Page 68 of A Crown of Madness
I take the hit, and let Basilus, the little weasel that betrayed his own sister, come right back to me before I jerk my head forward. With a crack that I can feel travel all the way down my spine, I slam my head into his. The prince staggers back.
What was once a bleeding, gaping hole in the king’s abdomen is quickly healing. He growls, pulling himself up with the help of his table. “Merrick,” the king calls for his first heir.
Prince Merrick’s back is pressed against the farthest wall. He shakes his head at the king silently, unmoving.
“Jeriko,” the king hisses next.
Jeriko looks past the king, and I can feel her gaze narrowed on me. Yet she doesn’t move either.
“You’re okay, Vi.” Carver’s fingers settle against Violence, but the tension pulling her body off the chair never leaves. “You’ll be okay.”
Cameron fumbles through the drawer at her side, the one Violence told us about. She pulls a vial out and begins filling the syringe, preparing for the final step. Cameron is adamant that this will work, though. Just minutes ago, she repeated and repeated and repeated how strong Violence’s soul should have become over the last month while it was conditioned with powerful essences straight from the underworld.
There’s still a part of me that’s terrified none of that will matter.
As Basilus advances, never once pausing for pain, I slide to grab the hilt of my fuming sword from where it was tossed. It glows with such intensity, it’s like looking at the sun. Heaving the weapon at an angle, Basilus narrowly steps back from the blow, but the tip of my blade slices across his cheek. Blood drips from what is likely to be a shiny new scar. It slices the length of his features wide and deep.
It’s too late to stop us though. Nothing this prince can do will help. Within seconds, the offering takes, and Violence’s eyes black out into wide, inky orbs that blink vacantly up at Carver. The screaming halts, and the trembling of her body relaxes into an eerily calm state.
Just like I always did.
Carver swallows thickly as he stares down at her. The part of her soul that the offering draws out isn’t at all the way Cameron or I explained it. She isn’t a warm and glittering apparition of her beautiful soul.
A fuming, black mass of drifting smoke exits her body in one terrible, jerking motion. It tears out of her as though it holds more strength than her physical form. Cameron’s lips part while she stares up at the wafting shadow that floats toward the ceiling. It takes its time, rising high above us.
What if... what if that isn’t Vi at all? What if that’s just dangerous underworld souls?
And we just released them.
“This better work, Witch,” Carver says, never taking his eyes off of the ominous smoke.
“Yeah, I really hope it does.” Uncertainty is in her quiet tone. The sound of her voice pulls away every ounce of hope I have.
My attention cuts to her, and fear starts to stir within my chest.Fucking Witch.
The mass that I pray to the goddess is Violence shifts across the room until it hovers just above Basilus and me. We’re frozen under the terrible pressure of her presence above us.
The king rises to his full height and waves a simple hand—his one good hand—toward me and, with unseen strength, my blade clatters noisily back to the floor. His magic hums through the room, and for a second, we’realllooking at him.
An angry but prideful look is in his features when he has all of our attention.
Until his gaze rises.
Darkness looms above him.
Hesitation tenses his movements. King Melic takes a curious step closer, standing between Carver and myself. He offers me his back.
His words are an astonished whisper. “Violence.” He beams in awe while Basilus is smart enough to shrink back in terror. “My sweet, sweet Violence.” At the sound of her name, she drifts down to him, lingering between the king and me. Behind her, I can only make out shapes and shadows of the people through her fuming frame.
Her father reaches out a frail hand to the growing, ominous darkness.
“You’ve finally become everything I knew you could be, Daughter.”
My hair brushes against my horns as my head begins to shake back and forth, full of rage. This man was supposed to protect her. He was supposed to love her. All he wanted was to destroy her. And that’s not going to happen any-fucking-more.
With more power than necessary, I storm forward, raise my boot, and kick with every ounce of energy in me at the center of the king’s back. A dirt imprint mixes with the tatter of material and the stain of blood. The jarring impact causes the old man to stumble forward.
The mass of darkness waits to catch him.
