The Darkest Magic by Morgan Rhodes
“If I can help you, princess,” Maddox said, incredibly curious now about what was behind the door, “it would be my honor.”
Cassia pushed open the door. Maddox followed her inside with the others trailing after him.
“This is my one condition,” she said as she stepped aside to give them a view.
In front of them was a large farm-style table, atop of which lay, side by side, three rotting, dirt-covered corpses.
Maddox watched Cassia gaze at the corpses with love in her eyes before she finally looked up and locked gazes with him again.
“You will use your magic to raise my family from the dead.”
Chapter 22
BECCA
The shadow was still with her. Becca could see it lingering in the corner to her right in the Hawkspear Society dungeon.
She knew it was ridiculous to feel any sort of comfort in this, but she did anyway. This shadow—whatever it really was—made her think of Maddox and the spirit he’d trapped.
This dungeon was nothing like the one she had shared with Maddox in Mytica. That one had been much smaller, with impenetrable stone walls, a dirt floor, an iron door, and not much else. Still, despite how forbidding and bare and foreign that place was, Becca had been there as a spirit who could walk through walls and locked doors. She hadn’t felt trapped there—certainly not in the way Maddox had.
And though she’d of course been able to guess how wretched and desperate Maddox felt about being locked away in a place like that, she’d now come to understand those feelings better than ever.
Feelings of being trapped and helpless, with rapidly diminishing hope.
I wish you were here with me, Maddox, she thought. I need you to give me some hope.
Thinking about him helped her stay calm—or as calm as she possibly could, given that Markus King sat motionless in the opposite corner. Sweeping her gaze over Markus again to make sure he was still unconscious, she took in more details about the stark space. The room wasn’t entirely empty; there was a toilet in the corner. In Maddox’s dungeon, she cringed to remember there’d been only a bucket.
Her gaze rested on the door. It didn’t even have an inside handle, but that hadn’t stopped her from trying to push, pull, and force it open several times when they were first thrown in. Nor did it stop her from getting up now and trying once again.
Of course it didn’t budge. Knowing that she was kidding herself, Becca still inspected every wall and every corner, trying to notice anything—even the smallest feature or detail—that might in some way lead to a way out.
“Sit down.”
Becca froze at the sound of Markus’s weary voice.
“You’re going to tire yourself out.”
Markus had looked like hell after whatever Damen had done to him. But now, as she dared to look directly at him, she was surprised to see that he didn’t look quite so bad anymore. In fact, he looked nearly back to normal. The shadows under his eyes were fading, and his complexion was regaining its healthy color.
“You’ve practically recovered,” she ventured.
“Somewhat.”
“So fast? Even after all that Damen did to you?”
“I have ways of recovering that even Damen doesn’t know about.”
“I thought he knew everything.”
“No. Not everything,” he said from the floor, one leg crossed on top of the other, gazing up at Becca. “Is there anything you need to tell me?”
She actually laughed at that—just a short, nervous burst of a sound, but a laugh all the same. “Can’t think of a thing.”
“I’m serious, Becca. A lot happened last night, and I’m sure you’re quite upset about these . . . revelations.”
“What is this? Are you trying to bond with me?” She hissed out a breath, unable to hold her anger in check any longer. “I don’t care about any revelations. I’m not your daughter—I could never be the daughter of a monster.”
“It’s as much of a shock to me as it is to you.”
Becca glanced around the makeshift dungeon, eyes lingering on the as-yet-unexplored area behind the toilet, frantically searching for a way out. “Please tell me there’s a secret passageway out of here.”
“No passageway.” He blinked once. “Tell me about the shadow that follows you, Becca.”
She pressed her lips together. The shadow was her secret, one that was directly related to the book Markus wanted so badly. Which meant that telling him about it would be very dangerous. She forced herself not to look at it.
“This is not a time to stay quiet,” he said, his tone edged with annoyance. “I saw the shadow with you at the breakfast table, and I can see it now, right there, in the corner. There’s no point denying it.” He paused, and Becca just stared down, refusing to look at him. “Today isn’t the first time I’ve seen it.”
Suddenly she brought her gaze up to his. She couldn’t help it—curiosity was burning away some of her fear and anger.
Markus’s expression was tense. “The last time I saw it, it was attached to someone with far more power than you could ever dream of possessing. An immortal named Eva—who is also Damen’s twin sister. She was a sorceress of the elements, and our leader. And my friend.” He narrowed his eyes and watched her as she listened. “You don’t look surprised by any of this.”
She already knew that Eva was Maddox’s birth mother, and in her vision had heard Eva refer to Damen as “brother.”
But . . . twin sister?
Still, she shook her head, uncertain and fearful.
His eyes narrowed. “What exactly do you know about all of this, Becca Hatcher?”
She thought back on her plan to talk to Markus at the masquerade ball. She’d been so confident that sharing with Markus what she knew about Valoria, about the dagger, was the right course to take. That plan had been destroyed when she’d overheard his and Jackie’s conversation.
