Page 59 of The Night Prince 2

That didn’t sit right with him. And he never allowed himself to think just one way and not explore all the other possibilities. So he forced himself to put aside the idea of sloppiness and lack of control to consider the exact opposite.

What if this Kindreth was in control? What if they understood exactly what they were risking, but did it anyway? That would mean that they were… powerful. So powerful that they weren’t worried at all about being found out. Or maybe that they even intended to be found out.That would more likely explain how they had avoided his notice the night before.

No, that just can’t be. The only people that powerful are family. And, besides myself, none made it out. Vex made sure of that and Aquilan and I slaughtered Vulre and others.

It was how he had known to flee. The first death. The first whisper of a coup. He still did not understand why Lady Ashryn Zinsadoral decided to go against Vex. They’d had a relationship that had soured, yes. But they’d been on again and off again for millennia. Why had she been determined to kill Vex when his power seemed so unassailable? Had been unassailable?

Whatever her reasons, he had no idea. But he’d known he’d be blamed for them. Being a part of it. His whole family had been marked for a purge. And so he’d run. Run far and fast and never turned back. He hadn’t even warned his parents or elder sister. His mother was likely proud of him for that even if he wasn’t. But there had been no time. No way.

Or so he told himself.

Rhalyf shook off the sudden gloom that had come upon him. He made a point of not thinking of the past. It was done and gone and nothing good ever came of wallowing. Besides, his family would not have thought of him at all had their positions been reversed.

He continued walking silently into the forest letting his senses guide him to where Seith and Leisha had been sacrificed. But even if he’d only used the power of his five senses and none of the Void, he would have known the location when he saw it. The trees where they’d undoubtedly been attached by the ankles and the wrists were blackened and dead. The bark looked scalded as if by high heat. There were no leaves on the limbs. They’d all died in a moment and fluttered lifelessly to the ground where they now formed a thick covering of the forest floor.

Carefully, Rhalyf stepped onto the dead leaves and made his way to the very center of the area that was now open to the sky. He crouched down and saw two small drops of ruby red blood on leaves that must have been directly beneath the Aravae’s bodies. This was not sloppiness. This showed precision.

A single drop of blood to the gods. A mockery of sacrifice to them while the Kindreth kept the majority of the blood for themselves.

He’d seen plenty of sacrifice sites. His mother and father had black, metal frames in the basement of their estates where victims were strung up and bled dry over time. Old and fresh blood patterned the frames and floor of those rooms. Buckets of blood dripped as they were carried to the spell sites. Again, like when his mother practiced magic, the whole point was the waste of it all. She had plenty to spare so she didn’t need to be parsimonious. Other peoples’ lives were nothing to her and there were plenty that she could take because of her position.

Did that mean this Kindreth was not in as powerful a position as his mother? That he or she or they needed to budget the precious liquid of life? He didn’t think so. What he felt here as his senses probed and prodded the remnants of magic was someone who was expert. Someone who wasn’t flashy, but who knew exactly what they were doing.

Dangerous, he realized. Whoever this is, they are incredibly dangerous.

The hair on the back of his neck was lifted. For a moment, he thought of running again. But that was foolish. This was his life. He had his friends, which were… growing. Finley, Gemma and Declan’s faces flashed before his mind’s eye. He had things to look forward to. The image of friendly nights at Helgrom’s inn floated before him. He imagined he felt a line of warmth by his side and he looked over to see Finley’s face there.

Finley… how odd.

He should have imagined Aquilan or someone else. But that studious, normally dubious face–or at least dubious when it looked at him–was open and smiling. He felt something stir in his chest. Definitely odd. He shook himself. He needed to get this done and dusted. Remaining here too long was a bad idea.

He willed another of his Blood Weapons to his hand. A dagger called Quiril, which meant quick and deadly appeared in his left hand. The weight of the silver hilt inlaid with black poisonwood and tipped with a curled silvery blade that glowed like starlight was comforting. Quiril had been his first Blood Weapon, one that he’d created when cornered in the Under Dark by a rasper, which was a creature much like a centipede, but one thousand times the Earth size with poisonous pincers on every foot. He’d managed to impale the damned thing to the cavern wall just before it struck him. Hence Quiril. Quick and deadly.

Unlike many of his family, he did not have many Blood Weapons. They often came from deep grief, utter terror or blasting rage. Rhalyf strove not to let his emotions lead him. Too messy. Too uncertain. But those he did make, he loved and treasured. His sister had always scoffed at his lack of them. Her body was crisscrossed with weaponry, each more powerful than the next. He had teased her that she would run out of space before she ran out of ambition.

“Your tongue is your greatest weapon, little brother,” she had said dryly. “But do know that it is very easy to cut out.”

Now he sank down on the forest floor with Quiril in his hands and the two leaves with Leisha and Seith’s blood dropped upon them. Despite the trees above him being bare, sunlight seemed to avoid this space. This was good.

He gripped Quiril’s hilt in his right hand and drew the blade across his left palm. There was the familiar sharp sting and the welling of crimson. He clenched his left hand into a fist and squeezed his own blood out of it, letting it patter over the already stained leaves.

“Oceans of time before me and behind me. Bring me the drop of a moment. A flicker,” he spoke the incantation to divine the past in the ancient tongue of the Kindreth, Lytheril. “Show me what happened here when the moon was full. Show me when blood was spilt here and two souls were consigned to the dark.”

His eyes shut as he finished the spell. He felt the world turn even with his eyelids closed. When the spinning sensation stopped, he slowly opened his eyes. No longer was it afternoon. It was night and he let out a sigh of pleasure as the darkness washed over him. But that sound was drowned out by choked cries.

Rhalyf was up on his feet in less time than it took to register the sound. Quiril held in his hand. Ready to fight. But then he reminded himself that he wasn’t really here. Not at this moment of time.

His breath frosted the air. It was so cold. Magic. Kindreth magic. So much of it.

The choked cry sounded again. He spun towards it and felt his stomach clench. Seith and Leisha were suspended from the trees, which were not dead yet. They were upside down. Their legs and arms spread wide. Neither of them were hurt.

Yet.

Tears and snot were rolling down Seith’s face. It was from him that the cry had come. He was literally whimpering. A whispered prayer was being muttered by Leisha. Despite having nothing restricting them from screaming for help, neither attempted it.

“Why aren’t you yelling your heads off?” Rhalyf asked them, though he did not expect an answer.

He was not here.

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