Page 109 of The Edge of Darkness

“But she was surprised when she recognized the power,” I pointed out.

“You have visited her?” the wraith implored.

“We have. And she seemed . . . worried, to say the least.”

“Then it was not her doing. She is not my goddess, so I do not claim to know her ways, but what I do know is that she did not want that power falling into another’s hands. Not her sister’s—not anyone’s.”

Auren pressed the wraith again for information. “The High Lord who came before kept a journal. He wrote that the information he learned here would cause his court to collapse. Was this the information you told him?”

“No. I told him what he wanted to know. What you have yet to ask for yourselves . . .”

I knew the question she referenced. I had half a mind to not even ask it. But the words burned the back of my throat like acid the longer I tried to swallow them down. It was the one question that gnawed against my mind and itched as it worked its way off my tongue.

“What happens if I embrace the power to its full extent? What happens if I lose control?”

“You will either succumb to it, or become it.”

I could have sworn Auren stopped breathing.

The wraith took a curious step toward me. “When you wield that power, what do you feel?”

“That is none of your concern.”

She nodded slowly, squinting as she stared at me, as if she was hearing all the unspoken thoughts that were racing through my mind. “Darkness, in its essence, is unpredictable. Regardless of how the power came to be in you, it is Erebus’s—there is no denying that. While you may have control over it, it is not something natural to this world, and things that are unnatural will always find themselves at odds with the rest. You may be able to control it better than your ancestor could, but you should only hope to endure it, nothing more. You are not a god.”

Evander had succumbed to it. He only ended things himself because he was unable to control it.

Succumb to it, or become it.

Succumbing meant death. Becoming meant that something would be unleashed in this world. Neither outcomes were promising.

Letting my power slip in its entirety was not an option. Enduring until death finally claimed me in a few hundred more years seemed to be the only plausible thing that I could do. I would not bend to its will and suffer the same fate as Evander.

“For what it’s worth,” the wraith continued, “your ancestor was weak. The power was bound to destroy him. He was a vessel that could not control it. You, I sense, are far more capable.”

The power in my blood hummed at the word capable, and I fought back a shudder, disturbed by the feeling.

The wraith lifted her thin, pale hand, once more. “I have given you confirmation of your theory. Surely you will reward me with another sip of your shadows . . .”

“Confirmation?” I scoffed.

“Do not play the fool, High Lord. All you wanted was for someone to affirm what you’ve always known. Denying it will not change the inevitable.”

Always known. I could practically hear the words bounding through Auren’s mind as she shifted her stare to me, trying to piece things together.

The wraith was right—to an extent. I’d suspected. I knew my power could not be of this world. There was nothing else like it—not in any record of our history. And the way it manifested, the way it presented itself was far different than any other fae ability. Which was all the more reason why I had to remain in control of it, and not let it get the best of me. Regardless of where it came from, regardless of how it ended up in my bloodline, I would use this power for good. And if that included offering a sliver of shadow to a creature who was otherwise perpetually starved of it, then so be it.

I extended my hand. “The witch said you feed on chaos, not shadows.”

“Darkness is a form of chaos, Son of Shadow,” she replied, eyeing me with earnestness.

I frowned, not particularly fond of the sentiment in her response, but nonetheless, I sent a shadow adrift toward her, clipping it free from my power’s clutches and letting it fall like a feather onto her open palm. She cradled it, admiring it as if it were a ribbon of the finest silk. Then, she let the shadow absorb into her skin, and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were solid orbs of black . . . until she blinked away the darkness.

“Thank you,” she whispered. It was the most vulnerable I’d heard her sound; true gratefulness lined each syllable.

I nodded. Then, needing to shift the focus off of me, I gestured to my second-in-command. “And what of him?”

“Ah, yes.” The wraith moved silently to Aremis, as if drifting on the air. “Aether.”