Page 121 of Thief of Souls
An arrow hisses through the air, and I shove Soraya ahead of me as it sinks into a nearby tree with a thunk.
Ripping it from the wood, I stash it behind my belt, and then follow her.
On and on, with arrows hissing out of the weak afternoon light, as if Ruhle wants to taunt us with how easily he could kill us.
He’s playing with us.
Or no, herding us somewhere.
And the worst thing is, we’re not going to make it.
Enormous beech trees climb the rocky mountain slope beside us. There’s no help for it. I dart within their lingering gloom. Two steps in, and there’s an eerie silence that falls like a curtain. I swallow as I lead Soraya further.
The trees provide the cover we need, but we’re not the only ones who can hide in here.
“Give me your knife,” I tell her grimly.
The look she gives me tells me exactly what she’s thinking. A goblin-forged blade?When the sun rises in the Shadow Lands….
“I’ll bring it back to you,” I promise.
A certain bleak acceptance darkens her eyes as she passes it over. “Kill,” she says. “Don’t hesitate. Not today. This isn’t the Court of Shadows. Father isn’t here to whip Ruhle and his filthy brethren into line. If he gets his hands on either of us—”
“He won’t,” I promise. “Hide.”
She’s right.
She’s only slowing me down.
And there’s only one way to end this.
I have to become her.
I Sift away, slinking from shadow to shadow. I don’t know whether it’s the fact we’re being hunted, but I can’t help feeling as though there’s something dangerous about this place.
A figure appears, creeping through the forest on silent feet. Nocking an arrow to his bow, he eases over fallen trees, ghosting over dry leaves that ought to betray him.
Semirhyn. My brother’s tracker.
I meld back into being, my spine pressed against a beech trunk and my hand curving around the hilt of the knife.
Of all the wraiths in my brother’s hand-picked seven, he’s the most dangerous.
You never see him coming. I’ve been ambushed in hallways within the Court of Shadows and nearly knifed in my own bedroom. One night, when I was asleep, a knee drove into my back and someone looped a garrote around my throat. I thrashed and fought just long enough to drive my attacker into the wall, and then I Sifted to safety.
The next day, Semirhyn stared across the dining hall as I took my seat, his black eyes cold and emotionless.
There’d been a bruise on his cheekbone.
I’d learned how to lay nasty traps over my door after that. Sleep is difficult to find at the best of times, but since that night, I tend to wake at the slightest provocation.
It all boils within my chest.
All the sleepless nights. The nervous way I can’t walk through the castle without my hand twitching over my blade. The tripping beat of my heart….
I’ve never fought back. You don’t dare fight back against my brother’s seven, but this time I’m not alone.
And that prick put an arrow in my sister.
