Page 85 of In the Ravenous Dark
“No,” Ivrilos says. And when he speaks, the king looksright at him.
“No,” the king agrees. “Hello, brother. It’s been a while. But I’ve seenyouaround, of course.”
“Kadreus,” Ivrilos breathes. “Rovan,run.”
The king smiles, and the hair on my arms stands on end. “She’s not going anywhere,” he says, and then turns to me. “While this business with Kineas is unfortunate, you actually did me a favor by drawing me away. If you’d betrayed what I am in front of so many witnesses, it would have been much more bothersome. Whyelsedo you think I agreed to come with you alone?”
“Because you care about the life of your heir?” I suggest, shifting closer to Kineas. Maybe there’s a chance I can seize him again, try to use him as a shield. He’s still unmoving, useless, staring at the man who’s not his father. It would be easy to overpower him.
But then the king says, “No more than the lives of my many other heirs. There are always more, to keep me alive. To keep our legacy alive.”
And then he lunges. I’m not ready for it, and neither is Ivrilos.
And neither is Kineas. Because the king goes forhim. The knife flashes toward his throat. Kineas jerks. Gurgles. Unlike the king, Kineas can bleed. Blood cascades everywhere over his chest from the gaping wound in his neck. It’s like a red smile.
I can’t help turning for Kineas. Not because I want to save him, but because of the blood. My guard utterly drops, no thought in my head other than the overpowering urge to drink. I lunge… right into the king’s dagger.
Ivrilos is ready this time, but he only manages to throw hishand between the king and me, to make that one part of him solid. The dagger still slides right through the back of his hand, like a knife through bread.
And pierces my heart.
It pins Ivrilos’s palm to my breast for a moment, which at another time might have been funny. Not now. My guardian shouts, agony in his voice, especially as contact with my shield burns him. But his cry cuts off as he vanishes.
There is a terrible pressure in my chest. It’s cold. So sharp. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. When I reach for the dagger, my hand closes inadvertently around the king’s, which still clutches the handle. I want to coil around that spot, but I can’t bear to move. It’s like a muscle cramp has seized my entire body.
The king grips the back of my neck, pulling me into his chest and making pain explode through me. I scream. But he holds me tight, steadying me, shushing me. And then he whispers in my ear, “I could have used sigils or something else, but this is just so much morepersonal, yes? It’s personal between us, Rovan. Especially since you’ve forced me to kill my heir far ahead of schedule. He couldn’t know what I am.”
What are you?I want to ask, but I still can’t speak. I want to lie down.
I know who he’snot, at least—not Tyros.
He keeps me upright, embracing me. Perhaps I should focus on the dagger in my heart, but I glimpse something strange on his arm as he touches me. It’s like a shadow lifting from him, revealing a bloodline marking his skin. He was hiding it. Along with everything else about him.
I still have my shield against death magic. It would be the only way to hide a bloodline—my father could never hide his with blood magic alone. Which means the king wieldsbothblood and death magic. And he can’t die.
Obviously, if he’s somehow Ivrilos’s brother, Kadreus.
I look up into his eyes. They’re bright red now, but other than that, he’s much like Ivrilos. About my guardian’s age, maybe a little older. Slightly lighter hair, cropped closer to his head. But it’s his eyes and the expression on his face that are different. He’s so cold and… utterly mad. I was looking through the cracks in his previous mask to something hidden underneath. I just didn’t realize how far down and dark they went.
And yet, the shadow behind him is even worse. I see it even as the gilt-lined room dims at the edges. Something like a guardian, looming over us both, mostly too dark to make out but with burning, sickly blue eyes I recognize now and I’ll never forget. I’ve only seen them in Ivrilos’s memory before now, but there’s no mistaking whom they belong to.
Athanatos.
The king gently brushes my hair aside and leans toward my neck, lips parting.
“I can’t wait to taste you,” he says. “Your mother was delicious.”
But then there’s a shout, and the already-bedraggled doors to Kineas’s apartment shudder. Maybe the guards out there, or Tumarq or Acantha, heard me scream.
The king’s eyes flicker in that direction. “Damn the timing, but we must all keep up appearances, hmm?” He grips my shoulders and pulls back, only stooping to kiss the side of my mouth where a trickle of blood has escaped. He licks it from his lips. “Congratulations, you’ve succeeded in your mission. You’ve just slit myson’sthroat and stabbed yourself in the heart. Tragic, really.”
And then he rips the dagger out of my chest. The pressure escapes in a rush—and everything keeps rushing, all of it, gushing out of me in a hot burst. I wish I could pull it back. Instead, my knees buckle. I sink into the flood—the river of life carrying me away.
I collapse onto the ground, but I feel like I’m floating.
His voice drifts above me. “Farewell, Rovan. I doubt we’ll see each other again. If you run into Ivrilos before your final end, which will be swift, tell himsomeonewants to see him.”
Iwant to see him, I think. I want to see Lydea. Japha. I still want to kill the king. There’s so much left to do. But it’s too late for all of it.
