Page 30 of Darkness Rising
I turn toward the sound of his haunting voice. He leans casually near the window. The cool breeze blows at his graying beard. Stars shine against his aging eyes. He's five hundred years old. And yet, he stands with pride and strength as if this world will never knock him down.
I dare a quick look at Cameron who lingers just behind me. His attention is held intently on the book in front of us.
How much do I really trust this Warlock? Would he toss us to the wind just to get his hands on this deadly journal?
My sword is held leisurely in my palm. I hold it as if I don't intend to rail it through my father’s dark heart for murdering my mother.
He murdered her just to prove a point. Just to prove he held all the power in my life. He always did.
Until now.
"What does the interesting little book do, Father?" I tip my chin up, listening like a devote pupil.
A smile curls his lips.
"You always were a curious child, Violence. You are more like me than you ever realized."
The tension in the room is so thick I can taste it. It makes it hard to breathe. All eyes are on the King as he paces the length of the small room.
An opening spans the ceiling; the massive bell looms over us. A frayed rope hangs at the center of the room, waiting to be pulled to announce an hour long forgotten.
"Only my magic was like you."
It's the only thing that connects us. That's what I've told myself my entire life.
"Really?" A sneering and proud smile pulls at his lined features. "I am the Mad King, Violence. It wouldn’t be surprising to learn you inherited my madness as well.” My jaw clenches as I think about my constant unsteady thoughts. He pauses just long enough for his words to sink in before lecturing me some more. “Tell me how alike you and your mother were. Tell me what pleasant attributes you two women share."
He tilts his head at me, studying me intently. He's waiting. He's waiting to hear what he already knows.
Nothing. I share nothing with my mother. No common features. She was delicate beauty and calming love.
While I shake with quieted rage.
But we did share one thing.
"We both hated you, Father. We hated you with a submissive smile on our faces. Not even your own family loved you." I pause and that daunting smile of his starts to slip away. "How could we?"
Stalking steps guide him closer to me. The men behind me take a silent step closer. My father's eyes shine down on me. They dart between mine, shifting, searching for something within them.
"No one loves me, Violence. It is not something I sought out in my life. Love is nothing compared to power. It is true; no one loves me. But what does that say about the child who is. Just. Like. Me?"
My heartbeat kicks up once more, it thunders in my ears, warming me with wild magic.
I do my best to ignore the remark. He's trying to push me. I can tell.
"Are you building an army of the dead?" My words are spoken in an even tone.
That smile overtakes his haunting features once more.
"What would an army of the dead do for the most powerful ruler in all the world? It is an interesting suggestion though. I may have to look into that. Thank you, Daughter." He takes a step back from me before pacing the length of the room once again.
"What I wanted from the book, I have already taken." He turns toward us once more. "I'd be happy to return it to your little Warlock friend. You children did not have to come running in here, blades blazing." A hint of laughter stings his words.
"You'll give the book back to us?" Cameron's words hold confusion and skepticism.
"Of course." My father waves a hand at the Warlock. "For a price."
My heart drops into a low spot within my stomach.
