Page 79 of In the Ravenous Dark
Ivrilos shakes his head. “I have only died once.”
“That was a long time ago, I imagine.”
“And yet someday—maybe soon—even I will follow you.” Myguardian hesitates. “I hope. Until we meet again. Honor to you, my brother.”
“Farewell,” my father says with a crooked smile and tears in his eyes. “Bastard.”
“That I am.” Ivrilos leans forward and kisses him on the cheek.
The memory clears, leaving the Ivrilos ofnowstill standing before me. “I’m sorry I kept it from you, but I was trying to keep you from doingthis.”
I shake my head. I know my father wouldn’t have wanted me to do this. But now I understand:Hecouldn’t help doing the same, after he heard about my mother. And neither can I. “You only want me safe for the sake of your revenge,” I insist.
Ivrilos throws a hand behind him, toward where he…ate… the other guardian. Tendons stand out in his powerful arms. “I ruined my chances at revenge when I finished off Damios.” He’s trying to stay calm, but it’s a struggle. “Killing some common guards is one thing, but one of the ancient royal line?”
I shrug. “You can blame me. Hell, you canreportme, if you give me a minute. And if I fail in my task, you can carry on your plan with the next bloodline you’re bound to. Maybe they’ll even give you a promotion.”
I sound indifferent, but part of me is dying inside.
“I don’t want afuckingpromotion,” he snaps. I don’t think I’ve heard him use that particular curse before. He reaches up, gripping handfuls of his hair, nearly unseating his circlet. He looks more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him. In more pain. “I don’t know what I want. I’m not sure I want to save this kingdom if you’re not in it.”
“Don’t,” I say, raising a hand to silence him. But then I drop it because I don’t want to see my mottled skin, missing fingernails. It’s appropriate that I’m wearing a death shroud. “Revenge has driven you for four hundred years. I don’t believe you’ve forgottenit as quickly as that.” I take another step back down the dark passage. “And right now, it’s time formyrevenge. But maybe you can get yours soon, too. I might even be helping you.” I turn. “Follow me, if you want.”
“Rovan!”
I ignore him, moving as fast as my limbs will allow me down the rest of the underground passage toward the palace. I refresh the shield between me and Ivrilos, resketching the sigils as I move, for good measure. I know he’s following, but I don’t look back.
I’m on a warpath.
25
The gold-threaded marble and flower-wreathed columns of the palace pass by in a flurry of jagged edges because of my strange, enhanced vision. In every line, I see a blade. In every bit of red, dripping blood. And in every shadow, spirits that scream in agony as they’re devoured.
All I see is violence. Death.
I think I might be losing my mind. And it’s only getting worse. Another memory rises unbidden, and I can’t tell if it’s Ivrilos’s or my own. We’re both sitting before my gaudy lion’s mouth of a hearth, cast in flickering firelight, and he’s saying,I think some form of madness might take you before death would. And with how powerful you are, the consequences could be… horrific.
Well, here we are, I think hysterically.I try not to let it slow me down.
Hidden by my shroud and deep cowl, I make it all the way through the palace to Kineas’s door without anyone raising the alarm. Ivrilos obviously hasn’t reported me to the underworld authorities, nor have Bethea or Crisea to any shadow priest. Damios’s second, final death has gone unnoticed. The guards at Kineas’s door, however, try to stop me.
“Excuse me, miss, but the crown prince has asked not to be—”
I follow the path of sigils in my mind, and I raise my rotting hand. My fingers map it out.
Both guards collapse on the ground, staring at the blossom-covered ceiling. The only evidence of the violence done to them istheir blood-red eyes, flooded by the force I exerted on their skulls with my indelicate sigils. It’s good that I’ve never tried to knock anyone out before now.
If I hadn’t previously crossed some invisible line, I know I just did. These sorts of sigils had never come easily to me, because I never wanted them before. I do now.
Behind me, Ivrilos lets out a string of curses and vanishes. I know where he’s gone—to devour their shades in the underworld.
He’s also eliminating witnesses. Which means he still has hope that this can turn out any other way than how it will. I already know: I’m going to survive neither this nor my second life as a shade. There will be no immortality for me.
So I leave the bodies where they lie.
I’m equally discreet with my entrance. Kineas’s elaborately carved, gilt-lined double doors are made of wood, and I blast them open with a wave of my hand. Perhaps I could move stone now, too, with a word—I hear an eerie whisper in my mind, trying to tell me how. If blood magic can shape life through written symbols, death magic must shape what is lifeless through spoken words. Two sides of the same coin, really: the breath of the dead, sigils written in the substance of life. But I don’t want to use it. If I start channeling death magic, I’m worried my body might just disintegrate.
Blood and death magic really do seem to want to destroy each other.
