Shadow Touched

61. NAIMA

One minute, I am having the life choked out of me by the Mad Lord; the next, I'm on the cold ceramic floor, breathless and confused.

Solditch towers over me, but he pays me no mind. I push myself up onto my hands and knees. My arms shake from the effort. I feel drained in a way I've never experienced before. My body is wracked with an aching cold.

I manage to back up about a foot before I feel a warm wall of air engulf me. No, not air. Finch.

He doesn't say anything. He offers me one of his big, warm hands before pulling me up. As he does, I crane my neck to see Grey. He stands stock still, a sabre in his hands. His eyes—his beautiful, ocean blue eyes— are completely black, like a starless night. There is no awareness. No life. He breathes, yes. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. But his essence—his being is locked behind an impenetrable wall of darkness.

One of Solditch's men moves toward Grey, reaching out to grab hold of him.

I stand frozen, not sure what to do. The few King's guards who remain unsullied rally around Vincent. Not one steps forward to protect Grey.

Solditch's voice cuts through the air. It sounds like a nail on granite.

I turn to face him—the man who killed my father tried to kill Finch...to kill me. The man who, if I don't find a way to save him, will kill Grey.

"Leave the Prince. I want Vincent to see what his hubris has wrought upon his only child."

He casts his dark gaze toward the King. Nothing but malice in his eyes.

"It's unfortunate it's not Greyling who rules this land. These people...they deserve a leader like him. One willing to sacrifice everything to keep them safe."

Strange. This last week, I started to think the same thing.

"You have forty days to vacate the castle. If not, Prince Greyling will die. It will not be an easy death. He will suffer. Greatly. As will many others. I'll see you soon, Vincent."

He turns on his heel, facing his guard, his mantle sweeping dramatically. He speaks a strange but beautiful language. The words are lyrical and lilting.

The temperature in the room dips, becoming even colder. Glacial. The sound of teeth chattering and terrified whispers fills the room. The lights flicker. Popping off and on until, in unison, they go dark, bathing us in black. Not even moonlight creeps through the ballroom's big glass windows. As if all light has been sucked from the world, leaving only absolute dark.

And then, just like that, it all stops. The air warms, the lights turn on, and Solditch and his army of Shadow-Touched are gone.

~*~

I am drunk.

It's been a week since the events of the Jubilee unfolded. A week since Grey was cursed to die. For real, this time. A week since the Council of the Six Realms was hastily thrown together to fight the Gloaming. A week since I was tasked with finding a way to save Grey. And a week since, I have consistently failed to do so.

It's been a shit week.

So now, I'm drunk. Drunkity-drunk-drunk. Drunk.

I'm in the Rose & Crown. Or maybe it's the Queen's Legs? I don't remember. I'm in a pub. It's after midday...somewhere.

"...and then, after everything he's done—all the years he kept Grey and me apart—he dares to suggest I lead the charge in finding a way to save him. I mean, obviously, I want to save him. I love him. But still. Kings. What bastards, amirite?"