Now that Damen had entered the picture, it seemed she’d run out of options.
“When I touched the book,” she said, her voice hoarse and quiet, “my body fell into a coma, but my spirit visited Mytica.”
Markus went silent, his expression steady except for a slight widening of his eyes. “Tell me more.”
“Valoria was on the throne. She was hell-bent on finding you and getting the dagger back. Another goddess, Cleiona, ruled in the South, but I didn’t see her.”
“Goddess?” Markus furrowed his brow. “What—how can that be?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. All I know is that I wanted to get back home, and I did.”
His eyes shifted back and forth as if he was trying to make sense of all the information Becca had just set before him. “What about Eva? Did you see her? Did you hear anything of her?”
Markus didn’t know what had happened.
She forced the words out. “She’s dead.”
Markus inhaled sharply. He pressed himself back against the wall, regarding Becca with unshielded shock. “No. Impossible.”
She swallowed hard. “She was killed by the goddesses.”
He continued to stare at her for several moments before he leaped to his feet and let out a roar, a sudden and deafening yell that made her yelp and stumble backward until she hit the wall.
“No! She’s not dead, she can’t be!”
“I—I’m sorry. I am, but it’s true.”
Grief shattered Markus’s expression. He sat down on the floor again and held his face in his hands.
She hated this creature before her, but she also hated seeing anyone having to endure pain like this. Her mouth had gone too dry to speak, and her heart thundered in her chest.
“It makes sense now,” he muttered. “The book . . . the shadow that follows you. It’s chosen a new guardian. And that guardian is you.”
She swallowed hard, trying to gather her composure as much as possible. “What does that mean?”
He was silent, his eyes growing glossy with a distant look.
“Mar
Markus blinked, bringing his gaze back to the present. “It means,” he said slowly, “that we might actually have a chance. That Damen might not succeed in destroying everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve here.” Then he started to laugh, and the hollow, humorless sound chilled Becca right down to her bones.
“What are you talking about?” she forced out. “A shadow isn’t going to get us out of this room.”
“If it was only a shadow, I’d have to agree.” He pushed himself up to his feet again and pointed at the shadow. “But that right there, Becca, is the book’s pure and undiluted magic. And it has attached itself to you in particular.” He laughed, chillingly, again. “Oh, Damen. You’ve helped to brew a perfect storm in here, and you have absolutely no idea. Just wait until you see what you’ve done. I wish I could be there to witness it.”
“If it’s so important, why can’t he see it like you can?”
“Because Damen was never like the rest of us. And this magic—this magic in particular—has been guarded from his eyes.”
Becca had never felt more confused, but she wasn’t about to push him to explain further. Markus King didn’t seem like the type of person who would tolerate being pushed.
“When Damen was draining me of my magic—of my life—he didn’t realize that I was attempting to do the same,” Markus went on after a pause. His voice sounded far off, as if he wasn’t speaking specifically to Becca but perhaps to a small audience. “Damen had a very special kind magic within him before we thought he’d been destroyed forever—special even beyond his ability to influence minds and end lives. He can walk between worlds.”
“The book . . .” Becca thought back to what happened behind Camilla’s cottage, when they were faced with the goddess and her dark scheme to get to Markus and the dagger. “Valoria used the magic in the book on a stone wheel to create a gateway here.”
“Damen didn’t need any book, only his own magic. And I stole a trace of that magic without him realizing it. I also have my magic—what little is left of it. We have that,” he said, nodding at the shadow. “And then we also have what seems to be the most important secret ingredient in this particular recipe. You.”
The final word, especially when directed at Becca, sounded incredibly ominous.
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “A recipe for . . . for what?”
“For sending you back to Mytica.”
She gaped at him, eyes somehow narrowed yet wide with shock at the same time, certain she’d heard him wrong. “Impossible.”
“Improbable? Yes. Impossible? No. It’s vital that you go there and find an immortal at once—even Valoria, if there is no one else. Find them and tell them that Damen still lives. Tell them where he is, that I’m here too. Only an immortal will be able to save this world.”
“Why would they care about this world?” Becca said, her mind reeling and her mouth so dry she could barely speak.
“I didn’t say they would. But I know they care about Damen. They know how dangerous he is. And they know that if they don’t act, he will return one day to seek his vengeance on them. When that happens, everything—I mean everything—will be destroyed. They won’t want that,” he said with a thin, sickly laugh. “It was one of the few common goals that united my people: ridding the universe of Damen.”
“Maybe if you’d accepted him instead of treating him like an outcast, he wouldn’t be the way he—” Becca said frantically before Markus cut her off.
“You don’t understand!” Markus snapped. “Damen can’t be any other way. He is death and chaos and destruction. He can’t ever change, not even if he wanted to.”
This was too much for her. All of this unfathomable information was too overwhelming to even begin to digest. She began pacing the small cell, wringing her hands.
