Shadowblade academy 3 da.., p.1
Shadowblade Academy 3: Darkness Falls, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2022 by KC Kingmaker
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
Cover art by MiblArt
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Shadowblade Academy 3: Darkness Falls
Chapter 1 | Coralia
Chapter 2 | Coralia
Chapter 3 | Sunny
Chapter 4 | Quentin
Chapter 5 | Dax
Chapter 6 | Venn
Chapter 7 | Coralia
Chapter 8 | Sunny
Chapter 9 | Dax
Chapter 10 | Quentin
Chapter 11 | Coralia
Chapter 12 | Venn
Chapter 13 | Coralia
Chapter 14 | Coralia
Chapter 15 | Coralia
Chapter 16 | Coralia
Chapter 17 | Coralia
Chapter 18 | Coralia
Chapter 19 | Coralia
Chapter 20 | Coralia
Chapter 21 | Coralia
Chapter 22 | Dax
Chapter 23 | Coralia
Chapter 24 | Coralia
Chapter 25 | Coralia
Chapter 26 | Venn
Chapter 27 | Coralia
Chapter 28 | Coralia
Chapter 29 | Dax
Chapter 30 | Coralia
Chapter 31 | Quentin
Chapter 32 | Coralia
Chapter 33 | Coralia
Chapter 34 | Coralia
Chapter 35 | Venn
Chapter 36 | Coralia
Chapter 37 | Sunny
Chapter 38 | Coralia
Chapter 39 | Coralia
Chapter 40 | Coralia
Chapter 41 | Coralia
Chapter 42 | Coralia
Epilogue | Coralia
About the Author
Books by KC Kingmaker
Briarwitch Academy:
A Whisper Before Dawn
A Dream Before Dawn
A Journey Before Dawn
A Storm Before Dawn
Dragon Shifter Dominion:
Passion of the Summer Dragon
Serenity of the Autumn Dragon
Cold Heart of the Winter Dragon
Vibrance of the Spring Dragon
Rapture of the Sun Dragon
Shadowblade Academy:
Darkness Calls
Darkness Rising
Darkness Falls
Chapter 1
Coralia
SURPRISINGLY, THE DEMONS hadn’t tried defiling me yet.
I’d been imprisoned beneath the forest of the Forbidden Orchard for at least a week. Maybe more. Time became difficult to track without any sun or moon to gauge its passing in my cell.
Boredom set in. The looming dread from when I’d been captured morphed into begrudging acceptance. Still, I felt anxious every day. Taut as a rubber band ready to snap. Always telling myself, Is today the day? Is today when the Leatherwings barge into my cell to feast on their prize? To take my body?
Yet that day had still not come. The waiting was torturous in its own way.
Finley Winston, my Shadowblade Academy peer and co-prisoner in the next cell over, was in the same boat. She hadn’t been touched either.
Every day I awoke with the same glimmer of hope, mingling with the dread. The hope that with each passing day, I was one day closer to freedom. That my Glovemates were on the way to rescue me. That I’d find a way to escape with Finley.
It was the only good thing I held onto.
Even if I had broken Shadowblade Academy protocol by coming to Waichee Village and the Appalachian rainforest, I didn’t think the Academy could just abandon me . . . Could they?
It wouldn’t look good for the Academy’s retention rates, students disappearing all over the place. We’d already had Quentin, Vivi Jade, and Myria before them.
Though I know where Myria ended up now.
My sister was my prison warden. The same lighthearted, kind soul I had grown up with—the girl I’d admired when her powers came to fruition on her eighteenth birthday—had somehow turned wicked and evil. It almost hurt too much to think about.
I had to imagine someone controlled Myria’s mind. It was the only notion I could hold onto without my heart breaking into a million pieces.
The young woman on the other side of my prison bars, lurking through the pitch-black, damp corridors of this subterranean facility, was not my sister.
A sister would never subject her sibling to this shit. A sister would never connive to impregnate me with demonspawn, like I was nothing more than breeding stock.
No, it has to be something else. There’s more going on here.
Or maybe . . . she just doesn’t love me . . . and I never really knew my sister like I thought I did. Perhaps she’s harbored this malignant spirit for years, and just needed an excuse to let it out.
I cringed at the ridiculous idea. My head had been filled with black thoughts lately. I wasn’t sure where they were coming from.
I looked at my surroundings: cold steel bars, a dirt floor covered in moss and mildew, a bucket to piss and shit in, and a rickety bench three inches off the ground to sleep on.
Yeah, big mystery where those dark thoughts are coming from.
I leaned back on my bench, spine against the cold wall, and sighed. I’d been locked away for hours without any letup. Finley and I typically spoke through the walls between our cells, with hushed voices, but we’d run out of things to talk about.
I got one hour of daylight or moonlight every so often. A demon guard would let me out of my cell and take me aboveground. The timing came randomly to keep me confused about what day it was or how much time had passed.
