Song of Sorrows and Fate: A Dark Fantasy Romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 9)

I stepped out of a layer of darkness to Davorin flat on his back, eyes opening slowly.

“You could’ve had so many things in life,” I said.

He snapped up, disoriented. “Where . . .”

To his left was the old palace of House Ode. There were the gilded fountains that had once decorated the lawns. To his right were the gardens that led to the wood.

“You still dream of it,” I said, taking it in.

“What have you done?”

“How do you think the Golden King lived in such a vivid dream?”

Davorin’s eyes burned like hot coals. “You have seidr, not the weaker body magic.”

“Weaker?” I chuckled. “That is one of your shortcomings, always viewing the other clans as less-than. Who stands against you now? Every vein of gods-magic. You know as well as I there are individual strengths, powers that grow. Look at your own dark glamour.”

“A dream walker.” Davorin scrambled to his feet. “You cannot hold me here forever.”

“True, but I can for long enough.”

Davorin let out a cry of frustration and lunged for me. I stepped aside, swifter than he’d ever be able to move. “The beautiful thing about dream walking is I cannot be harmed. I become a phantom in your mind.”

He raged, searching for his blade.

“You won’t find it.” I grinned. “I am interested to see what lives in your dreams. Or are we in a nightmare?”

I shoved against his chest and in a breath, the lawns faded into the throne room of the old palace.

“Ah.” I chuckled when I looked at the thrones. “A nightmare then. No less than you deserve.”

Davorin’s breaths came sharp, his face was flushed and angry. Above him on a golden dais, Ari sat like a true, arrogant king. His hand was clasped with Saga’s. The gown she wore was revealing. Slits along her thighs, low hanging necklines, and thin straps.

Revealing with a purpose—to show the scars across her flesh, the scars Davorin had left behind. Scars she carried with grace and held no pain for her any longer. He was a forgotten nuisance. Not even a bother in her regal life. She sneered at Davorin, still on his knees, and rose to sit on her husband’s lap.

“Could’ve been you,” I told him. “Should have honored her the way they honor each other. You will never forget them, even when you are in the hells. To them, one day, you will be nothing but a distant memory, lost amidst the thousands of new, joyful moments in their long, happy lives.”

Davorin cursed and lunged for me again. I turned and tossed him into another scene.

The Night Folk clans, laughing, their littles all around them as they feasted beside a glittering lake. Plentiful. Happy. Joyful.

“The curses, the anger, the enslavement you brought to their clans—it only brought them together. They chose unity. Enemies chose each other.”

“I’ll kill you,” Davorin seethed through his teeth. “You cannot touch me. You think you can get close to destroying me? I assure you that you cannot.”

“Hmm. We’ll see.” With a heavy slap to the back of his head I tossed him forward again. He landed face down in the courtyard of the Eastern palace.

Ribbons of gold and red lined the branches of the trees. Two boys wrestled each other in overgrown, mossy cobblestones. The Shadow King and Queen laughed with their guild, with Falkyns in the center. A place where wretched masquerades once took place, now was a place of laughter for thieves and an inseparable family.

“Strange how you tried to break two lonely littles, only to help them find the devotion of a family larger than they ever imagined.”

Golden light shimmered toward the edges of the courtyard. Images of Kase and Malin faded. Davorin was gasping, like the anger, the rage of seeing the rise of every kingdom and throne was breaking him piece by piece.

I grinned toward the shimmer. “You’ve lost, battle lord. A man who could’ve had it all. Friendship, armies at his command, love—you gave it away for hate and greed. It was always meant to be your downfall.”

“You can do nothing.”

“So certain?”

My grin widened at the new voice. I reached a hand for the shimmer of gold, and a misty image of Calista stepped forward.

Davorin’s face contorted with rage. “How is she here?”

“She followed her heart song and found me,” was all I said.

“No. This is not Riot’s seidr!” Davorin’s lip twitched.

“Who said anything about the fate king?” I asked, head tilted. “He paved the way for his girl to find her own power and she has. Curious, isn’t it? I think Riot knew exactly how powerful she’d become. I think he knew my soul, my gifts, would be hers. The same way hers bond with mine.”

Davorin clenched his fists. “Soul bonded? It’s not been done. It’s not possible but in sagas of the gods.”

“Then the fates must truly wish you to lose this battle.” Calista popped one shoulder. “For soul bonding has happened to us, you bastard. Silas’s soul sings to mine, and I will find his—even in your dreams.”

Somewhere, distantly, the tang of hot blood burned in my throat. Davorin cried out, clutching his wrists, batting at his chest.

A sneer curled over my lips. “Ah, if I had to guess, the thieving prince is nearly finished.”

“What are you doing?” Davorin bellowed.

Calista squeezed my hand. “We’re coming, Silas.”

“Sing with me, Little Rose.” I faced her. “Trap him here. We finish this now.”

The spectral of Calista glanced at Davorin. “You will not be able to move. You won’t be able to lift a blade until we are finished with you.”

