Page 45 of A Dagger of Ice and Intrigue
Too silent.
In the distance, a threatening sizzle scraped against my thoughts.
I turned, only to see a green mist crawling toward me like a creature forged in the underworld, which had somehow found its foul way into the land of the living.
A strange dread took hold of me as I rushed forward.
What if I’m too late?
The Huntress could have escaped–or she could have survived the attack only to be finally taken down by the mist.
No, that was impossible.
The Huntress couldn’t be taken down by fog, no matter how deadly.
Her scent guided me deeper. Faster.
The small opening in the center smelled like misery.
Still, underneath it, I could sense her.
I froze, a grim reality whipping into view before me.
Alaric, the leader of the Protectorate, dead, blood soaking his chest.
The Huntress, clutching his body, beautiful eyes closed, tears still staining her rosy cheeks.
The mist circling them, a menacing creature waiting to snap its jaws.
Was she already dead?
I shouldn’t care. But I did.
This wasn’t the way a worthy opponent like her should fall.
I dashed to her side, ignoring the way my leather boots and armor constricted and hissed as I passed through the mist.
I reached out a hand toward the long column of her neck, just like she had with her cousin. It felt sacrilegious to use my powers to check.
The beckoning rhythm of her heart was faint.
She was passed out, but still breathing.
There was still hope.
I chanced a quick glance at Alaric and shuddered.
An arrow hadn’t been the one to take his life.
A dagger had.
A very familiar dagger.
If I left Alaric here, the mist would dissolve his body beyond recognition.
Perhaps that would have been the more logical, shrewd choice to make.
There was no love lost between the Blood Brotherhood and the Protectorate–but Alaric had been a fair leader.
