SHADE OF FLAMES
CHAPTER ONE
The darkness pressed into him like a freshly sharpened blade, and in two days, his father would execute him for treason. Walker should’ve been terrified, yet the longer he stood in silence, the more numb he felt.
He sighed. The only one that ever risked anything for him always came. Lyla always came.
His breaths stirred the stale air as he stood shackled in the same finery he wore fourteen days ago. Dirty, wrinkled, and worn, it clung to his large frame. The cold, rusted bars met his fingers, damp earth flooding his senses as he pressed his face against them.
Empty cells. Rows and rows of them.
The dungeon swallowed the light, save for what spilled onto the steps, a pale orange flickering across the old, textured gray walls. They spiraled toward pristine marble floors, dark walls, and hallways decorated with gilded frames and perches for the bonded ravens flying about.
Death sat beyond those steps.
Buzzing rang in his ears—the silence was stifling, the darkness too. Not a sound brushed the air except the same droplet of water since he’d arrived. It was a sound that had kept him sane, and yet, he’d lost count of how many had fallen after the fifth day. Counting proved to be pointless.
He ached to hear Lyla’s footsteps, though, regardless of how many times he told her not to come—regardless of how many times she was punished for it. She was always punished.
Starvation was his fathers favorite for her—locked in the north tower with no food for a week. Walker’s hands clenched at the thought.
He’d be whipped, she’d be starved. Yet she would still care for his wounds despite how hungry she was—an endless cycle.
This time would be no different, even if it meant risking her own suffering. Perhaps their father knew she’d attempt to unshackle him, locking her away too. Walker had hoped she’d be here by now, but that was starting to dwindle—not that he had much hope left anyway.
But with it was his happiness. His freedom.
And he’d wasted that freedom on aiding their enemy. Though, thinking back on it now…
Well, he’d do it again if it meant the people of Wynthril were free of his father’s fire. His fire. The Aurens of Wynthril were the very people his kingdom hunted.
His wrists burned, and the metal clinked as he dropped his hands and sighed again. Hunger gnawed at him, his stomach twisting despite eating that moldy bread earlier, picking off what was edible. It wasn’t enough.
Sliding down the wall again, chains smacked against the ground as he settled himself, knees drawn up. He grazed his aching wrists, his power dampened by the magic-smothering shackles that left red marks along his skin. It writhed, itching to be released.
It made his skin crawl.
Regardless of how unnatural it was to have his power stifled, it caused nothing but destruction––his father being proof of that as Wynthril burned beyond Kaidos borders.
One of three neighboring kingdoms.
Walker had spent a year dismantling his father’s throne in the shadows. One single year was all he had before getting caught.
The thought of a noose around his throat caused a shudder to run through him, forcing him to suck in a breath. If Walker died, everything he’d worked for would go with him. Something he’d regret if it did. Wynthril would fall, and the Aurens would continue to suffer the same abuse he did.
Time blurred the longer he sat, his thoughts circling on an endless loop. But then, as his eyes drooped, the faintest of footfalls finally broke the silence.
Walker stumbled to his feet and gripped the bars to peer down the corridor. Quick breaths brushed the air.
A darkened silhouette emerged from the spiraled stairs, curls bouncing as she strode forward on pattering feet. His heart raced as he eyed the metal keys in her grasp, and let out a long breath. She came.
“Lyla,” he croaked, then cleared his dry throat.
She fumbled with the keys before finding the one she wanted and jammed it into the lock, twisting. Creaking metal swung wide, and she stumbled in, her delicate hands reaching for the shackles.
With a soft snick, they clanked to his feet.
He groaned when the heat of his magic scorched his blood, warming his entire body within a second. He shuddered. Lyla’s reddened eyes lifted, meeting Walker’s gaze with a pinch to her brow. A mirror to himself almost, as he stared down at her––crimson-flecked gray eyes and dark hair.
Her lip quivered, tears falling to her cheeks. Then she let out a broken sob before crumpling into him, arms flung around his waist in a tight squeeze. Walker’s hand dove into her hair, his grip tightening around her shoulders, and inhaled.
