Page 126 of Promise of Darkness
Thick isthe spell that wraps round the keep;
The visible silenced, until they must reap.
Blood binds the spell, but it’s blood that shall break it;
From the old to the new, paint the marks that were writ.
I draw my knife,crossing to the center of the Hallow. “Blood. Blood breaks the spell. They’d need a queen’s blood to activate a glamour of this size, and the Hallow…. The Hallow would power it.”
“Vi.” One word holds a wealth of meaning. Thiago’s hand drops to the hilt of his sword.
“Trust me,” I tell him, setting the tip of the knife to the fleshy pad of my finger.
Maia’s blood flows through my veins. There’s power there, even if I can barely channel it.Old to the new….It has to be. I slash my finger, hissing at the sting, then squeeze several drops of blood to the surface.
Blood drops into the snow, splashing hotly against the first glyph.
BOOM.
I feel a distant vibration, as though something shifts deep within the earth. Snow shivers off rooves and everyone staggers to find their footing.
“What was that?” Eris demands, looking as though a fetch walked over her grave.
“I don’t know,” Finn whispers, “and I do notwantto know.”
Thiago’s head swivels, his hawkish gaze sweeping the ruins. “More,” he says.
I squeeze another droplet of blood to the surface, and it splashes wetly against the glyph.
The very earth vibrates beneath our feet as though the Hallow is slowly waking. Shaking off the remnants of centuries of sleep with a groan, it shivers to life.
Light shimmers across the entire ruins.
It feels as though the clouds suddenly part, or perhaps shadows are merely being swept from my eyes. Inch by inch, the Hallow is revealed anew, and I gasp as the illusion breaks.
We’re standing in the middle of thirteen fully erect sentinel stones. Canvas tents flap nearby, and the black banner of Angharad snaps in the wind.
Banes prowl the ruins on leashes, and goblins strain to hold them back as they watch us with hungry eyes and slavering jowls.
And there, with a shock of white hair and black robes stands Isem, Angharad’s pet sorcerer.
“Erlking’s cock,” Finn breathes. “Where the fuck were they hiding?”
“To me,” Thiago barks, the steel of his sword ringing as it clears his sheathe.
I stagger back against him, my dagger clenched in nerveless fingers. There are dozens of banes. And at least fifty swarthy goblins clad in leather and steel and feathers. No matter which way I turn, the Hallow is surrounded and there’s no escape.
“Blow your fucking horn,” Baylor snaps at Finn. “The others can’t have gone far.”
Finn lifts his golden horn to his lips, it’s clear notes ringing through the sky.
I can’t help thinking of Edain’s sneer. Of Andraste’s stony features.
Will they even help?
One last drop of blood hits the snow, and the Hallow comes alive beneath my feet.
Isem snaps his fingers, his eerie colorless gaze locking upon me. Upon that drop of blood. “Bring me the princess. Alive, preferably.”
