Page 153 of Promise of Darkness
The Sword of Mourning rings as if it cuts through the air itself, a high-pitched whine almost on the edge of hearing. It’s vibrating in my hands, forcing me to grit my teeth.
Blaedwyn holds up a hand, and the sword’s tip jerks toward her.
It’s all I can do to hang onto it.
“You’re invincible with that sword,” I cry. “I know. No mortal being could stand against you and hope to survive.” I suddenly smile, swiping my palm down the sharp edge of the blade. “But look where I’m standing. I think I know someone who can defeat you. And someone who might be very, very interested in seeing you again.”
I slam my bloody palm against the nearest ward stone. It’s the one with the symbol forUrazon it. If you squint, the runealmostlooks like something with horns.
My blood ignites the Hallow, but this time it’s not opening a portal to another Hallow. The ley line beneath us trembles as if it senses a new pattern in the runes. I’ve never felt so closely linked to it, and for a moment, it almost seems as though I cantouchthat power.
I don’t, because I’m not an idiot and would prefer not to be incinerated.
The Hallow starts shaking.
Dust and chips of stone shiver off the ward stones. The ground trembles, forcing me to soften my knees to maintain my stance.
Blaedwyn looks down sharply, then her gaze jerks to mine and her face goes white. “What are youdoing?”
Lines of light sear through the snow on the ground, the heat melting it in an instant. The marble floor of the Hallow is suddenly visible, and every bronze glyph carved into the marble glows.
“Don’t!” Blaedwyn screams, as she nearly goes to her knees.
I drive the Sword of Mourning right into the middle glyph.
It’s the key, after all.
“Surprise, bitch.” I grab onto one of the ward stones for balance as power suddenly erupts through the Hallow, and a blinding line of light forms right in the middle.
And then the Erlking steps through from his prison in the Underworld, sucking all of the oxygen from the air.
* * *
The Erlking is enormous.
Violent, gleeful eyes lock on me with an intensity that almost makes me step back. That look saysrun, mortal. It speaks to every ounce of my being that’s ever frozen when you hear something moving out there in the woods. It lifts all the hairs down my spine, and my lungs seize as he steps out through the rift in the world.
Because while it says run, that look also says I just might want to be captured.
Every inch of him is built to conquer, to take, to hunt. The feral slash of his cheekbones and the cruel curve of his mouth speak of a primitive kind of carnality that make me want to swallow.
And his eyes are the eyes I saw in that vision.
I was in Blaedwyn’s head when she betrayed him.
“Freedom,” he whispers, holding his hand out as if he hasn’t felt air on his skin in centuries. Dressed in strict black hunting leathers, he wears a cape of raven feathers. A crown made of golden antlers settles on his brow, and his long, tangled hair has golden beads woven through it.
Of all the Old Ones, he’s both the most dangerous and the most mercurial, but also one of the only ones we might survive. He was Master of the Wild Hunt, and though his prey never escaped him, he was also known to be benevolent toward those with pure intentions.
“You freed me,” he says, turning his focus back upon me. “And so I owe you a boon.” Cruelty tilts that mouth in a wicked curve. “But speak wisely, little one, for I shall warn you only once—my gifts hold a sting.”
“A mighty favor, Great One.” I bow my head. “And one which I shall hold in stead, for I want for nothing in this moment.”
His eyes narrow, and he steps forward. “If you want for nothing, then why did you free me?”
“I brought you a gift,” I say, pointing toward Blaedwyn.
She’s scrambling down the slope, fleeing as if the Wild Hunt is already on her heels. I can’t say I blame her. The wind is already whistling, as though a ghostly horde follows him. She’s the sole reason he spent centuries locked away in the Underworld.