“I love you,” she cried, her body racking with another sob. “You were the only thing that––that mattered to me.”
“Come with me,” he mumbled, and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Please. We can leave together.”
Lyla had seen more at seventeen than a honed Kaidos warrior—she suffered just as much as he did, if not more in some ways. And despite their eleven year difference, they were close.
“I––I can’t.” She pulled back and stole another glance toward the stairs. Her hands bunched in his soiled shirt. “He knows what I’m doing. Father sent me down here to free you.”
Walker's stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”
“You have to run.” She sobbed, her face twisting with dread. “Run, Walker. You’re out of time. He’s releasing the Shade Hounds. He’s setting you up––you have to go. I’m—I’m here a few minutes early. To give you a chance. Please.”
With his magic slowly crawling forward, a small simmer of heat prickled his skin. She’d spoken the truth. Walker’s hands curled into tight fists. His father never planned an execution, but a torture. A quick death wasn’t something his father frequented, often dragging out the torment.
He wanted his victims to feel it.
Anger tore through Walker’s body, leaving him trembling with it. Lyla meant everything to him, and his father knew that he’d want to take her. Only now he couldn’t.
“Now,” Lyla choked out. “Go now!”
Walker cursed and wondered what type of punishment she’d receive for arriving earlier than planned. Perhaps this was his father’s way of driving the knife into Lyla’s heart. And his. A final farewell before he was ripped to shreds.
“I love you,” he whispered and kissed her forehead, darting down the darkened corridor without a glance back.
Shame crept in, though, feeling like a coward for leaving her behind.
With his heart already pounding, his boots thundered against the steps as he raced upward with panted breaths. Reaching the top, he bolted left and dashed for the doorway at the end of the corridor.
If he was lucky, Walker would only have a few extra minutes, because the moment the hounds caught his scent, it’d be over for him. And his father would ensure he suffered.
Unless he could make it to the cliff.
Crisp air hit his lungs as he stumbled into the night, darkness blanketing the forest beyond the castle. He blinked, adjusting to the moon's dim glow and his recuperating magic. It simmered beneath his skin, but it wasn’t quite ready to be used.
Then howls pierced the air, paws slapping against mud just around the corner. They’d been released. Fuck.
Regardless of the nausea curling in his stomach and the urge to remain planted in fear, Walker sprinted through the forest. His heart raced.
Trees blurred past, the forest cloaked in heavy mist as he ran down the muddied path, boots catching on fallen branches. He cursed when leaves whipped at his face, then swiped at his cheek as he sprinted further into the trees.
Dew dripped from his hair and onto his shirt, clinging to him like a second skin. He knew where he aimed to flee if he could manage it—Iskgard and its icy terrain.
He had no time to grab anything, not even a cloak. That would have only slowed him down.
“Can’t go much further, prince!” a warrior called out, and howls sundered the air.
Adrenaline surged his veins at the sound and he pressed forward, too frightened to stop. Seconds is all it would take for a Shade Hound to clamp down and end his life.
But not before they tore into his flesh.
He grumbled in frustration as days of spoiled food left his legs fumbling and weak. Though Walker’s brewing anger was the only thing that kept him going, knowing that if he escaped, he’d eventually get retribution. Just not right now.
He glanced over his shoulder and despite that anger, his hands shook with adrenaline. The hounds' panted breaths drew closer and closer, paws pounding over rock and mud. Another snarl tore through the night.
They were gaining on him. He just needed to reach the cliff––to flee the fate waiting for him. That was it.
Walker peered up and his chest tightened, ducking behind a tree to catch his breath. Thick trees hid the moon’s dim glow, streaks of pale light filtering through their branches.
He cursed and pushed off with a grunt, running the last stretch. His vision blurred, the cold wind biting at his eyes. He was almost there.
His boots hit the hardened ground as he flew forward, the rocky cliff of Draken coming into view after a few seconds. If he wasn’t running for his life, he might have grinned a little.
Freedom was only a few feet away.
Walker sprinted.
Seconds felt like hours when the hounds roared again––closer than they had been––forcing him to push harder. Faster. Magic finally surged beneath his skin in a flood of heat. He sped up and his boots hit the edge of the cliff, scraping rock.
