Page 72 of Of Kings and Thieves

“Please,” I begged.

“Silence!” Moredanea hissed, not even bothering to look my way. “Let me explain what’s about to happen, my dear prince,” Moredanea said, tracing the blade along Col’s skin. “This little ritual is going to bind you to our cause. You will become the leader this kingdom has always needed, the kind of man who will have order or have heads.”

Without warning, she pressed the blade into his flesh.

Col’s body tensed, but he didn’t make a sound. My own breath caught in my throat as I watched blood well up around the wound, stark against his pallid skin. The sight of it sent a wave of bile surging into my mouth, but I swallowed it back down.

Moredanea’s finger dipped into the blood that flowed from Col’s wound, a disturbing smile stretching across her face. Then she lifted a small basin to catch the blood flowing down Col’s chest.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away as another Deviant approached and handed a bag to Moredanea. She opened it and retrieved a curved, sharp horn. The flickering light of the fire revealed its smooth, iridescent surface. The alicorn horn.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, as she began grinding the horn against a rough stone. As the once-gleaming horn was reduced to a fine powder, it took on an unsettling silver-white hue—like moonlight mixed with ash.

“Feast your eyes,” Moredanea said, smirking at Col and me as she carefully poured the ground horn into a black cauldron, along with Col’s blood. “The key to our victory.”

As she mixed the crushed horn with a mysterious black powder and a foul-smelling potion, a sickly sweet stench filled the air. It crawled down my throat and settled in my stomach, making me want to retch. The air grew colder still, the scent of magic heavy. I swallowed hard, trying to dispel the bitter taste that lingered.

The Deviants surrounding the fire began a haunting chorus of incantations, each voice blending and twisting with the others, echoing through the courtyard like a serpent coiling around its prey. As they chanted, they tapped their staffs against the cobblestone in unison. Their words slithered into my ears, wrapping around my skull and burrowing deep within me.

They continued, voices growing louder and more insistent, frenzied even. Then the Deviants cried out as their chanting reached a fever pitch. At that moment, the flames in the center of the circle roared higher, casting flickering shadows across the courtyard and painting our faces in shades of blood and darkness.

“Silence,” Moredanea ordered, her voice cutting through the noise. With one final crack of their staffs on the stone, the Deviants fell silent. The sudden quiet was almost as unnerving as the chanting had been.

Tendrils of smoke snaked up from the bonfire in the center of the circle, weaving together to form the image of an alicorn. The sight was both mesmerizing and terrifying, its massive wings outstretched, claws extended, and fangs bared, all wreathed in smoke and fire.

Moredanea cried out, her voice rising as the Deviants began chanting once more. As she spoke, the alicorn seemed to grow more solid, more real, and a cold dread settled in the pit of my stomach.

In a display of power, Moredanea extinguished the roaring bonfire with a mere touch, causing the flames to vanish in an instant, plunging the courtyard into darkness. By the light of the moon, I saw her scoop the contents of the cauldron into a vial. Everything had fallen into eerie silence, save for the sinister rustling of Moredanea’s cloak as she stepped towards The Harrow.

“Behold, Your Grace,” Moredanea declared, her voice dripping with triumph while she held the vial aloft. “Your weapon.”

The Harrow’s eyes gleamed with anticipation as he extended his hand, ready to receive the concoction. “Well done, my pet.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Harrow examined the vial for a few moments while everyone looked on. A few torches were lit for The Harrow, who held the substance up to the light. Sweat poured down Col’s face and chest, his skin pale. I couldn’t tell if it was from blood loss or from being forced to play a part in Moredanea’s dark ritual.

I’m all right, he said distantly.

You don’t look it.

A faint warmth trickled down our bond, reassuring me. Even now, he was concerned with my feelings, when everything in me screamed to fight my way to him, to help him.

Movement near The Harrow caught my attention. An eager smile slithered across his face. “Should we test our invention?”

Moredanea gestured to one of the guards at the doors with a flick of her bloodied hand.

“Such potential,” The Harrow continued. “Imagine the power one could wield with this. The ability to turn flesh to stone with a mere touch.”

My breath caught in my throat, and I struggled to keep my face smooth, refusing to let them see the horror blooming inside me. Flesh into stone? I wanted to vomit, or maybe slit their throats.

Both, Col said.

“Such power,” The Harrow whispered, almost to himself. “And soon, your loyalty, Andris, will be my next greatest weapon. With this new power and with you by my side, none will dare defy me.”

He paced slowly around us, his cloak billowing behind him like the leathery wings of some grotesque bat. “Can you imagine it? You, the mighty prince of Iron Deep, my loyal servant.”

Col refused to answer him, staring straight ahead as if The Harrow hadn’t just brought his world crashing down around him. Fury blazed in Col’s eyes, but he kept himself in check. I knew what it cost him to hold back when all he wanted was to bury his sword in The Harrow’s chest.

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