Page 9 of Malice

Adrenaline hums through me. “Come into the light, then.”

“I…cannot.” He wheezes, choking on his own tongue.

“Why not?” I pick up a rusted iron bar and test its weight.

The darkness shifts, churning like the waves of the sea outside. A man’s shape begins to emerge. Tall and lean. Peeled from the darkness, as if the very shadows had cobbled him together and given him life. Tendrils of black unspool from his arms, from his hair, like a child’s unruly curls. Even his eyes are a bottomless jet black, haunting and desperate.

My heart thunders against my ribs as I scramble backward. But the floor is slick with brine and my feet slip. With a yelp, I tumble onto my backside, pain lancing up my spine as the iron bar clatters against stone.

“Forgive me,” the stranger says. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

He moves closer, still refusing to step into the sunlight, and his features begin to solidify. Broad shoulders, strong jaw, chin-length hair falling in inky waves around pronounced cheekbones.

One unnaturally pale alabaster hand reaches out as if to touch me and I scuttle away on all fours.

“Are you…real?” His throat bobs.

It’s not the first time someone has asked me that question—typically drunken imbeciles I encounter at night. Anger quickly replaces the panic sawing through my lungs. I shove myself up to stand, rubbing at the sore spots on my elbows and palms. “Of course I’m real. What kind of question is that? You can see me, can’t you?”

“Yes, but—” He swallows and it looks like it hurts him. “It has been a long time since I had a visitor. Nearly twenty years.”

Twenty years. Something scratches at my brain. “That’s not possible. I’ve never heard of anyone living in the tower.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “I was put here to be forgotten.”

Liar. “If I can open that door, you can. There’s nothing keeping you here.”

“No. I—” He looks at the halo of light at the entrance like a drowning man spotting a piece of driftwood. A muscle flickers in his jaw. “I am bound to the darkness of this tower.”

A wave pounds against the cliff. That’s impossible. But I study the charcoal shadows twining around his ankles, clutching him as tightly as chains. His dark cloak, rippling slightly in a current of wind incongruous to the breeze I feel. The way he is so careful not to step into the shafts of dappled sunlight sneaking through the cracks in the roof. My mouth goes dry.

An enchantment. But who and, most important—“Why?”

“A punishment.” He winces.

“For what?” I press. “It would take strong magic to bind you here. Surely you did something worth remembering.”

“It is strong magic,” he confirms. And I note the rigid set of his shoulders. His shadows sharpen to spears. “I—it was during the war.” He sinks to his knees, one hand clutching his chest. “Please, I cannot say. It is forbidden.” A horrible gurgling sound escapes him.

“All right.” I rush forward before I can stop my feet, understanding flooding through me in a rush. “The enchantment keeps you from speaking of it?”

He nods, gulping down air.

“Dragon’s teeth,” I whisper, kneeling beside him. A tingling suspicion raises the hair on my nape. The only creatures I know to be capable of such magic are the Fae. But they can only summon light magic—surely not this sort. Even so, I have no desire to trifle with them, one in particular. And yet—if the stranger’s crime was so terrible, he would be known. There would be chains and guards and locks. I wouldn’t be able to just stroll inside his prison on a Friday afternoon. “You mentioned a war. Do you mean the War of the Fae?”

He grunts something like assent. And he must, for there isn’t any other war in Briar’s history. But that was centuries past. And this man has been rotting in here ever since? It’s impossible. And yet…here he is.

“Does the enchantment keep you from telling me your name?”

“K—” He heaves a ragged breath. “Call me Kal.”

“Kal.” I test the name on my tongue. “I’m Alyce.”

After a few more hacking coughs, Kal calms. He looks at me, a fine line wrinkling his forehead. “You look. No. It cannot be.” He scrunches his eyes closed and opens them again. Without warning, he seizes my forearm and yanks me toward him.

“Let me go!” But he’s stronger than I imagine. And so painfully cold. Like frosted steel through the sleeve of my dress.

He examines the tracks of green on my wrist. “You are Vila.”