It was equivalent to an inmate’s recreation hour in a prison yard. I dug holes during that hour, so I could create more trapdoors my captors used to lure unsuspecting passersby.
That time was the only time I had to look forward to. The only time I felt alive, even though I was contributing to the evil business they ran here.
I got fed twice a day, at varying intervals. Again, to keep us confused and lost. Nothing was consistent here except the pervasive, ubiquitous darkness of the underground facility. No torches lit these corridors or cells, which meant no shadows with which to work my shadow magic. That was clearly by design.
Beyond that, a swirling dark mist encased the entire perimeter of the Forbidden Orchard, disconnecting a spell-user from her magic. Outside, the magical ward constricted and induced claustrophobia. It had been assembled by Myria herself, though I had no idea how she had that sort of power.
Needless to say, I felt powerless here.
I couldn’t stop my wandering mind from imagining how my Glovemates felt. Sunny, Dax, Quentin, Venn—I missed them all so much. The loss I felt was overwhelming at times.
I wonder if they think I’m dead. They’ll probably never come for me because they know it’s hopeless and I’m already gone.
I smacked the side of my head at the intrusive thought. No! Can’t think like that. Sunny is probably chomping at the bit, raising hell on Earth to get back here. Dax is undoubtedly quiet and contemplative, gauging their next move. Quentin will be the one to put it into practice—the strategizing and actual logistics of such an effort. And Venn, well, that big-hearted Unseelie might very well be crying himself to sleep, wishing I was warming his bed beside him.
Spirits know I wish the same thing.
Footsteps pounded on the soggy earth of the hall outside my cell. Heavy footsteps, getting closer.
“Hello?” I croaked, my voice itchy from disuse.
No one answered. I knew it wouldn’t be Myria because she never denied herself the pleasure of throwing a snide comment at me when she came by. At least her presence was a rarity, which was nice.
The footfalls stopped outside my cell. I could see the massive outline of a black, winged shape, taking up real estate against the dimmer black around him my eyes had somewhat adjusted to.
A plate slid through the two-inch gap under my bars. The sound continued in Finley’s cell, then footsteps retreated.
Ah, it’s slop time.
I scurried off my bench up to the plate. A pale brown sludge stared back at me. I had no idea what kind of meat floated in the stew. At least I assumed those little gooey cubes were meat. Couldn’t be sure.
Next to the stew-sludge sat a cup of water and a cinnamon cookie. Each cup of sludge always came with a little cookie—the only highlight of my daily meals.
For most people, it might have meant nothing. For me, the cookie had a deeper meaning.
I loved cinnamon cookies as a child. Anything cinnamon, really.
Who else knew I loved cinnamon? Myria, of course.
I had to wonder if the cookie was a small act of kindness on her part. A nostalgic token of our upbringing, showing me she remembered it.
I held onto the dream—there was still a sliver of good inside her—despite all the awful things she oversaw here.
No, it’s probably nothing like that. It’s not an act of kindness, but a form of torture and abuse. It’s a “remind you of anything, you dumb bitch?” move.
I sighed as I dug into my “meal.” I really needed to do something about these cynical, pessimistic thoughts. This wasn’t like me.
“So, how’s your Phantom-year going so far?”
I jolted up from my hunched-over goblin posture and wiped food slime off my chin.
It was Finley talking through the wall.
“Huh?”
“Well, I assume the next term at the Academy is underway.”
I frowned, sadness spreading through me. “Shit. Forgot about that. Do you know what day it is?”
“No. That’s why I said ‘I assume.’”
“Oh. Right.” I went back to my slime. A second later: “Are you a Phantom too, Fin? Or are you the next level? They never talk about that one. What’s it called?”
“I was a Phantom.”
I leaned back against the wall. I could almost feel the reverberation of her voice when I did that. “Was? What are you now?”
“A prisoner, Cor. A fucking prisoner.”
The sorrow burrowed deeper inside me, nesting in my belly. Where I got sad and bored here, Finley stayed pissed.
My peer was a firecracker. She was something of a legend on campus. Purportedly, she had shadow-casting abilities like no other. She was a fierce fighter and a superstar Shadowball player. We’d only beaten her team last semester in the playoffs because she’d been absent—off murdering Kalul, Dax’s childhood friend, near Waichee Village.
If we ever escaped from here, it would be difficult explaining that to Dax Kilmeade. “Sorry, Dax, I know she killed your friend and caused you immense grief, but she’s sort of my friend now. We bonded in jail, so she’s off-limits.”
“Have you tried this chocolate thing?” Finley asked. “It looks like a bar of shit.”
“I have a cinnamon cookie. No chocolate.”
“Like a gingersnap?”
“Sort of. Reminds me of childhood. Did you like chocolate when you were young?”
“Not really. I don’t care for sweets.”
“Life must be tough, being you.”
“Fuck you, Cor.”
I giggled.
“I guess I got the generic sweet,” Fin said. “You got the special one because you’re family.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Family doesn’t do this kind of shit.”
“Bring it up with the girl boss.”