He jumped.
With a grit to his teeth, a heated shudder ran across his skin, arms flailing, bones twisting as he fell into the night. A roar clawed from his throat just as raven wings replaced arms and black feathers sprouted along the body he’d spent years honing.
Then he soared.
Shifting was something he hadn’t told the king he could do. Shade royals of the past had been able to shift into ravens, but that hadn’t happened in centuries. An advantage he was thankful for at the moment.
He flew higher, flapping into the sky, and watched as the hounds skidded across the cliff, one falling over the edge with a sharp yelp. Rock and sediment crashed below before silence filled the air.
Walker hovered in the sky, wings beating relentlessly, and that patient anger he often kept buried rose to the surface. He was owed retribution for everything he’d endured in that cursed castle.
Even if it took him a lifetime, he was going to claim it. And with it, his father’s life.
He stared at the hounds, circling for a scent they couldn’t track. Not anymore at least.
Without another glance, he soared for Wynthril––to the last sky barge set for Iskgard––his only means of escape, and the only way he’d survive his own execution.
CHAPTER TWO
Fires exploded across the city, leaving Darcie Whittle to flinch as she curled further into the disintegrating alley wall. Stone scraped against her back, and rocky debris fell to her feet.
The very walls trembled as Kaidos warriors flooded the streets, searching for Aurens to slaughter.
They were out for blood, and Wynthril was crumbling despite their best effort. Smoke curled in the air, melding with the screams beyond the burning walls and ancient rooftops. Even though Wynthril warriors held strong against the west side of their bordered lands, that did little to keep the fire at bay.
Darcie’s grip tightened on the satchel across her chest, and bit her lip. Just two weeks ago she’d walked these streets with her father, buying what herbs they didn’t have at home. Now, as the salt from the sea dissipated––smoke, sweat, and grief took over. And as those screams hit the air, Darcie’s own fear began to rise.
Fleeing was her only option.
“There’s no room left,” the captain said, brows drawing close together. Lanterns flickered along the alley, hardly bright enough to catch the pity in his eyes as he peered down.
She clenched her jaw, holding back what would be an annoyed retort as she argued with the captain of Ruin’s Wing set for tomorrow night. Smoke burned her eyes, stinging until they watered before coughing into her elbow, too thick for her lungs.
“And what about after that?” Darcie gazed into his eyes, and her stomach dropped. She knew what his answer was just by the look he gave––it was the last sky barge out of Wynthril.
The captain sighed. “We haven’t heard from Ruin in four days. There’s no way of knowing if the routes are even safe. We have to pause them.”
Ruin was the leader of an Auren rebel group in Wynthril, and within the last six months he’d secured the barge––rumors she couldn’t confirm nor cared to at the moment. Not when she was searching for a way to avoid the snare of the Kaidos warriors.
From what her father had told her, Iskgard was allowing refugees into a few of their villages for the time being. And everyone decided to flee, the same as her it seemed, given the fact that there wasn’t a single seat left.
Darcie winced as a shriek of clanking metal cut through the air and glanced at her hands. Stained from the soot of residual fire and not blood, hoping they’d stay that way.
No. She wasn’t a warrior.
But the Aurens were being hunted by the King of Kaidos and she wanted out before being captured. Something that would happen sooner rather than later.
“You leave tomorrow. Surely there will be room for me by then. I have nothing left––please,” she begged, uncomfortably shifting her feet on the soot coated brick, and adjusted her bag.
Darcie hated that she had to resort to begging, but she was determined to be on that barge, whether she had to beg or not. Perhaps she could sneak onto it while no one was looking, but only if they denied her passage. She was good at that—becoming utterly invisible around everyone, and sneaking onto the barge would be no different.
The captain remained silent, blinking.
She gritted her teeth. “What am I supposed to do? They killed my father. I have no family, no friends to turn to––this is it for me.”
The wide alley felt smaller, as if the walls began to close. No one was coming. Despite how desperately she wanted it, there was no one to prevent her from boarding the barge. There was nothing left in Wynthril––not anymore.
