Page 204 of Curse of Darkness
I turn and catch a glimpse of Edain slipping his daggers into their sheaths.
Despite the battle, he barely looks touched. A vicious wolf stalking through a field of mud. But the way he’s looking at my sister, as though they’re the only two who exist in this world—
“This way,” Andraste blurts, hauling me in the opposite direction, toward where Baylor and Lysander are embracing. “Why don’t you introduce me to your daughter? I haven’t seen her since she was a baby.”
I throw one last glance over my shoulder toward Edain.
He’s still. Motionless. His face iced over.
But I know he saw her change direction.
And as Edain stalks away, I catch a glimpse of Lysander watching him go.
45
46
EDAIN
Icircle the tree, ignoring the servant who came with me to light the way. Setting hands to the bark does nothing to still the glacial creep of rage inside me.Adaia’s gone. Gone.
“You should be relieved,” someone said to me in passing. “The wicked queen is vanquished.”
It’s not relief I feel. I don’t quite have the words to describe the feeling clawing its way up my throat and threatening to choke me.Cheatedmight come close.
I wanted Adaia to die.
I wanted to be the one to drive a knife through her murderous heart and watch as she gasped and choked, knowing I was her ruin.
Nothing has changed.Nothing.The curse she cast upon me is still wound tight through my soul.
Adaia took everything from me. And I wanted the chance to take it back.
“You fucking bitch.” Somehow, my knife is in my hand. I drive it into the tree, again and again, but it’s a tree. It doesn’t bleed. It doesn’t tremble. A hint of sap pours forth from where my knife gouged it, but the wind shivers through its leaves as if nothing is amiss—
Fuck you.Casting about, my gaze alights on a nearby warrior, fallen with his sword.
Yanking it from his grip—he won’t need it anymore—I turn and hammer my first blow at the trunk of the tree. The impact shivers through me, but it feels good. It feelstoogood. Fury pours through me as I lay about me with the sword. Fierce swings that blunt the edge of my anger. I strip my gloves off in order to get a better grip, and then I try and cut that bitch down.
It’s only once my shoulders are heaving and my breath coming in sobs that I step back to take a look at my handiwork.
Nothing.
Her trunk is marred with blade strokes, but I’ve barely cut an inch deep.
The sword is no match for the oak.
“You fucking bitch,” I whisper, pressing one hand against the tree and bowing my head. She’s beyond my reach now.
And I will never be the same.
“My lord…?” The servant sounds hesitant. “My lord, do you want—”
“Go,” I tell him. “Go back to camp. You’ve done enough for the night.”
“My lord—”
Growling under my breath, I turn and heave the sword into the night, and that’s when I finally notice I’m not alone.
