Page 270 of Kingdom of Ash

Dorian kept every expression off his face. “You’re certain he won’t know he’s being tricked?”

“Orcus is his brother. But Orcus was also my husband. The illusion will be real enough.”

Dorian considered. “What time do we make our move?”

Nightfall.

That was when Maeve had told Erawan to meet. That liminal space between light and dark, when one force yielded to another. When she would open the portal for Dorian from rooms away.

As the sun set—not that Dorian could see it with the clouds and gloom of Morath—he found himself staring at the wall of Maeve’s chamber.

She had left minutes ago, with nothing more than a farewell glance. Their escape route had been plotted, an alternative with it. All should go according to plan.

And the body he now wore, the golden hair and golden eyes … Should anyone but Erawan himself stumble into the tower, they would find it occupied by their master.

He did not have room in himself for fear, for doubt. Did not think of the Wyrdstone collars beneath the fortress, or every twisted room and dungeon he’d passed through. Darkness fell beyond the room.

Dorian stepped back as the stones turned dark, dark, dark—then vanished.

The stench of death, of rot, of hate flowed out. Far more putrid than the tomb levels below.

It threatened to buckle his knees, but Dorian drew Damaris. Rallied his power and lifted his left hand, a faint golden light shining from his fingers. Fire.

With a prayer to whatever gods might bother to help him, Dorian stepped through the portal.

CHAPTER 77

Dorian didn’t know what he had expected from a Valg king’s chamber, but the four-poster bed of carved black wood, the washstand and desk, would have been low on his list of guesses.

Nothing extraordinary. No trove of stolen, ancient weapons or heirlooms, no bubbling potions or spellbooks, no snarling beasts in the corner. No additional of Wyrdstone collars.

A bedroom and nothing more.

He scanned the circular room, even going so far as to peer down the stairwell. A straight shot to the iron door and guards posted outside. No closets. No trapdoors.

He opened the armoire to find row after row of clean clothes. None of the drawers contained anything—and there were no hidden compartments.

But he felt it. That otherworldly, terrible presence. Could feel it all around him—

A small noise had him whirling.

Dorian looked at the bed then. At what he had missed, left lying between obsidian sheets, which nearly swallowed her frail, small body.

The young woman. Her face was hollow, vacant. Yet she stared at him. As if she’d awoken.

A pretty, dark-haired girl. No older than twenty. A near-twin to Kaltain.

Bile burned his throat. And as the girl sat up farther, the sheets falling away to reveal a wasted, naked body, to reveal a too-thin arm and the hideous purplish scar near the wrist … He knew why he had felt the key’s presence throughout the keep. Moving about. Vanishing.

It had been walking. Trailing its master. Her enslaver.

A collar of black stone had been clamped around her throat.

And yet she sat there in that rumpled bed. Staring at him.

Hollow and vacant—and in pain.

He had no words. There was only ringing silence.

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