She traced a finger over the Healer’s relic resting on her thumb over and over, if only to prove that it was real. That he was real, the very last piece of her soul. And the harder she rubbed, the more the absence of her father twisted her heart.
She’d never forget the way he fought, even when the Kaidos warriors inspected him like an animal, right before they forced him to kneel and took a knife to his throat. Darcie had been on her way home from the market when she witnessed it beyond the trees, fleeing the moment it happened. Just like he told her to.
She’d been on the run since.
And now he was gone from her life as if he were nothing but a worn memory, lost to the wind and sea.
Darcie only scoffed at the captain and shook her head, defeat sitting heavy on her chest, and fixed her gaze on the haze filled sky. Not a star in sight. Only a reminder of the destruction inching closer and closer to the north edge of Wynthril.
Then a raven landed on the metal post hanging off the bricked wall when she finally swiveled back, her eyes pleading.
The captain sighed a long, exasperated breath. “Come back tomorrow before dusk. I might be able to make a spot, but there’s no guarantee.”
Darcie stumbled forward, her heart clenching. “Really?”
He nodded and rubbed the back of his bald head. “Yes. We’ll try to get you on it. Just don’t be late.”
She watched as the burly man looked both ways before exiting the alley, vanishing around the corner in seconds, now lost beyond the smoke. Even with the haze and soot, Darcie’s eyes landed on the raven again––black as night and carefully watching her. The sign gently swayed, the smoky breeze rustling its feathers.
It blinked, tucking its wings further into its side.
“Care to share your wings? I could use a flight to Iskgard,” she mumbled, chuckling to herself despite the destruction in the air. Another thing she was good at––swallowing the fear and grief before it consumed her.
To her surprise, the raven let out a low, rasping sound––not quite like a caw, but something lighter perhaps. Something close to a chuckle right before it flew off, disappearing from sight.
Walker glided toward the open window, his raven eyes blinking as the smoke curled itself around his beak. The air was thicker here, much thicker than the dewy mist on Draken cliff. His father was responsible for the destruction he saw below—buildings and walls crumbling as he soared through the fiery haze.
A shudder tore through his body as he shifted, shedding the feathered form and landing right inside the captain's office in one swift motion. His boots thumped on the floor, his hair windblow and dirty from running.
Conroe would arrive in a few minutes, if only to move around the refugees on the sky barge set for Iskgard. Even if Walker had no control over what happened the last two weeks, guilt had crept in when he saw that woman begging, knowing that because of him, buildings burned. And he knew the captain wouldn’t have been able to say no.
Still, he wasn’t sure how his father had discovered the truth about his involvement with the Aurens. Either way, he felt responsible, just as he always did.
Familiar boots thudded against the wood when the door creaked open, Conroe pausing as soon as the lights flicked on. His spine straightened, mouth falling open as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Walker,” Conroe murmured with flaring eyes, then shut the door on a soft, urgent click. “Where have you been? What happened to your face?”
He hadn’t seen Conroe in two weeks––not since his fathers guards cornered and accused him of treason.
The cold, hard truth.
He was dragged to the throne room, but not before the guards landed a few blows to his jaw and another to his ribs, which were still sore. Forced to kneel, he was disgraced and shackled in front of the Shade court, including his own mother. He’d never forget the horror on her face.
The disappointment.
“Fleeing my execution,” Walker said. Conroe knew the prince was involved with dismantling his fathers throne, only one of a handful of trusted Aurens that knew.
“He discovered it,” Conroe mumbled and then cursed, unable to hide the shock in his voice. “What now?”
Walker sat in the chair across from Conroe’s desk and sighed. He wasn’t sure how to answer that question, something he’d been asking himself in the dungeon the last two weeks. His hand came up to the unruly scruff on his jaw, then exhaled and screwed his eyes shut.
Over the years, Walker had been slowly pushed to rebellion the longer the abuse from his father went on. At first, he thought being the perfect, silent heir was best, if only to keep the abuse off him. Then he’d realized that his silence was complicity, and hated himself for it.
He’d finally had enough last year.
