King Maker (Kingdom of Runes #3) - Audrey Grey Page 0,1
enough to access her memories.
“Fear doesn’t work on me,” she growled, glaring into the black miasma. “Whoever you are, whatever you are, I will never obey you, or anyone. I am my own master.”
Laughter seeped from the black smoke, trickling along the stone walls until it pooled below her sternum. “Do you truly believe you can defy me? That you have a choice?”
“There’s always a choice.”
“How very naive of you. As long as the ancient magick of the Netherworld permeates your mortal blood, as long as that darkness wends through the hollows of your frail bones, you belong to me.”
“Liar.” But her voice was oh so soft.
“Watch and see.”
Terror constricted her heart as she witnessed her hand rise above Bell’s chest. The sharp edges of the double-sided blade glittered. Inside the steel she caught her reflection. Her eyes were black pits of nothing, of death.
Bell awoke with a start, his sleepy eyes widening as he took in her weapon, poised right above his heart. Despair settled in his face, and he whispered, “Don’t hurt me, Haven. Please.”
No, Goddess no. Not Bell.
She tried to fling the weapon from her fingers, but her body wasn’t obeying. The knife shook in her hand as she struggled against the force pushing down the blade. The hard muscles of her shoulder trembled; her teeth ground with the effort until her jaw popped.
The knife’s eye, the one that was the color of Netherfire, watched her. Willing her to drive its length into flesh and bone. She could feel its need for blood, for agony.
Feed me, it whispered. Drown me in blood.
And then something inside her snapped and the last frayed tether of control broke.
Gripping the dagger’s handle, she lifted the weapon high above the prince and then plunged the wicked blade into his chest.
2
Screams ripped Haven from the nightmare. Her screams.
Somewhere between last night and this morning, she had tumbled from her low-lying bed and was sprawled on the wooden floor of her bedchamber. A headache hammered at her skull.
Groaning, she pressed her thumbs into the tender spot just above her eyes. The pain was either from falling off the bed or, more likely, the infusion of honeymead, lilac, and clove she’d been taking to control her dark magick.
Bell had found mention of it once used by the Solis on Noctis prisoners. The foul potion was supposed to lessen her dark magick—but so far, all it seemed to do was give her migraines and leave a bitter taste in her mouth.
Someone hovered over Haven. As the sleep cleared from her vision, she made out dark button-eyes blinking down at her behind craggy cheeks and a frown. Without a word, Demelza dabbed Haven’s face with a wet washcloth, tsking beneath her breath.
“The nightmares are growing stronger,” her lady’s maid muttered, her thick northern accent both jarring and comforting. Demelza flicked her gaze over to the open window where a cat-sized raven perched. A diamond brooch sparkled between his orange claws. “‘Tis demons.”
Ravius cocked his head, returning the glare. His silver eyes were way too human for Haven’s liking, and they glinted with fury, leaving little doubt about Ravius’s feelings on being called a demon.
Not that he needed gestures to make his thoughts clear. Something that Stolas failed to mention—one of his countless omissions—was that Ravius could talk.
At least, to Haven.
The bird squawked at Demelza, but only Haven heard his enraged voice as it rattled off in her head. Witch, you should be flogged for your insolence.
For the thousandth time, Haven responded inside her mind, rubbing her temples. She’s not a witch.
Ignoring Haven, Ravius spread his wings wide and puffed out his chest, making himself as large as possible as he faced down Demelza. I am Lochran O’Beirne. Greatest Asgardian warrior of old. How dare you challenge me, witch. Bow before me or face the consequences.
His voice had the alluring brogue of an Asgardian and the disdainful lilt of a royal.
Stolas, if you can hear me, Haven thought. You owe me big time.
“Hand over that jewel you thieving Netherworld demon!” Demelza roared.
Ravius was only a raven, but Haven could have sworn a smile curved across his black beak as he bent down and snatched the brooch in his mouth. Then he proceeded to wave it back and forth.
Stolas had also failed to mention Ravius’s penchant for hoarding sparkly things. She’d recently found a rather large cache of jewelry—stolen from Goddess knows how many nobles—inside a hollowed-out portion of the loveseat by the window.