Page 137 of The Incendiary

“He’s my father,” I called after them, the words like shards of glass on my tongue. They paused their retreat, then turned back.

“Your father,” one said.

“Yes.” Fear made my pulse thunder in my ears, even though I was bigger and likely more lethal than they were. I’d taught myself a lot over the last nine years. They stared at each other for a few seconds before seemingly coming to agreement.

“Try anything,” said the other as he unlocked and opened the gate, “and your head will be a feast for crows on one of those spikes.”

I hid my relief and followed them down the long path to the castle, doing my best not to dwell on the fact they acted like being a monster’s spawn was a privilege, not a curse.

When we reached the palace doors, an eerie chill crawled up my back. It felt like evil was skittering over my skin on its way to embed itself in my spine and take control of me. Evil wanted me, but if she was in my heart, it couldn’t have me. Not fully.

I was led through dark, damp, and empty halls into a throne room with a dais and a throne crafted of shiny, black wood. My boots echoed on dark polished floors beneath high ceilings with pointed arches and ribbed vaults.

The closer I came to the throne, the more that evil pull increased in strength. Shadows swirled and shifted, and a tall male emerged.

It was him. I felt it in the blood we shared. We had the same brown eyes. Same dark hair. His was slicked back, nearly black. My beard was thicker and wilder, and I was taller. Otherwise… fuck, I looked just like him.

“You claim to be my son?” His angry, rogue shadows trailed behind him like a soul-sucking cape. They whispered. Incomprehensible, but urgent and pleading. They begged to escape and destroy, just barely restrained by his grasp.

“My mother was a servant in Simeon Whitlock’s palace thirty-one years ago,” I answered. “My name is⁠—”

“I know your name, boy. My shadows heard you on your way in.” He circled me like a predator. “Your mother. Blue eyes, black hair? A thin beauty with long legs? You must forgive me. I don’t recall many names.”

Bile rose in my throat. Her name was on the tip of my tongue, but he didn’t deserve to hear it. “I don’t know what she looked like,” I said through gritted teeth. “She died in childbirth.”

“That’s a shame.” He fucking laughed. “She had some spirit at first, though she was willing enough once she understood the consequences.”

My body stiffened, fists clenched and ready to fly.

Aryella Jay Smyth.

Raging shadows crowded my own vision. I repeated her name to center myself.

Aryella Jay Smyth.

I couldn’t kill him. I needed him to get her back.

Aryella Jay Smyth.

Besides, fists were no good against a sorcerer.

“My… son.” He scanned my form, looking unnervingly impressed with what he saw. “Perhaps I’ll keep you around for a little while, after all. What are you here to request of me?”

“I need to be immortal,” I hurried out. “I need to be stuck in time, like you.”

His curiosity piqued. “And why is that?”

“I have my reasons.” He thought she was dead, and it had to stay that way. I would die before I gave her up.

“I am capable of granting your request,” said Molochai, “though I require payment.”

I had suspected as much. “What kind of payment?”

“Kill for me.” Shadows danced excitedly around him and in him. His eyes darkened to a cavernous black. “Be my executioner.”

My remaining scraps of morality and conscience shrieked at me in warning.

Don’t do it…