Come back to Clairmont—”

“No,” Bastien growls.

I ignore him. “Come back to Clairmont for a few days and help me become strong enough to defeat Ferelith.”

“Thalia,” Bastien warns.

Amell looks at Bastien and levels a wicked grin at him. “Your man doesn’t like me very much.”

“Not my man,” I say, preempting Bastien’s denial we have anything more than just sex.

“No, he’s not,” Amell agrees.

“First chance I get,” Bastien says darkly, “I’m going to kill you.”

“Excuse me if I don’t quake in fear from the threat of a puny mortal,” Amell says.

“It was a puny mortal who killed Kymaris,” Bastien points out.

“Enough!” I yell. They’re like children, and I feel like I need to send them both to time-out.

I turn to Bastien. “He’s coming because it’s the fastest way to teach me how to use this new power. Get over it.”

Amell laughs, and I wheel around to face him. “And you, stop antagonizing. I’d expect better from the king of the Underworld.”

The laugh dies and his face slackens, then flushes with embarrassment.

I then turn to Heph. “Would you like to come with us?”

“Can I?” he asks hopefully.

“Your banishment is officially ended,” I proclaim, and Heph beams. “And we need your help.”

Because I’m not going to turn my nose up at blood magic.

I might have the power of shadows now—whatever that means—but I know we can use simple blood spells to boost powers for our own magicals. As Heph said, we can use it to create perfect spells. We will use our own blood and won’t spill a drop of innocents’ life force. With that, my mind spins with possibilities. I bet I could create a method to bend distance with masses of troops. I can protect them with charms and amulets. I can render Ferelith’s magic useless, and possibly break the blood oaths people have sworn to her.

I’m giddy with it all.

“Let’s pack up and go,” I announce, and then I give my attention back to Amell. “I expect I have the power now to bust through Ferelith’s cloak she has over the Rosethorns, so we can bend distance right from here to Clairmont and save time. I’d like to test that out.”

“You have that power indeed.”

“Can I do so without alerting her?” I press.

Amell’s eyes twinkle with pride. “I’ll show you how.”