Page 113 of Thief of Souls
Later, conscience. We’ll have this discussion later.
The whiny little bitch sighs, but she gives up. Maybe she knows this is not the right moment to be trying to get me to be a better woman.
Two seconds later, I’m standing at the entrance to the maze.
The questing beast lurks in there somewhere. I just know it.
There’s a reason the fae have been vanishing. It’s got nothing to do with the antics of the Court of Blood, and everything to do with an enormous chimera of nightmarish form who might not be getting fed as frequently as she’d like.
I think about everything I know about Mistmark and Falion.
The first time I saw them conspiring, they were in the checkerboard garden. And according to Mistmark’s letter, the horn is “right where the queen should be.”
Checkerboard.
Or chess board?
I Sift through the maze, bouncing between each dapple of shadow until I reach the magnificent checkerboard of lawn. Nothing moves but the whisper of wind through the trees, but I can smell something gamey.
Perfect. The beast must be close by.
Wrapping the shadows around me, I creep along the wall of the hedge as I scan the area.
There’s something hidden there in the shadows of the enormous bloodstar tree. I don’t think I’d have even noticed it myself if there wasn’t something about the way the shadows twist that catches my eye aswrong. And I certainly wouldn’t have noticed it if I wasn’t looking for it.
Taking a slow breath, I ease toward it, hoping the beast can’t scent me.
It’s a casket woven of shadows themselves. They’re bound together so tightly I can barely see through them, and if not for my gifts, the golden chest beneath them would be almost invisible.
The Horn of Shadows.
Falion.
It’s incredible work, somewhat like that cloak of his. I’ve never even thought it was possible.
But how to pierce the shadows?
I can hear the questing beast’s breath writhing through its lungs like the sound of three dozen distant hounds wheezing. The echoing timbre of that sound makes it difficult to pinpoint, but I know it’s here somewhere. Each breath is slow and steady.
Asleep.
Sifting closer, I try and shield myself in the shadows.
Nothing moves.
But every instinct is on alert as I kneel before the casket.
I tentatively touch the casket before me. It’s chill and cool and somehow impenetrable. And yet, it stirs beneath my touch, like a cat arching into a pat.
Somehow, the shadows meld around my fingers. It’s not unlike the way I can slipthroughthem, but this time, I’m using them to coat my skin. Allowing them to part around me like a glove.
Is this how he does it?
I coax them to part, feeling the cool slip and slide of them. The chest appears, gold lock dulled by years of wear. It’s a simple thing to pick for a master thief.
I glance around as I slowly open the chest. The hinges squeal, and I freeze.
Only the wind stirs through the trees of bloodstar, but there’s a different timbre to that wheeze now. If the beast was asleep, then it’s only dozing now.