“I know you’re afraid,” Markus said. “I’m not telling you not to be or that you shouldn’t be. This is not a mission that ordinary fifteen-year-old girls are asked to take on. But you’re not an ordinary fifteen-year-old girl.”
“Why can’t you go?” she asked, her voice cracking. “If the magic necessary to make a trip like this possible is in this very room, then why not you? This is your world, your immortal friends or enemies, you’re talking about. Not mine.”
He smiled, but it held no joy. None of his smiles did. “Because to make this work, it’s going to take all of my magic. Every last trace of it.”
Becca remembered what Crys had said the night she woke from her coma, on the stage of this very theater. She said that if Markus was made of magic, and if that magic was fading, he would die because of it.
“Doing this is going to kill you,” she said, stunned yet somehow calmer as one more piece of this puzzle settled into place.
“Yes,” he said simply.
She stared at him, shaking her head. “But why? Why would you make a sacrifice like that?”
“Because, Becca, this is my world to save, not Damon’s to destroy. For that, I am willing to make this sacrifice.” He looked at her solemnly, and for a fraction of a second she could almost forget that the melancholy man before her was the same one who was responsible for so many deaths and ruined lives. “Now, Becca, I can’t make you do this, so I need you to agree to follow through with this plan, knowing what’s at stake.”
She was stunned into such a silence that she wondered if she would ever talk again, let alone answer his question. The thought of going back to Mytica terrified her—even if it meant she might see Maddox again.
But how likely was that? She had no idea how big his world was. She might get there only to find herself all alone, searching, unseen and unheard. Trapped there forever, possibly unable to ever return . . .
But with Damen here, if no one came to stop him, there might not be a world to return to.
Somehow, unsure whether it was her own will or some other force’s doing, she found herself nodding. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I agree.”
With nothing more than a single nod—not a smile or a pat on the head or some comforting words about how brave she was—Markus got to work. Silently and with intense focus, he held his arms out to either side of him.
Becca watched him and realized she still didn’t fully trust that he would do what he said. Was this selfish man actually willing to give up his immortal life for this, even if it was so important?
The idea that he had the ability—the pure desire—to put the future of this borrowed world above his own survival . . . it was a concept so confusing that she could barely steady her mind long enough to think about the journey that lay ahead for her.
Part of her, the fearful part, hoped that Markus would fail at whatever he was trying to do. The other part of her, the brave part, was ready to do whatever she had to in order to stop Damen.
Unfortunately, the brave part of her was much smaller than the fearful part.
Then, seemingly from nowhere, a wind began to swirl around the room, blowing Becca’s hair back from her shoulders. Markus’s eyes began to glow as the inky shadow, governed by the path of the wind, moved toward him. The swirling funnel of air kept gathering force around Markus, the eye of this particular storm.
He shifted his glowing gaze to her. “Farewell, Becca Hatcher.”
All she could do was nod as she grappled to understand what was about to happen to her.
His eyes began to glow brighter. Then he grunted, as if in pain. She watched those dark circles return underneath his eyes, watched his cheeks grow hollow, his skin become sallow and dry, like the skin of a corpse. His chest heaved, as if every breath was a massive undertaking.
And then he cried out. His glowing eyes flashed with blinding light as his body shattered into a thousand pieces . . . and disappeared.
Becca watched, horrified, her hand pressed to her mouth and her eyes burning with the threat of tears.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
He was gone.
In
“I can’t do this!” she said to herself, frantically looking around the cell again, praying that this was all a trick, that Markus had left her a secret passageway after all. “I can’t do it,” she repeated. “I can’t go. Maddox, wherever you are, I need you to give me courage. I need you to be with me for this. I need you to help me. Please.”
She heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in a lock, and her blood ran cold.
Damen. Here to check on his little experiment about the difficult but necessary choices one will make to survive.
Becca watched the door, barely breathing, as it began to creak open.
She closed her eyes, turned, and leaped through the swirling gateway.
Chapter 23
MADDOX
Maddox stood, stunned and speechless, in the room with the princess and her deceased family.
Cassia frowned. “Did you hear what I asked of you?”
“We all did,” Barnabas said. “And the answer is no.”
“I believe I asked Maddox,” Cassia said. Axel and Huck stood on either side of her, their jaws clenched.
“And I believe I have the right to answer for him,” Barnabas said, his tone now completely void of both patience and friendliness. “You can’t be serious about wanting this.”
“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” Cassia said, indignant. “This is my family. The only family I’ve ever known, taken from me by that evil creature that proclaims herself a goddess. I didn’t ask to be the heiress, sentenced to a life of hiding from her unrelenting wrath. I was no threat to Valoria. I was content to live my life quietly, as a normal person, but she destroyed all that for me. And my family is dead because of me—they died protecting me!” Her voice broke, and she grew quieter as she went on. “I—I watched as guards cut my sister’s throat . . . as they slayed my mother and father while they begged for mercy. Begging mercy not for themselves, but for me. They were brave and selfless in the face of their undeserved deaths. It wasn’t their time.”