Dark World (Book I in the Dark World Trilogy) (34 page)

She knew she might feel
something
when she saw him
again. She just didn’t expect to feel this. Nor that it would be
reciprocated.

“
Well,” Vrill clapped his
hands together, snapping the mystical moment between the shade and
demon. “I understand you two know each other?”

Both nodded, eyes never wavering from
one another.

“
Hmm.” Vrill suppressed a
knowing smirk, leaving Fate to wonder if he could read their minds
or if their expressions were that obvious. “Yes, well, I apologize
for disrupting your reunion, but I understand that Prince Kane
wishes to discuss some business with me. So, if it’s alright with
you,” he stated, showing Fate the door, “I will have my servants
show you to your room so you may ready yourself for the ball this
evening.”

Fate smiled in appreciation, frankly a
bit relieved to be leaving. She needed to think.

“
Can I…see you later,” Kane
said, his baritone voice hopeful, tantalizing her with the deep
frequencies.

She pushed a rogue strand of silver
hair from her face and replied composedly, “Of course.”

“
Wonderful!” Vrill
exclaimed, the servants ushering her out of the room. “Shall we,
your highness?” Fate heard the necromancer say as the doors closed
behind her.

She followed the female servants to a
room down the hall, candlelit sconces guiding them through the dark
passage.

“
In here,” one said, bowing
after Fate entered the room. “Someone will come for you when the
ceremony is about to begin.” And with that, they left, closing the
door behind them.

Fate wrapped her arms around herself.
Seeing Kane had caught her off guard. How was it that he was here?
In the same city? Did he track her here?

No. He looked just as surprised to see
her. And just as eager to speak with her. She wondered what he had
to say.

A trickle of fear filtered through her.
What if he really didn’t care for her? What if everything he said
in the garden was still true? That she was dangerous. That he
didn’t trust her.

She felt herself grow cold, knowing she
couldn’t let him in again. Couldn’t let him hurt her again. She’d
play it cool. Keep him at a distance.

If she could.

She looked around the room, the warmth
of the crimson drapes conflicting with the skeletal furniture. An
enormous skull with fangs protruded from the wall with four huge
femurs acting as pillars for the four poster bed. A fire raged in a
corner fireplace, decorated with what appeared to be the finger
bones of some unfortunate creature.

Fate sighed heavily, slumping on the
bed. So much had changed. The world wasn’t the same.

The Surface was so predicable. Sure, it
had chaos and the occasional inexplicable coincidence, but here,
here had no rhyme or reason. No set destiny. No pattern.

On the Surface, at least she could
count on everyone being human. And alive. Here, she wasn’t sure
from moment to moment who she could trust, who was what species,
and so forth.

It frustrated her. She hated living—or
not living in her case—second to second.

Her glowing eyes swept the room,
pausing on something peeking out from the closet. Something
green.

Fate stood and walked to the closet.
Her hand upon the rib-like handle, she pulled, exposing the most
exquisite dress she’d ever seen.

The shade of Northern Lights on a cold
Canadian night, it glistened as though tiny diamonds had been woven
into the fabric. Lifting the dress out of the closet, she held it
up, observing its full glory.

She quickly slipped out of her skirt
and top, then slid the dress over her cool skin, and walked to the
full-length mirror situated in the corner.

Tight in the bodice, cupping her
breasts just so, it then followed the contour of her torso with
boning shaping the corset (she really hoped they didn’t use real
bones). It flared at the waist with long strips of fabric that
flowed freely around her milky legs. Loose straps hung from her
shoulders, cascading the length of her arms like teal
streamers.

She pulled her white hair up, gathered
it into a loose chignon, and left several thin pieces to frame her
face.

Fate stared at her reflection, and for
the first time since she’d arrived, she felt beautiful.

Kane tried to catch his breath and
focus on the task at hand. He hadn’t anticipated seeing Fate, how
could he? How could he have known she was here? Things were
suddenly playing out in his favor. As long as this necromancer,
Vrill, agreed to hand him his city’s scroll, he was that much
closer to saving Dark World from Malus.

“
So,” Vrill began, settling
into a chair, offering Kane another across from him. “You wish to
discuss the scroll.”

Shock ran through him. How did he know
that’s what Kane wanted? He’d only told the necromancers he’d met
outside the city, and they hadn’t been out of his sight. There
hadn’t been any time to tell anyone else.

“
We share the same soul,”
the necromancer explained, responding to Kane’s stunned expression.
“I was informed telepathically.”

“
Oh, I see,” Kane stammered,
still trying to gather his bearings. His thoughts flickered to the
Oracle and his initial theory of her origins. If she were also a
necromancer, wouldn’t she have telepathically warned Vrill of his
intentions? Perhaps he was wrong about her. Maybe she was…something
else. But what?

“
What is your interest in
the scroll?” Vrill asked, silencing Kane’s internal
inquest.

Kane cleared his throat. “I wish to
protect it…all of them, actually, from Malus.”

“
Your mother,” he stated, an
unreadable smile edging across his silver lips. The necromancer’s
sharp, human features looked painted with sterling silver, gleaming
against the eerie light of the Nexus floating behind
him.

Kane’s eyes narrowed and he felt
himself bristle. Nodding, he responded, “Yes, my mother. She needs
to be stopped from collecting the six scrolls and reaching the
Surface.”

Vrill took in a deep breath, mulling
Kane’s words a moment, then stated, “I agree.”