She faded into nothing but emptiness. I closed my eyes, embracing the burn of her heart calling me back, calling me toward wherever she was. Davorin still swatted and raged at the phantom pain on his limbs.

“Wake up, battle lord. Your fate awaits.” I slammed my palm against his chest. Different from a fae sleep where Ari had to fight his way free from the glamour that held him captive, this was nothing but a simple sleep. I could demand it to end at my leisure.

I demanded it now.

I woke with an ache in my skull and the reek of flesh and gore in my lungs. Gunnar’s illusions had faded by the time Davorin’s eyes opened. He spun a bloody knife, a cruel grin on his face when the battle lord shifted back but cried out in pain.

With a shock of horror on his face, Davorin looked at his bare chest, his arms. He’d been stripped and slashed.

“Seems like those sea witch runes don’t do much good if your mind is at rest.” Gunnar chuckled. At his feet were lumps of bloody flesh, inked in spells and runes that would’ve kept Davorin protected from our glamour, mesmer, and fury. They would’ve protected him from a blade created to kill him.

“Didn’t know how far to cut. I tried to get to the bone, just to be safe.” Gunnar tossed the knife into the soil underfoot. The point landed close to Davorin’s feet. “That’s for my wife.”

Blood dripped down Davorin’s skin, draining him of strength. Still, he reached for his blade.

Sing with me. I closed my eyes, a deep sound rolling from my chest. The words Calista demanded in the dream remained fresh in my mind. Warmth surrounded my heart, as though some deeper piece of me knew she felt the pull to the vicious song where she was in the moment.

“Damn you!” Davorin was flung backward. The wrist he’d used to reach for Gunnar’s blade snapped and cracked at a sick angle. Sweat pooled over his brow against a faint glimmer of gold that seemed to shackle his skull to the ground, seemed to clamp his jaw shut.

The ground shuddered. It rocked and cracked. Screams from the sea fae rose.

Gunnar and I stood shoulder to shoulder. Davorin winced against whatever tether Calista’s words had placed around his functions; he watched helplessly as the bit of bloodied earth beneath us shifted and ripped apart from the sea fae camp.

Harald’s tent tilted. Gunnar shoved the canvas aside. I knocked out the poles until the flaps, ropes, and posts tumbled into a crack in the bedrock.

I wanted the sea folk to see this. I wanted them to see it all.

“Silas!” Across the new cracks in the camp, Calista sprinted for us.

Her wild braids were like gilded chains in the sunlight. Her whole countenance seemed to ignite in beautiful light. Perhaps it was only me who could see the burst of her power in her veins, but she was damn radiant.

Amidst the dust and bursts of soil and pebbles, Calista sprinted for the space. “They’re coming! Sing with . . .” She let out a cry when she leapt over a widening piece of broken earth. Calista hardly took a breath before she sprinted for us again. She collided against me, arms around my waist, breaths heavy. “Sing . . . sing with me, Silas.”

I lowered my brow to Calista’s and wrapped her in my arms. Davorin raged, unable to move through the dream song binding him in place.

“You have the words,” I whispered. “We finish this now.”

Calista’s long fingers dug into my waist as the slow, deep tone of my voice tangled with her simple words. A song of safety and protection. A song of justice and the summons of the gifts of fate.

Four thrones of fated light,

Rise and claim your fight.

Each with a place, have it be known.

Rid lands of hate and claim each throne.

Davorin’s head cracked against the ground when another violent shudder knocked the posts of what was left of the tent. Blue flames rushed along the edges of the broken camp. It surrounded the bit of earth we’d robbed away to keep Davorin separate from them.

It ensured they’d keep a distance and left the battle lord to face his enemies.

At the sight of the pyre, sea folk ran about in chaos.

Elise and Valen emerged through the smoke and flames. The queen held a blade, shielding her husband as he lowered to the ground, closer to the edge than before. His dark eyes were locked on the sea folk, then to us.

Doubtless, Valen Ferus was going to attempt to trap everyone in place until the end. Taxing, but determination was carved over his face.

All the gifts.

As if Elise understood the toll it would take on his fury, she gripped his shoulder, the blade in her other hand. Fate was fickle. Elise Ferus was mortal, a non-magical being, yet her simple touch always seemed to burn through the Night Folk king like an amplifier of fury.

Cracks and ravines and bursts of jagged stone devoured the camp. Sea fae scrambled toward the water’s edge. Some were speared by Valen’s assault. Others fled for the trees, desperate to break away from the earth bender.

Some fell to their knees, grasping at roots or stones, cursing the gods.

“A queen of choice,” Calista shouted at the battle lord. He dug his fingers into the soil, cursing and trying to escape the violent shift of earth. “Their power lives in the earth of this land. It strengthens us, fuels us. And you did not defeat them!”

The ring on Davorin’s hand brightened again. A wall of darkness surrounded the camp. Any of the sea folk who readied to fight, who thought they might show a bit of boldness, lost their backbone.

Blades dropped. Sea fae raced away from inky shadows, keen to escape the horrors of the land.