His defiance started off with feeding information to the King and Queen of Wynthril before sabotaging weapon convoys. Then escape routes were created––smuggling magical Auren refugees into Iskgard. Conroe helped formulate the escape plans, slowly disrupting the destruction across Wynthril. Still, that did little in comparison to what was happening outside.
“Have you heard from Ruin?” Conroe asked.
Walker shook his head. “Have you?”
“A letter four days ago, but nothing since then,” Conroe said. “I think he's been laying low since the fire’s started. Everyone who’s been helping has fled.”
The weight of it all pushed down on Walker––the decisions and responsibility to keep the destruction off Wynthril’s borders. He wanted a world where Kings and Queens ruled together instead of fighting for power, but most of all, retribution for everything his father had done. And because of that, he had to find a way into Iskgard––they needed aid.
“I need to be on the barge tomorrow,” Walker mumbled, breaking the silence.
“There’s no room.”
“Make room. For me and that woman in the alley. She looked desperate,” Walker held his stare, elbows resting on his knees. Conroe sat behind his desk, though a hauntedness crept over his features, as if the last two weeks were just as hard on him as it was for Walker.
“What of the routes? Do you think we should stop our travels?”
Walker leaned back. “I’m not sure. I heard whispers in the castle of him sending out warriors toward the border. Now that I’ve fled, he’ll be searching for me. It’ll be a risk.”
“Can’t you make the flight yourself?” Conroe asked, letting the question dangle between them. Walker knew he meant by his raven wings.
He only shook his head. “Not of that length. Not right now at least.” His injuries would prevent it. Hunger too.
A heavy silence stretched, both lost in thought as if that silence would somehow reveal the path they should take. It seemed that no matter the direction, it was bound to falter. Walker had only hoped that they’d be able to leave Wynthril and enter Iskgard in one piece.
Now that he was labeled a traitor, it was his last chance to do something good among the kingdoms. Because if Iskgard stood with them, they could be the very thing that pulled Wynthril from the war, and Walker was set on winning them over.
After departing from Conroe, Walker found himself flying across Wynthril as he had one last thing to do before tomorrow night. Sunrise was still hours away, but even as sleep tugged at him, he soared for the rocky cliffside.
Fires had gone out and the haze diminished, but the scent of burnt flesh and wooden structures remained. A breeze hit his wings, pushing him further toward the coast, eyeing the Auren castle in the distance. He didn’t know where else to go––even if it was late––knowing sleep wouldn’t come unless he did this first.
Familiar pale blue curtains danced in the wind, the glass balcony doors wide open. His heart clenched—they were always left open for him. Within a few seconds, he shifted and quietly landed in Alani’s darkened suite.
The Auren princess.
During the time he’d fed the Auren royals information over the last few months, he’d grown close to Alani despite being a Shade.
They’d shared a bed a few times, though that’s as far as it ever went, as Walker couldn’t give her much of anything. It was the only relationship he’d been able to keep from his father. If his father ever discovered it, he’d probably torture Alani before killing her.
Shadows clung to her elegant suite except for the bed where the moon’s pale streaks filtered in from the balcony. With quiet steps, Walker strode forward, watching as Alani’s chest rose in steady breaths. Laying on her side, golden hair spread across the pillows, glinting like liquid moonlight.
Alani was beautiful, and even though nothing could ever bloom between them, he knew she cared. She’d be worried if she didn’t see him before parting ways. He also knew that rumors spread like wildfire, and wondered what she’d heard in the time he was gone. He grazed her arm, and her eyes lazily fluttered open.
“Walker?” she whispered, blinking. “Oh, gods.”
Her eyes flared and she sucked in a sharp breath before jolting to her knees, arms flying around his neck. Walker wrapped an arm and pulled her close, fingers tangling in her hair while the familiar scent of salt and jasmine filled his lungs.
“Did you miss me?” he asked lightheartedly, but a sadness crept in when she buried her face with a sniffle. “What did you hear?”
“Everything. Father said you were to be executed in two days.” She pulled back, fisting his shirt with glinting tears. “How did you get out?”
“Lyla,” was all he said.
His brows furrowed, then he wiped her tears with a thumb. Her eyes closed on a broken sigh, head shaking in his hands as if she could finally breathe. That made two of them.
