Eraldon smirks. “What’s this new resolve I feel in you?”
“Grimelda tortured me, put these lies into my head. I can’t touch her. Not yet. But her mother is within my reach.” I bare my fangs. “I think spilling her blood will help me think straight.”
Eraldon’s smirk turns into an indulgent smile. “Do what you will, but keep her alive. We need her power.”
“I’ll keep her alive, but she’ll wish I hadn’t.” With a hard push, I use my wings to soar up and over the trees. Our position outside the Nightkeep is bespelled to seem like nothing more than woods. Filled with seekers, the camps teem with our troops. We’ll overrun the Nightkeep in short order.
But first, I need to find the witch. The one who can bring the Nightkeep’s barrier tumbling down. She’s imprisoned at the back of the camps, her stone cell wrapped in blackest night and covered in binding runes.
A dozen guards stiffen at my approach, and I drop to the ground near the structure. I hiss and the guards stand back, their dark eyes on the forest floor. They know better than to look at me. Eraldon already tore one of his servants apart for daring to stare too long. Jealousy or bloodlust—I don’t know which caused him to do it.
“Open.”
The nearest seeker grips the door, his palm burning, and pulls it open for me.
I stop on the threshold and turn to him, his flesh sizzling. “Next time, I shouldn’t have to ask.”
He nods, his arm shaking as his fingers blacken and send the smell of charred flesh into the damp air.
I flick some dust from my shoulder and continue standing in the doorway. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.” His voice cracks.
“Good.” I stride in, and he closes the door behind me.
The room is lit with candles and a small fire. Lex lies in a heap at the back, her arms and legs shackled to the wall with iron. Her skin is in worse shape than the guard’s.
Pulling up a chair on the rough-hewn floor, I sit by the fire and stare down at her. Bedraggled, wasted away, and filthy, Lex doesn’t look the least bit formidable. In fact, she looks weak and breakable. But, as in all things, appearances can be deceiving.
“I know you’re awake, crone.”
“Crone?” She stirs, her thin body turning in her pile of rags until I see two eyes peering back at me. “I’m a beauty.”
“Not anymore.”
“Still.” She grins, half her teeth missing and her face lined with deep wrinkles. “Always.”
“I’m not here to listen to lies. Your daughter fed me enough of those.” I flick out one of my claws and inspect it.
“What do you know of my daughter?” She sniffs and moves slightly closer.
“I know she tortured Eraldon. Probably me, too, though she erased those memories to save herself. It didn’t work. I still know what she’s done. She and that pretender on the day throne.”
She laughs, the sound like rusty keys turning in even rustier locks. “My, that’s a lot of lies on your tongue. More than you even understand. Each one of them fed to you by that deathly white hand of Eraldon’s, eh? You’re quite right to be suspicious, but not of me.”
“Enough.” I stand. “I didn’t come here to listen to your blather.” I splay my claws out.
“You came here for revenge, did you?” She pushes into a sitting position, feeble grunts accompanying the motion.
There’s barely enough left of her to hurt, but that doesn’t lessen my desire to make her scream in agony.
“Until I find Grimelda, you’re the next best thing. Unless, of course, Eraldon killed her when he drained her.” I smirk.
“My daughter lives.” She smiles a little, a faraway look on her filthy face. “She’s with the magic. Soon, I will be too.”
“A mother’s love?” I reach out and draw a scratch across her cheek, her blood welling thick and ugly.
She doesn’t move, her gaze locked with mine. Acid churns in my gut, hatred and rage swirling until I feel I might retch. But there’s also a hunger, a desire to taste that thin line of crimson painting her sallow face. I push it down and focus on my rage.
