Page 23 of A Curse of Breath and Blood

“Fuck you,” I said, spitting blood onto the ground.

He released my hair, slamming my face into the hardened snow, reopening my wounds. Blood poured from my nose.

“Put her on the horse,” the man said.

Next to me, a water horse devoured the dead body of a Blood Rider.

A pair of powerful hands hauled me upward, forcing me to face the leader of the Riders, a muscled man no older than thirty with pale skin and eyes the color of dried blood. He lookedthrough me, reducing me to a state of utter insignificance. I made sure to conceal the crossbow under my cloak. There would be no second chances.

“Make sure she doesn’t have any weapons,” he barked at the rider holding me.

A smile graced my lips.

“What are you smilin’ at?” His brows knitted in confusion.

“Too late,” I said, firing my last bolt straight into his neck.

A look of shock crossed his round face, and blood seeped from the wound.

The bolt had hit an artery.

He sank to his knees, taking his last gasps of air.Blood flowed like a river around his lifeless body. The water horses seized the opportunity to lap up the fresh sanguine.

“I should kill you for what you did.” The Blood Rider pressed a blade into my neck.

I fought as best I could against his grip. “I don’t think your king would be too happy with you.”

“Drop the weapon.” He dug the tip of the knife into my skin.

I sucked in a breath, dropping Little Death and the crossbow into the snow.

Blood filled my lungs as death closed in upon me.

My healing powers lacked the strength for a wound this severe. Knees going limp, I sank into the snow.

“Shit.” The soldier said as my body hung lifeless in his arms. “Shit. We weren’t supposed to kill her.” He laid me down. The cold proved a brief respite from the pain.

My vision tunneled. I could hear the soldier’s frantic footsteps dancing around my head. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips, finding solace as I imagined the look on Gideon’s face when they brought him my lifeless body.

Darkness encroached upon me.

A man no older than fifty appeared before me, dressed incream robes with hair as white as fresh snow. The corners of his eyes wrinkled as he smiled at me. “Hello, Aelia.”

My chest lightened at the sight of this reaper—Hadron, my old acquaintance.

Many fear death when he comes for them, but not me.

I had died before.

I smiled back at him.

“Aelia.”

Hadron’s calming voice soothed my aching soul.

I stared at his expressionless face. No pupils graced his eyes, only white nothingness.

“I’m ready,” I said, swallowing hard. My voice little more than a whisper.

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