Am I really willing to find out?
Yes. I’d risk what’s left of my sanity in a heartbeat if it meant I’d find her.
Deep down, I know Violence can be found within myself.
Goddess knows she’s been on my mind since the first time I laid eyes on her.
Chapter Two
Violence
I thought I hated him before. Apparently, I didn’t know what real hate was. Spending nearly every waking hour with the one person you loathe more than any other introduces you to a new level of hatred.
In silence, I study him from over the top of my newest book,Towers of Darkness: A Tale of Twin Cities. It’s a textbook on our kingdom and the neighboring kingdom to the south. Both are thriving cities. Both are powerful kingdoms.
But one is run by a madman.
My father.
With wide eyes, he carefully pours one cylinder full of liquid into another. He struggles to steady the glass with the blunt end of his arm. A small amount of satisfaction comes from remembering that Nollix took that hand from him. Deep lines etch his face, and the one between his brows is so sunken, it appears to be trying to split his manic expression right in half. His hushed and unintelligible words scrape across his thin lips. The hum of his words circles the room. The liquids caress one another, and the clear substance tangles with the deep red until it’s a shade very similar to blood.
Just like yesterday and the day before and the day before that, my father swirls the concoction only once before downing it quickly. His eyes close as if he’s savoring every drop.
I’ve been here for days—it feels like weeks really—and not one word has been spoken about souls. I still don’t know what his intent is with the information he gained from the Book of Severed Souls.
A house of iron walls encloses us entirely. Not one window offers me sunlight. Not one door provides liberation. Trust me, I’ve tried. There are no exits. No sunlight. No escape. Humid air is all I breathe now. The iron has a terrible effect on my powers. Wherever we are, the magic of the Wild Hunt does not exist here. My power does not exist. At times, I feel likeIbarely exist, despite the pretense of freedom I have here.
“Are you learning much, Violence?” His eyes are still gently closed as he soaks in whatever it is that he just drank.
Is it medicine? Is he sick?
An awful excitement of hope spirals through me at the idea of him being sick.
“Very much.” My jaw clenches, my fingers gripping the frail little pages of the textbook a bit too tightly.
I am. I’m learning quite a lot, really. I’m learning he’s starting to let his guard down and he’s starting to trust me, which is just a poor idea on his part.
“Give me ten minutes, and I’ll meet you and the others in the laboratory.” The back of his hand wipes lightly at the sweat that’s formed against his brow.
He no longer seems like the man I remember when I was a child. When I was small, he was a person to be feared, to be respected, and somewhere over the last few weeks, he has lost that illusion in my eyes. He isn’t a man of honor. He isn’t even a father.
He is only a ruler.
My eyes narrow on him, but I stand abruptly. My boots scuff over the iron flooring. The dark stairs sound hollow against my steps as I take my time trailing through the labyrinth of halls. The entire estate is like this, dark and depressing.
Strange thoughts have started to drift through my mind lately. Dark thoughts. I can’t tell where they’re coming from. I can’t decide if it’s the magic encompassing this building or my father’s controlling powers or just simply... myself.
I shove those thoughts far away. I keep my mind on the mission at hand. Learning what it is my father has started is all that I’m living for now. Revenge for my mother’s death is like the string that ties me to this terrible existence, even if there are times I’m tempted to cut it.
Heavy steps bring me to Jeriko. She lies spread out on a couch. Her head rests against Basilus’s leg as he reads quietly from a handwritten journal. Basilus’s dark, thin brows knit together as he studies every line of the book. Jeriko somehow looks tiny next to him. Even though he’s soft and sophisticated while she’s scarred and scowling, the two of them are an odd but fitting pair. Every day, they seem closer and closer.
He’s almost kind to her. And she him.
It’s completely off-putting.
Jeriko’s gaze cuts across my features as Basilus’s long fingers stroke absently over her black braids. It’s as if I can see every dangerous thought inside her head. She’s hungry for something more basic within her.
She hasn’t consumed a soul. When we were in the Wild Hunt, she devoured more souls than any of us. It fueled her, in a way. It brought us to life, sending addictive energy all through our bodies.
