Page 149 of Veinblood
Shadows flow outward, slipping beneath doors to search each room. The first four are empty, then Sacha stops outside the fifth. He glances at me with eyes that have turned completely black, then eases the door open.
Inside, a man sleeps on a narrow cot. He’s still wearing his uniform and boots, and his sword hangs within arm’s reach of the bed. His eyes snap open as soon as we enter.
“Breslin.” Sacha whispers his name, and the sound sends a chill down my spine.
Recognition and alarm flash across the commander’s face. This is a man who has survived decades of warfare, and it shows in how he reacts. He rolls sideways off the bed, reaching for the sword, in one quick move. Steel rings as he draws the blade.
“You!” He backs toward the wall, sword raised.
“You remember me?” Sacha’s voice carries silky amusement as he moves deeper into the room.
Breslin’s eyes widen slightly as shadows curl around Sacha’s form. “You’re supposed to be?—”
“Dead?” One eyebrow lifts in mock surprise.
Breslin lunges forward, his blade aimed at Sacha’s throat, but shadows move faster than steel. They wind around his sword arm, and yank it aside while more darkness flows across his mouth to muffle any cry for help.
Sacha moves closer, and the commander’s eyes burn with defiance as the shadows slowly suffocate him. His struggles grow weaker until, eventually, his body goes limp and slides to the floor.
Sacha nudges him with the toe of his boot, his shadowsword forming in his grip. Breslin’s head lolls sideways. The blade slides across his throat, leaving a thin red line. The man doesn’t move. Sacha nods, and walks out of the door.
At the end of the hallway is another door. Sacha pushes it open to reveal a man sitting at a desk, writing by candlelight. The man looks up at our intrusion, frowning in confusion that rapidly shifts to alarm.
“What do—Who are you?” His hand moves toward his weapon as his eyes focus on Sacha’s face. “No, that’s impossible!”
“Tamar.” Sacha’s greeting is almost friendly.
The commander doesn’t get a chance to reach for his sword. Shadows pin him against his desk, dark tendrils wrapping around his throat. The sounds he makes as they squeeze turns my stomach—wet, choking noises that make me want to cover my ears. But I hold still and watch as he claws uselessly at the darkness slowly crushing the life out of him. The crack when his neck finally snaps is sickening, and I press my hand to my mouth to stop any sound from escaping.
Tamar’s body slumps backward over his desk, scattering ink across whatever he’d been writing. The dark stain spreads across the parchment like spilled blood.
“Two left.” Rich satisfaction colors Sacha’s voice. “Shall we continue?”
He leads me back along the hallway and down the stairs, following the path his shadows mark through the keep. We move deeper into the fortress, searching for the remaining commanders. As we approach a set of heavy doors, voices drift toward us. Two men speaking in low, urgent tones.
“—reports from the south are troubling.”
“I wonder how long it will be before they come for us?”
“They’re already here.”
The heavy door doesn’t simply open, itimplodes, torn apart by a force of darkness that reduces the wood to splinters. The room beyond is larger than the others, and two men stand inside, both wearing full armor, despite the late hour.
Both commanders react without hesitation. One draws his sword, while the other reaches for the horn hanging on the wall.
Lightning arcs from my fingertips without a thought, striking the sword from the first man’s hand. It races up the blade and into his arm. He screams, dropping the weapon and staggering backward, clutching his burned hand, while the smell of scorched flesh fills the air.
Shadows wrap around the second man’s arm and drag him across the floor away from the horn. He slams into the table with bone-jarring force, scattering parchment across the floor.
“I planned to take my time.” Sacha walks toward them. “I thought to make you suffer the way you made so many others suffer.” He comes to a stop in front of them and raises one hand. His shadows lift them both off their feet until they hang suspended in the center of the room. At a snap of his fingers, two tendrils peel away and form into nooses, looping around both men’s necks.
“We can give you information!” one shouts.
“You have nothing of worth to tell me.” Another snap of his fingers, and both men drop.
The smell of urine and excrement burns my nose, and I takea step backward, but I can’t tear my eyes away from how both bodies hang there, swaying slightly in a breeze that doesn’t exist.
Shouts echo from the courtyard below. For a heartbeat, Sacha just stands there. Then he turns to look at me, and the two bodies hit the ground with sickening thuds. His raven materializes at his shoulder and takes flight, soaring silently through the keep. Sacha’s eyes turn black as I watch.
