We followed the warriors into a grand castle, its black-and-white stone walls looming over the mountain we stood on. The endless darkness stretched beyond the horizon, shrouding everything in shadow except for the castle itself and the scattered pinpricks of light dotting the city far below. The treetops were hidden in the abyss, leaving only the starry sky as a guide to the world around us.
“What does your High Lord want with us?” I asked the scarred warrior, clutching the cape he had given me.
He seemed to hold a position of authority; the other guards deferred to him, walking silently beside and behind us, their bulky forms clinking faintly as their armor shifted.
Sofia and Chiara flanked me on either side, their massive wolf forms dwarfing the narrow hallway yet seeming small compared to the towering space we traversed. Despite their size, the corridor made them appear almost like pups, the ceiling stretching impossibly high above us.
“With your companions? Nothing,” he replied curtly, his voice laced with suspicion. “They are free to leave if they wish. As for you…” He paused, his gaze sharpening. “That is for the High Lord to explain.”
We continued in silence until we stopped before an immense set of double doors. Rising impossibly high, they dwarfed even Sofia and Chiara, and looked to weigh several tons.
With a low groan, the doors swung open, unleashing a rush of air steeped in amber and musk.
The scarred warrior turned to me before we entered, his tone calm but tinged with warning. “It would be unwise to attempt any harm against our High Lord,” he said. “You would not leave here alive.”
I met his gaze with unwavering defiance. “We came through the portal to escape the Fae trying to kill us. Death is the last thing we want.”
My eyes sparked faintly, power flickering just beneath the surface. If my words affected him, he gave no indication. Without another word, he pivoted and led us into the room.
It was unmistakably a throne room. Massive pillars of black and white stone stretched upward, disappearing into a ceiling as dark and infinite as the night sky. The dais at the far end of the room drew the eye, crowned by a throne carved from shimmering stone that seemed to hold the light of stars within it.
There, sitting upon it, was the High Lord of the Night Court. His crown, a weave of shadow and starlight, rested atop hair so dark it shimmered like polished obsidian with hints of deep blue. His eyes were fathomless voids, so dark they seemed bottomless, accentuating his otherworldly appearance. Rings adorned his fingers, which tapped lightly against the armrest of his throne as he regarded us.
Sofia and Chiara stiffened beside me, their awe mirrored in their wide, unblinking eyes. This realm, with its strange beauty and intoxicating magic, left an impression on anyone who entered. But it was the High Lord himself who commanded their attention.
Unlike others I had met, he wore no glamor to temper his raw presence. He stood before us as he truly was, unfiltered and dazzling in his power.
“Isabella De Luca,” he said, his deep voice reverberating like a storm across the stone walls. A breeze stirred the air as he spoke. “I owe you my thanks. Because of you, I sit here today.”
His words left me reeling, scattering my cautious thoughts of escape. Panic had whispered of battle, a desperate fight to return to the portals-but gratitude? That was unexpected.
“You’re confused,” he continued, his voice softer now. “It’s been some time since I’ve spoken to anyone. As you likely know, I was gravely ill for quite some time.”
I frowned, piecing together his meaning. “You’re thanking me… for killing your sister?”
His expression didn’t shift, though his tone grew heavier. “Unfortunately, Marinella still lives. Her body remains animated, though there is little left of her soul.” His frown deepened, the severity of it aging him. “Tell me, Isabella, how much do you know of this realm?”
“Not much,” I admitted. “I’ve barely scratched the surface.”
“In this realm, magic takes many forms,” he began. “Among them is a dark, ancient power-magic that can only be contained through cursed objects. These relics, scattered across our world by the hands of the gods, are as dangerous as they are elusive. Marinella possesses one of these objects.”
My chest tightened as his words sank in. “And that’s why I’ve killed her twice, yet she still walks.”
The High Lord nodded grimly. “While I was being poisoned, Marinella scoured my mind and unearthed what she sought. The artifact she wields is called the Dia Artifact.”
“What does it do?”
“It is a cursed piece of jewelry, capable of shifting its form to evade detection. But its true purpose is far more sinister.” His expression darkened. “The Dia Artifact grants its wearer three lives-three chances to cheat death. But with each death, something is taken from them. Few have used the artifact in the past five millennia, and those who did returned irrevocably changed. Their second and third lives brought only devastation.”
“And Marinella has already been killed twice,” I said, the reality sinking in. “She’s on her last life.”
The High Lord’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with both anger and worry. “Yes. And that final life may be the most dangerous of all.”