“I have a feeling Myria’s not the boss.”
“Same.”
We fell silent for a moment. I bit into my cookie and savored it, making sure to pick up all the crumbs.
“You’re eating the cookie?” she asked.
“Why not?” I said around the mouthful. “If it was poisoned, I’d be dead by now. Been eating it every day since we got here.”
She grunted.
“You don’t eat your chocolate?” I asked.
“I just said I don’t like chocolate.”
“Ah. Your commitment to watching your girlish figure is admirable.”
“Well, aren’t you a spicy little bitch?” she said in a playful sneer. “Besides, I’m worried it might actually be a bar of shit. Best to negate the possibility entirely.”
Throwing barbs at each other was the only way we could stay sane. It surprised me they let us stay in cells next to each other. Maybe all the others were taken, though I never saw other female prisoners when I worked up on the yard. Then again, they likely cycled us through one by one, hour by hour, so we never saw each other or knew how many prisoners they really had.
In fact, I’d never actually seen Finley Winston. Not once. She was simply a deep, husky sound to me—the only solace I got here.
After finishing my cookie, I said, “What do you look like, Finley?”
A pause. Then, “Coralia Hargrave, are you trying to hit on me?”
I guffawed, mouth falling open. “What! No. I’m just curious. And bored.”
“Ah. So you want a mental image so you can spank your pussy to it before bed.”
I smiled, my cheeks flaming. “I don’t like girls like that, Fin.”
“Shame. In jail, you have to do whatever you can to get off. Even if it’s stuffing your face full of sweet cu—”
“Okay, okay. I’m not that desperate.”
“Yet.”
I rolled my eyes. “So?”
“So what?”
I went silent, leaning my head forward.
“Well . . .” she began, “I have triple-D tits and a nine-inch waist and an ass so fat my cheeks droop off the sides of any chair I sit on.”
“Oh my God, fuck off.”
She chuckled. “That’s what the boys like, right?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
Her sparkling voice went lower. “It doesn’t matter what I look like, Coralia. Not if you never see me.”
“I’ll see you.”
“Is that a fact?”
“It’s a promise. Once we bust out of here.”
She made a “shh” sound. “Keep your voice down about that. Got any big plans on how we’re gonna do that?”
I shrugged to no one. “You were the one who said we were gonna make, quote-unquote, ‘all these motherfuckers pay.’”
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Yes.” I wagged my finger in the air. “You better not go back on your wor—”
A high-pitched lilt echoed through the corridor like a ghost’s croon, cutting me off. Goosebumps budded along my arms.
It was a woman’s voice, whimpering futilely into the darkness.
It’s time.
Another voice picked up soon after, joining the vocal choir of despair and longing, until a symphony of moans came from all directions, filling the air around me. They mixed with dull thuds and the noisy slaps of flesh smacking against walls and cell bars and benches.
Bodies being used and abused.
This was an every-night occurrence. At a certain point, the breeding began in the other cells, conversation stopped between me and Finley, and we retreated inside ourselves.
It was the only thing telling me there were other women in this damned hellhole besides us.
Immense sadness and unchecked anger ran through me. Sadness and anger I couldn’t do anything with. “I’m going to sleep,” I said glumly. That was my only move against the agonizing cacophony.
“Okay, Cor. Night.”
I reclined on my bench, staring up at the ceiling. I could close my eyes, but I couldn’t close my ears.
The moans continued, unabated, often for hours.
That was the most surprising and horrifying thing of all: The victims didn’t scream or howl bloody murder at their attackers.
They moaned. As if filled with lust rather than fear.
I couldn’t see how that was possible. Not when every demon in this fucking place was a rapist.
Maybe it’s to keep their attackers from getting violent? Succumbing to it rather than fighting it?
I shivered at the thought.
This was what my sister was facilitating. This was why I could never forgive her, or consider her family.
A new voice pierced through the din of wanton desire.
Yelling. Scuffling. The first sounds of struggle I’d heard since coming here.
I sat up from my bench.
“Get your filthy fucking hands off me, wretches!” the woman screamed.
We had a new arrival in the prison. Someone who hadn’t yet surrendered to the assault on her body and was still full of piss and vinegar.
When she continued to shout, drowning out the moans and slaps, my throat hitched and a gasp escaped my lips.
I recognized the voice.
Riann.
A Waichee Village native.
Our new inmate was Dax’s ex-lover and the current partner of his fuckhead brother, Cyrus.
“Shit.”
Chapter 2
Coralia
A STICKY SPIDER-WEB coiled around me. I screamed, but no words came out. All around me, blackness, like my prison cell.
As the web layered my body, it squeezed around my middle, suffocating me, pushing the air out of my lungs. It held me aloft in the air, arms and legs bound together as I spun in circles, until the web mummified me in every place but my head.
Then the barbs came. Tiny, dagger-like needles sprouting along the web’s strands. They bit into my skin, drawing dark blood. I screamed, and this time I could hear myself.
