Page 69 of Shackled By Shadows

“But at least he’ll be pleased with this,” the second voice continues, a smirk evident in his tone. “It’ll buy some space in his good graces.”

The words sink in, cold and heavy. They knew I was coming. They had known. They waited until the moment when we were most vulnerable, until we let our guard down, exhausted and lulled into a false sense of safety. They struck when we were too tired, too drunk on false security to resist.

My stomach churns with the realization. This was all a trap, one designed for Oberon, yes, but I am still a prize.

A terrifying thought creeps in. I don’t know whether I am leverage to draw Oberon out or if they will simply return me to the cage he helped me escape from. Can they really do that?

The idea of being locked back in that hell is almost more than I can bear. I can't be the reason the rebellion crumbles. Even if Oberon finds me, if he is foolish enough to come looking, I can’t let him. I need to get out of this on my own. I can't rely on anyone else.

With my panic rising, I realize just how much danger I am in. I can feel the heaviness in the air, the weight of what is to come. How long can I stay unnoticed, unconscious even, before they figure out I am awake? Will they come for me now? Will they try to break me?

I swallow hard, trying to force down the fear as the pair walks off. The voices become softer as the distance between us grows.

I can’t tell how long I’ve been in this hellish place. Time feels irrelevant here, an endless stretch of cold, dark silence. They come once a day, tossing a hunk of bread at me, followed by a sloshed cup of water, barely enough to sustain me, just enough to keep me from dying. Sometimes, I can hear their voices outside the bars, talking without concern for my ears. Their words drift in and out, but I catch enough to understand the betrayal. The mountain clans had already pledged themselves to the King before we ever arrived. They welcomed us with a single, insidious purpose in mind. The thought of it curdles my insides.

I feel trapped, suffocating in the darkness, helpless without my magic. My only weapon has been taken from me, locked away beneath layers of fear and pain. As time drags on, I begin to sharpen my focus, forcing myself to confront the memories that hold my power. The nightmares, the screams, the feeling of weakness and helplessness, each one pulling at me, dragging me into the abyss. I’m not afraid of them anymore. No, what terrifies me now is the thought of what will happen if I don’t fight through it.

This time, I make a vow to myself: I will not be weak. I will not let them take this from me. I can feel the pull of my magic, just beyond my reach, and for the first time, I’m not afraid to chase it.

I close my eyes, shutting out everything around me. I can feel the tremors in my chest as the weight of my memories and fears tries to drag me under. I push them away, focusing only on the thrum inside me, the power calling me forward. The vibrations beneath my skin are my magic, my ability to manipulate sound and frequency. It is the pulse of the earth itself, the rhythm of the world.

Slowly, steadily, I tune into that hum, stretching out my senses to align with the natural vibrations of the stone walls around me.

The stone that imprisons me. I can feel its resonance, the subtle frequencies that hold it together, and then, I match them. I coax the vibration in the rock, weaving it with my magic, tuning it until it splinters, until the walls tremble in response.

Yes . . . yes!

The stone begins to crack. The sound is low, a deep rumble that vibrates through the air, reverberating inside my bones.

The walls groan as I push harder, focusing all my energy on the frequencies that hold them together. The vibrations are growing stronger and faster, and the pressure of my magic is threatening to bring the entire place crashing down.

A moment of relief surges through me. I’ve done it. I’ve won.

But the relief is short-lived. In the midst of my triumph, I hear footsteps, faint but unmistakable. The guards have returned.

I open my eyes just in time to see them, moving in the doorway. Before I can react, I see the gleam of a sword’s hilt, a flash of steel.

In a panic, I try to summon more of my magic, to shatter the stone, to bring the walls down entirely, but it is too late. One of the guards is already there, his sword raised high.

A sharp crack echoes through the air, a blow to my head so hard that the world spins violently before everything goes black.

Chapter twenty-nine

Home

When I wake again, I can feel the wards pressed tight around the cell, suffocating my magic.

They have adapted.

For a brief, bitter moment, I feel defeated, then I realize something feels off. The sounds outside the stone walls are growing louder, filling the silence with something far more dangerous. Screams echo in the distance, rising in intensity. There’s a clash of swords, the sickening squelch of blood, and the sharp thud of bodies hitting the ground follows in quick succession. Then nothing, an eerie silence follows.

I force myself into a sitting position, my head spinning from the brutal blow I've taken. I try to focus, to clear the fog clouding my thoughts, but the dizziness still holds me in its grip.

I will the world to still, trying to gather my wits as best I can, but then a wave of shadows crashes over me, a sense of relief, overwhelming and familiar, washes through my body.

I see him.

Oberon stands in the doorway of my cell, the very image of power and wrath. Nothing they have done to keep me trapped has been enough to stop him. With a fluid ease, he steps through the door, and the wards crumble before him. His presence is magnetic, and even in the dim light, he seems to glow with an intensity I can't look away from.