Page 4 of Malicent
Her sharp correction scrapes against my pride, leaving a sting that spreads across my skin. Shame and stupidity rise, pushing to the forefront of my mind. I shouldn’t have questioned her.
“There are things in that castle containing great power, artifacts you will inquire into. The king will also allow us to move about without persecution. I’ve been informed that the seer there, Luna, has foreseen the North, awakening something dark. Tyran wants our involvement for protection.”
A devious smirk pulls at her lips, betraying the true nature of the “protection” she’s offering, protection that serves only her interests.
“Didn’t know you cared so much about protecting mere vermin,” I snap. My tone sharpens as my irritation flares again at the thought of being paired with mortals.
She chuckles, the sound light and artificial. “Come now, you’re smart. I don’t care for the king and his petty issues, but if the North uncovers new power…the Le Strange coven will be the ones to claim it.”
Of course, she wants a front-row seat and hands-on access to any power Tyran is foolish enough to hand her. I don’t bother asking why. I already know. This is what I’m trained for, what I was born for.
I am rare. To mortals, I am cursed, diseased, a blight that only death can cure. To my coven, I am a weapon, lethal and deadly, the one who will deliver death.
“When am I to leave?” I ask, not bothering to ask for how long. She wouldn’t care about the duration of my absence. She wouldn’t care how long I was gone, so long as she got what she desired.
“Tomorrow. Tyran will send transport, but it will meet you in town. They do not dare enter the woods.”
So the mortals had some sense. I rise, bowing slightly out of respect. The movement is second nature after nearly 200 years of practice.
As I turn to leave, her voice stops me mid-step.
“Do not disappoint me. You are to be perfect. Less than perfection is not tolerated. You will report to my familiar and follow all instructions. Do not disobey the king. I will know if you do.”
Her words hang heavy in the air. The unspoken threat of failure and disobedience presses down like a weight on my chest.I’m not surprised she wants constant reports. I’m not foolish enough to think she trusts me. Nora knows what lingers inside me. She’s the one who put it there in the name of power. And gods, am I powerful.
“Understood,” I say coldly before leaving her office.
I descend the winding stairs, step by step, until I finally breach the open air. Stopping outside, I take in the view of my home, the coven I had never left for more than a day, let alone overnight. Well, not when I was aware of it. Now I would be living somewhere else.
I inhale deeply, letting the smell of moss and grass fill my lungs, committing it to memory. The breeze shifts, carrying the scent away.
With a final glance at the world I’ve always known, I make my descent downhill, heading to visit my mother’s grave one last time.
Chapter 2
Cage
“TWIST AT THE HIP AS you punch.Momentummakes the blow far more effective.” The words leave my mouth with a heavy, irritated sigh. For the third time today, my patience grows thinner explaining the basics to the same inept guard. This time, I draw out the word “momentum,” slow and deliberate, as if the concept might finally penetrate his thick skull and we can avoid a fourth lesson on a simple proper punch.
I snort, not bothering to hide my amusement as he attempts to follow through but his focus on the movement leaves him wide open. His opponent seizes the opportunity to nail him in the face. A crack echoes as blood spurts from his now broken nose, twisted grotesquely. Amazing. Serves him right.
I step past without a second glance, letting my attention drift to the next sparring match. I know it’s hot, and I can feel theirresentment burning as much as the sun and them cursing me for adding another hour to their training. Their thoughts seep into my head, unbidden, as natural as air. The power thrumming beneath my skin never lets me forget it’s there, always searching for an outlet. Sometimes, it’s found in their minds.
Without warning, I step into the ring and sweep a guard’s legs out from under him. He crashes on his ass with a sharp curse. I lean in, peering down on him like a storm cloud.
“You lean too much on your left leg,” I say, brushing a piece of lint off my shirt before turning sharply on my heel. My retreat is swift and deliberate, cutting off any chance for a response, not that I would be entertaining any discussions. This is a damn training yard, not a chow hall for idle banter.
The captain had insisted he couldn’t oversee this himself, his excuse wrapped in whatever duties he claimed to have. It annoyed me then, and it still does. The real weight of my frustration presses into the hard set of my jaw, lacing every command I bark to the guards in the punishing midday sun. Not a flicker of guilt stirs in me, not even pity, as they sweat and stumble.
Surely, Kalix is off doing gods knows what or, more likely, gods know who. Meanwhile, the mages needed work. I need to be there with them. I’m their leader, not a drill sergeant for these bloody guards. Mages are coming from across the realm to train under me now, their numbers swelling by the day, not that anyone is complaining. King Tyran is overjoyed. His defenses have never been so strong. Every new recruit is just more fresh meat for me to whip into shape.
As if the thought of Tyran summoned the man himself, his snooty messenger emerges from the edge of the yard, scurrying straight toward me.
“Master Black,” he says in that tight little stuck-up voice that I don’t particularly enjoy.
I slowly raise a brow in question just to grate his nerves. For my own entertainment, I decide to use his first name. “Loric,” I drawl, running a hand through my raven hair. The sweat helps to slick some back—for all of three seconds—before the messy strands flop into my face once again.
Loric’s lips press into a firm line of distaste. I can’t help but smile in response, to add fuel to the fire of his dislike.
