Page 150 of Deadly Maiden

Madlin is still. He breathes but stares sightlessly past my shoulder. He is no longer a person. He is, I hope, a vessel.

“What is that?” Rorsyd asks. “Are you okay? You’ve been silent for ages. We need to choose what to do.”

“This is Asher, inside this ball, recorded when he died. Done by my parents. It is the essence of him,” I say it reverentially. “I am making this evil piece of a fae shit into Asher, the once upona time, almost-king of Orencia. His brother, I have seen him, and he has been rendered witless.”

“You can do this?” He sighs. “Why am I not shocked? And yes, I thought this too. Twenty years of torture would do that.”

“Then pray this works. Else we may soon be fish food.” I bend to finish my work then, instead I hesitate and rise, and go to where Asher dies a slow death. Is he still in there? Perhaps.

I reach inside him. If there is anything here, maybe…maybe, I can grab it. A melding of old Asher and new Kyvin would, simply, make me happy. I never knew Asher, but I know Kyvin and admire what he achieved despite his defects.

When I gain my feet, I have something of him, I think, incorporated into the ball.

“The proof is in the doing,” I whisper as I press the filaments of Asher’s personality into the king’s mind and let them settle in.

I need to do this better than before. If he dies an instant afterward, all of this has been for nothing. I need today to be for something. I especially need Kyvin-Asher to come back to me. And so, I take my time gluing everything into place, in the very best order, with the most delicate of touches.

I hear the words, as a song, in my head.

I’m making him good.

Knitting him thrice.

Putting things in place.

No matter the price.

A worthier king is coming to town.

I can make him a new king, a greater king. Or I can make another dead man. Or perhaps I can make him alive but insane.

Which will it be?

The clock in my head ticks slowly. Time passes. The room, when I rise onto my cold feet on shaky legs, it’s a dizzying mess and spins and spins.

My head pounds and swells. Exhaustion takes its toll.

“Rorsyd?” I clear my throat. I have to tell him something important. “Andacc is out there fighting?—”

My knees fail me, drop me to the hard floor.

The voice of my soulmate sounds but grows quiet. Then he pulls me up and into his chest, murmuring as he warms me. “Stay with me, I need you. I cannot live without you.”

I smile at that and feel my head coming out of the clouds. “I love you too.” I shudder. “Gods, the things I had to do to find you again.” Weakly, I clutch at him, lift my head, and meet his sweet, sweet dragonshifter eyes. “I might need to put you on a leash.”

He only rolls those eyes, and the flames in them curl and flare.

Sister Paloma arrives, having padded down the stairs, hooded, composed, and somewhat unreadable with those spectacles on.

I pull away from Rorsyd, still holding his large, comforting hand, and let my focus ramble over the room. From body to body, to the undead, to the puddles and explosions of blood and flesh, until I return to King Madlin, kneeling with his head down.

“What have you done to him?” the sister asks in a calmer voice than I expected. This woman is made of steel.

Chapter 47

Wyntre

“Well. I remade him. I hope.” I bend my knees to examine him more closely. “He’s breathing. That’s a plus. Do we have time for me to explain?”

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