Page 110 of In the Ravenous Dark
The ferocious look on her pale face burns into my mind like a torch in the night. “You think you’re the only one who wants to make that monster suffer?”
I can’t fault her for what she’s feeling, but where I’m headed is no place for her.
“You made me a promise,” I say, “and you have to keep it. For me… and for Japha.”
Maybe it’s manipulative, but if it will keep her here… Pain streaks across her face as I turn away.
Thank you, Japha, I think, and then, tears choking me,Japha, Japha.
And then I’m running after the king who took my father, my mother, and now my best friend from me.
I’m going to takeeverythingfrom him.
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I raise a shimmering curtain of blood and death magic as fine as any cloth I’ve ever woven to cloak me from the eyes of the living and the dead—something probably like what the king has used all these years to disguise himself. I dodge forces of flesh and shadow, invisible, pausing only to send burning blue fire like spears through the hearts of as many shades as I can reach as I pass.
Still not enough.
I can almost hear Ivrilos hissing at me to save my strength, but I can’t resist. I feel as ifI’mon fire.
I quit attacking once I reach the edge of the courtyard, dropping my disguise and breaking into a sprint, bending all my focus on moving as fast as I can. The arcade blurs and the night air rushes around me, my feet slapping the marble tiles at an inhuman pace. The king was on a horse, but if he’s going where I think he’s going, he’ll need to abandon it.
His path up the spiraling curve of the palace’s main hallway is even easier to follow than I imagined. After leaving his mount, he didn’t raise any guards. In fact, quite the opposite. He’s left a trail of their bodies. And their blood. Their life force is splattered along the gold-threaded and blossom-choked marble.
It’s deathly quiet.
I only bump into one living soul. He must have gone to relieve himself, and when he came back… He stares at the body of his companion guard, wide-eyed. The moment he sees me, he throws himself in my way, swinging his sword wildly.
I dodge the blade, locate his neck, and soon he joins his companion on the floor. I’m moving again before I even bother to wipe my hand across my red-stained mouth. I needed the blood, and, besides, I couldn’t leave the danger of a panicked man with a sword for someone else to stumble into. It’s a pity, but better I take care of him than let another shoulder that burden.
I’m already a monster, after all. At least in this moment, I’m fine with that. It takes a monster to hunt a monster. But it does make me wonder if there will be any coming back from this, beyond simply surviving.
I know where the king’s quarters are, his hidden throne room, despite never having been inside. The trail of blood shows me the way. And when I finally see the column-lined, high black doors that reach almost to the ceiling, what has been invisible in the past is all too obvious: the magic wreathing the place, made of intricate sigil work and twisting shadow. It makes my own magical cloak look like child’s play. No wonder Ivrilos has never been able to sneak in on his own. It’s almost like a cage, and I can feel something dark and pulsing within. Maybe Kadreus. Maybe something worse.
Like the king, I can also weave both blood and death magic—and pick them apart. And yet I can see he’s protected himself from the likes of Skyllea’s blighted mages who can do the same. Even if they were to unravel the magic, the final thread of it would stop their hearts.
Good thing my heart is already still.
Despite my readiness, when I approach the entrance, I don’t have to do anything. The magic falls away like a curtain. More alert than ever, I brace myself as one of the black doors cracks open for me.
Maybe the king knew such barriers would be useless against me. Still, I feel a stirring of unease. The voice I hear doesn’t help:
“Do come in, Rovan.”
It’s not the king’s voice as I’ve known it. He’s let his illusion drop away, just like the protective magic on the room.
Part of me is screaming in warning. But a greater part of me is eager to end this. Furious for revenge. Hungry for blood.
I throw both doors entirely open. I see the king all the way through another set of double doors on the other side of an elaborate sitting room. Gold veins lace midnight marble. Gold-plated skeleton hands hold wall sconces. Elaborate mosaic scenes on the ceiling in more black and gold depict skeletons and shadows in flowing shrouds. Death and opulence. Perfect for a royal revenant.
Atop a dais, the king is sitting in a high-backed throne carved of the purest obsidian. The only thing interrupting the almost-liquid darkness of the stone is a skull set at the crest, wearing a golden laurel crown. One that perfectly matches the chair’s occupant.
Somehow, I know it’s Athanatos’s skull. Just how I know it’s the source of the blight—the anchor point to the underworld.
Red eyes meet and hold mine. Kadreus could almost be handsome, if it weren’t for the cruel madness simmering right under the surface of his skin. He’s pretty wrapping over a deep, festering wound. Maybe similar to how I’ll look someday.
Don’t think about that, I tell myself.Not right now.