Some succeeded and reached the water. Waves rose, swallowing them out to the depths where they called forth their fierce ships. Others were locked in the ring of shadows and met with every warrior, thief, and Rave from each realm.

At the edge of the broken earth, the Nightrender stepped out, his hand clasped with his Memory Thief.

“A queen of devotion,” Calista roared, her hands still clasped tightly around my waist.

Davorin didn’t try to stand against the rage of mesmer. He met her eyes with hatred in his.

“They have the power of body and mind. They protect us, heal us, they know what it is like to survive cruelty, how it only makes us wiser, slier, and a tad trickier.”

The deadly shadows encircled some of the sea folk caught in the darkness. With a simple tilt to his head, Kase snapped their bodies. Rifters from the Alver folk killed more. Hypnotiks tormented their minds, holding them steady until Malin’s brighter mesmer coiled with her husband’s darkness. More than one fae jolted at the touch of her mesmer.

I hoped they forgot how to breathe and suffocated slowly.

“But my favorite,” Calista shouted, a grin on her lips.

Blood dripped from Davorin’s nose as he fought against the bands of our fate song. He was weary; the wounds on his skin were clearly draining him.

“My favorite part is when a queen with the gift of cunning—” She bowed her head in condescension. “Outwits a sod like you and brings his end with the most honorable lovers you’ll ever meet.”

Calista and I pulled apart.

Davorin let out a rough gasp, free of the bonds, and staggered to his feet. He gasped and spat blood.

Doubled over his knees, his eyes burned in dark hate. He pointed a finger at Calista. “Your head is mine.”

On his first step, the ground shifted again. A rocky ledge stretched through the blue flames, shifting into a vine and sod-coated bridge. A call from the land, not from Valen, but from a queen whose power spoke to the spirit of the kingdom.

Ari and Saga crossed Tor’s river of flames and onto our isolated bit of earth. Davorin’s chest heaved. He reached for Gunnar’s knife and curled his hand around the hilt in the same moment Ari drew the heirloom blade.

“You barely left me anything,” Ari said, glaring at Gunnar. He turned his fiery gaze to Davorin. “We never did finish what we started at the shore that day. I rather detest never finishing a fight.” Ari rolled the blade in his grip. “Shall we?”

Davorin lifted his knife, and gasped when the force of Ari’s strike nearly cracked the blade. A few swipes, a few jabs; the battle lord held his own against the Golden King. But loss of blood and a lack of his protections was taking its toll.

Ari swiped the point of his sword across Davorin’s middle. A deep, festering gash dug into his stomach. Davorin cried out and stumbled to one knee.

Blood stained his teeth as Ari closed the distance between them. The light, playful countenance of the Golden King shifted into something wretched and cruel. He swung the sword against Davorin’s shoulder.

The battle lord cried in pain, dropping his grip on his own blade.

“You threatened my daughter.” Ari slashed again, striking Davorin’s ribs. “One mistake.”

The wounds were scorched, gangrenous; they were infected the longer they festered on Davorin’s body. He shuddered, spitting blood out of his mouth. Ari didn’t slow.

He cut a gash on the lower half of Davorin’s back. “You tormented my wife.”

A stab through Davorin’s hip. The battle lord jolted and gasped, trying to draw in more air.

Ari left the blade pinned in Davorin’s body, gripped Davorin’s hair, and wrenched his head back. “Tormenting her, touching her, harming her,” Ari snarled beside Davorin’s ear. “That was your greatest mistake.”

With more force than was needed, Ari dropped his grip on Davorin’s head. He ripped the sword from his back.

Davorin cursed and cried out. Ari dragged the bloodied tip across the soil and paused at his wife.

He kissed her quickly, then handed her the blade. “He’s yours, sweet menace. However you see fit. His end has always belonged to you.”

Saga gripped the hilt of the heirloom blade. The magic of it wouldn’t fester the same as it did for Ari, but it would kill well enough.

Davorin lifted his head. He held Saga’s gaze, even tried to sneer. It was hard to tell through all the blood.

“I feel nothing for you,” Saga said. “You are a pitiful creature who could’ve had it all, and you destroyed it. What a horrid life you have lived in your crusade of hatred. A crusade you could never win. For our brutality was even greater than yours. It went to the darkest pieces of our hearts. It burns for the ones we love.”

“Ah.” Davorin coughed. “But I did love you so well, little raven.”

Saga did not take his bait. She grinned with the same viciousness as her husband. “You were wholly disappointing. The only man who satisfies me in every way is Ari. He bests you by all accounts.” Saga leaned closer. “He always will, and I swear to you, your name will never cross my lips again.”

Davorin’s eyes darkened. He opened his mouth to spit more harsh words, but choked on a gasp when Saga slammed the point of the blade through the center of his throat.

A look of stun painted his face, as though he thought she might not actually go through with it.

“Burn in the hells,” she whispered, twisting the blade a little more in his neck. A bubble of blood erupted over his lips. Saga yanked the sword free with a grunt.

Davorin’s body wobbled for half a breath, then he fell face down.

Unmoving. Bloodied.

Dead.