Page 151 of Taste of Thorns
“Me?” She smiles serenely. “What possibly can you mean?”
“You killed my sister!” I growl, stepping towards her, my hands tight fists by my side. For so long I’ve wanted to know the truth, to confront the person who took Amelia from me. I’ve bided my time. I’ve been patient. Now here she is in front of me. I could make her suffer. I could obliterate her like those demons.
“What nonsense are you spouting now, girl? Your sister was killed in a very unfortunate accid–”
“No, she wasn’t! You killed her. Just like you killed Esme Jones. Just like …” The Madame’s serene expression melts away into something evil. “You killed all of them,” I yell at her. “Just like you tried to kill me that day in the maze!”
“Just like I’m going to kill you now!”
Her hands twitch by her side and a stream of shadows come racing towards me, but I’m ready for them and I meet them with my own light.
The two forces crash together in the center of the cave, twisting around each other and sizzling like burning bacon. Sparks are tossed high up into the air and the force of it slides me backward on my feet, across the cave floor.
“How delightful,” the Madame cackles, “she’s going to try and fight back. I much prefer it when they do. It makes things so much more interesting. So much more entertaining.”
“I’m not here to entertain you,” I hiss. “I’m here to stop you.”
In the distance, I see her lick her lips. “I’ve never drunk from a lumomancer before. I wonder how sweet your virgin throat will taste.”
“Not going to happen,” I grunt, thrusting my hands forward and sending her shadows tumbling towards her.
She screams in frustration, but then her shadows are storming back my way, this time with double the force. They hit my light with an impact that has my light splintering into a thousand shards and pain reverberates across my body, making me groan.
She takes her opportunity, thrusting her dark shadows towards me. They’re not like Thorne’s or Beaufort’s or even Fox’s. There is nothing beautiful about them. They are black and dense, like the darkest point of night. They circle my body, so cold they burn my skin like ice. I force more light from my body, trying my best to hold her shadows at bay, but the circle growssmaller and smaller. I gasp as I’m enveloped in a cold so bitter it forces the air from my lungs and freezes it against my lips.
“Such a shame,” the Madame sighs, “I was hoping for a fight. But this was far too easy.”
I struggle to breathe as her shadows tighten around me, squeezing like a sinister snake. A sudden fear grips my soul. I’m not sure I have the strength to do this. I’m not sure I can.
So many times Fox told me that this plan was stupid. But I was pig-headed, determined to see it through, so wrapped up in my need for justice, I didn’t see all the gaping holes in this plan.
I have been an idiot.
But I’m going to be an idiot that goes down with a fight at least.
I summon all the light I have left and I blast through her shadows. Then I hurtle my magic towards her, screaming myself as I do, propelling myself forward and reaching for those chinks of shadows inside me, calling to the Princes, willing them to find me.
The force of my magic has the Madame hurtling backwards across the cave and crashing into the wall as my own body slams forward. For a moment, I watch her slither down the wall, then sway on her feet before she stumbles, dazed, to the ground.
She’s weakened. Now is my chance! But all the power and energy has been sapped from my body, and I have no more to give, no more energy to see or to stand.
I slump toward the ground, closing my eyes before I hit the earth.
The Madame’s cackle of laughter drags me back from the edge of oblivion and I strain open my eyes to watch her stagger to her feet and hobble towards me, the heel of one of her boots snapped off and her cloak hanging around her body in tatters. Half her hair has come loose from her French twist and soot is smudged across her face as well as her lipstick and her eyeliner.
I search for the strength to lift my hands, to move my body, to roll away from her. But I have none. I can barely keep my eyes open.
The Madame’s eyes shine as red as the demons’ and her fangs descend into her mouth. Deadly sharp.
“I am going to enjoy sucking you dry, you little nuisance,” she says, eyes fixated on my throat.
“No,” I croak, but the noise is so quiet, so pathetic, I don’t think she even hears.
Instead, she lands a sharp kick to my ribs, one I can’t even roll away from. The pain wipes away my vision for a split second and when I open my eyes she’s kneeling next to me, her cold hand on my shoulder.
Her eyes are blood red and she looks more like a monster in these final moments than she ever has done before.
“Please,” I whisper, appealing to a compassion I know she does not have.