Kane exhaled, he hadn’t expected this
to be so easy. “Wonderful, I…”

The necromancer interrupted, “I agree
that she has to be stopped, but I will not give you my
scroll.”

Kane’s shoulders fell. “But, I need
them all. I plan to collect them…and destroy them.”

“
I understand,” Vrill said,
his voice calm, “but they cannot be destroyed unless they are
altogether.”

Annoyed, Kane felt his anger rising. “I
know that, that’s why I’m trying to collect them all. To prevent
Malus from opening the fissure and populating the Surface with
shades.”

The necromancer chuckled, igniting a
furious fire inside Kane. “Dear prince, don’t tell me that you
don’t know.”

“
Know what?” Kane’s sharp
teeth ground together.

“
Where the hidden scroll is,
of course,” he whispered cryptically, sending a cold shiver down
Kane’s spine.

Kane reluctantly shook his
head.

The necromancer stood, his long robes
trailing loyally behind him as he closed the distance between
himself and the prince.

Leaning over, he hissed into Kane’s
ear, “Why, my dear prince, it’s on the Surface.”

Kane’s thoughts raced in a
thousand different directions, a web of secrets and omissions lay
tangled before him. If it was true, that one of the scrolls was on
the Surface, how was he to retrieve it? He had been taught long ago
that
all
the scrolls were needed to open the fissure. Had he been
misinformed?

His brow furled.
Or
mislead?

Vrill sat across from him, a cryptic
smile adorning his lips.

“
How…” Kane’s voice trailed
off.

“
Indeed.” Vrill nodded in
agreement, a flicker of frustration darkening his swirling
eyes.

“
May I see your scroll?”
Kane inquired suddenly.

The necromancer tilted his head,
seemingly torn as to whether or not to fulfill the request. He then
summoned a shade servant, who’d apparently been stealthily
lingering in a distant corner of the room.

“
Vale,” Vrill started,
“would you be so kind as to retrieve our scroll…” he paused, then
added, “all of them.”

Kane’s blood surged. Vrill had more
than one scroll?

The shade left the room via a door to the
left, returning moments later holding a metallic box no longer than
a foot in length. Polished steel, the container boasted a solid
gold lock in which Kane could sense was enchanted. As it should be
if it contained one—or more—of the sacred pages of the Devil’s
Bible.

His breath held in his chest, the large
demon leaned forward, his eyes locked on the metal box as Vale
placed it on a table between them.

Vrill whispered a disenchanting
spell, his hands waving over the box, and the golden locked
relinquished a tiny
click
.

The tension that gripped the room was
smothering. His fists clenched, Kane felt his talons shredding his
palms. Pearls of sweat gleamed from the necromancer’s forehead as
he raised the lid. Soundless, the box was suddenly open. Its secret
contents revealed. Three wound scrolls lay within, crimson ribbons
lacing them shut, tattered edges and ocher hue betraying their true
age.

Vale took a step forward, his hands
open. His master nodded, giving the shade permission to handle the
ancient pages. Gently taking one into his pale hands, he released
the red bow by pulling its loose strings. The antiquated paper
unfurled with a crisp sigh. With a delicate hand, Vale unrolled the
first paper and read its contents:

“
There can be only
one,

Upon the throne of
blood.

A ruler amongst
fiends,

A leader over beasts and
sub-creatures.

Old will expire,

New will succeed,

But only one is meant to
be,

Meant to reign,

Meant to rule.

The Devil’s heir.”

The shade took in a breath, rolled up
the scroll and reached for another.

Opening the second scroll, the shade
continued.

“
A secret
underworld,

Alive beneath the feet of
man.

To rise,

To ascend,

The races must
blend,

Must blur the lines of
disparity.

Must come
together,

With the pages
united,

Dark World will be
enlightened.

Darkness will meet the
Light.”

Kane’s mind reeled.
The races must
blend.
What
does that mean?

Vale gently set the second scroll back
into the metal box. Kane wasn’t certain, but when the shade grabbed
the last scroll, he thought he saw his hand shake. He slowly
unfurled it, took a deep breath, and read,

“
I am legend,

I am lore,

I am the essence of
nightmares,

The dawn of fear,

A fallen angel,

A winged beast,

Spawn from the seeds of evil
and black magic,

I am Lucifer,

Lord of the
dark.”

As the shade’s velvety voice trailed
off, angry blood surged through Kane. Standing, his chest muscles
twitching, he shouted, “That’s the demons’ scroll!”

“
Calm yourself and I will
explain,” Vrill said with a neutral tone, rising and signaling Vale
to take a step back. The shade complied, his eyes wide and locked
on the demon.

Kane’s body vibrated with fury. How
dare this being enter his palace and steal from his people. He’d
stolen his inheritance. His father’s words.

“
You’d better have a damn
good reason,” Kane spat through a clenched jaw.

“
As a matter of fact, I do.” The
necromancer sat, seemingly unaffected—and unafraid—of Kane’s rage.
His swirling eyes shifted from Kane to Kane’s seat, his hands
folded in front of him, fingertip to fingertip. Kane exhaled
sharply, then sat with a hard
thump
.

“
Alright,” Vrill began, his
gaze moving to the glimmering Nexus in the center of the room.
“This,” he waved his hand in the orb’s direction, “is our—the
necromancers’—soul. Without it, we cannot exist.”

Kane turned his head to observe the
bluish sphere, nodding.

Vrill continued. “Many thousands of
years ago, a being of great power raised me from the dead, thus
creating the first necromancer.” His hands opened up, presenting
himself as the first necromancer.