“Will she be okay?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he’ll kill her since she’s the only one capable of heirs,” Walker said as Alani sank back on her heels. Then he sighed a long breath. “I just wanted to tell you––”
“Don’t say it,” Alani choked out. “Please, don’t say it.”
“I’m leaving.”
A huff of disbelief. “You could stay here. Your father doesn’t know you’re helping us, does he?”
Walker wasn’t sure what exactly his father knew, but their time together was never meant to last. His feelings never grew into love, but he cared deeply, which was why he bothered with a goodbye at all. Normally, he would have slipped to Iskgard without a word, but he owed her peace of mind. They’d shared a bed, after all.
“You knew this was always the plan,” Walker murmured. “Kaidos warriors continue to push into Wynthril––he’s already swept over Foxharrow and Healers Grove, and now Mossgrave. I have no choice but to leave for Iskgard.” Which was true.
His father had already burned a few Auren cities, capturing what people they could to take back to the castle and torture. If he waited any longer to leave, he was afraid he’d never make it to Iskgard at all.
“You’re lying to yourself,” she clipped, eyes flashing. “You only care about revenge and will go through any lengths to get it. We’ll win the war, isn’t that enough?”
“And what if I am? You forget I’m a Shade, Alani––it’s my nature, I’m no better than he is. He deserves everything that’s coming.”
Her brows drew close. “How could you say that, after all you’ve done for Wynthril? You’re better than he is. Can’t you let it go, just this once?”
“No,” Walker growled and stepped back, shoving a hand through his dirty, dungeon dusted hair. That simmering anger scorched his skin for a breath, twisting into something darker. He hated that side of himself, especially when his frustrations rose. And having his magic smothered for two weeks didn’t help.
His hands clenched, quickly stifling the rising heat in his palms. He stared through the open balcony doors and into the darkness. Something that was as dark as the hole in his chest.
Even though rumors floated around in Wynthril, Alani hardly knew the extent of his father’s cruelty. Even if he told her everything, she’d never look at him the same. After all, there was some truth to those rumors—truths he hated admitting. Walker was just as guilty as his father.
“We’re done, aren’t we?” she murmured, a lone tear falling to her cheek. Walker nodded.
She released a shaky sigh and reached for his hand, giving a small squeeze. Then a warm tingle raced along his skin—up his arm and across his face in a flood of pale light.
Healing magic. Even though Alani wasn’t a Healer, all Aurens had some ability to heal small wounds, including the ones on his face. The dull throbs and aches eased within seconds.
He gave her a grim smile. “Thank you.”
“When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow night.” He reached into his pocket and extended a letter, thankful she didn’t continue to push for him to stay in Wynthril. “Could you give this to Lennon in the morning? It has army movements and plans for the next month.”
She nodded. “Do you need somewhere to rest?”
He huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m not clean enough to sleep in your bed.”
“Then why don’t you bathe. You left clothes here the last time just in case, remember? You’ll have something fresh to wear before you leave,” she said, letting the words hang between them. An invitation.
Finally, after a few breaths, he gave in and nodded. She rose to her knees and tugged him close as a hand rose to his face. Then she pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth.
Despite himself, he welcomed the touch of her lips and deepened it with a groan, pulling her in, his tongue sweeping across hers. He enjoyed kissing—the intimacy, even if it was fleeting.
And it felt like a goodbye.
He wasn’t sure when he’d see her next, soaking in what he could before pulling back and striding to the bathing chamber on heavy, weary feet.
After bathing, he settled beside Alani and tried to rest with an arm folded behind his head, only gaining a few hours before light broke across the burning embers of Wynthril. She lay curled at the edge, the quilt drawn to her neck, her peaceful expression a stark contrast to the nightmares that invaded him every night.
Walker rose and stood at the balcony doors, his gaze drifting toward the distant horizon. His hands slid into his pockets. How long before his father destroyed everything? Burned it to ash until nothing remained? The thought tightened in his chest—he feared he was already too late.
As the first golden light crested the jagged peaks, he stole one final look at Alani, spared her the weight of another drawn out goodbye, and slipped away.
