“Thank you,” he whispered just as the diaphanous strands consumed his face, leaving nothing more than ash in their wake.
The silence in the catacombs was deafening, almost eerily surreal.
Dust from Kaos’ body floated lazily in the stagnant space, falling to rest in a scattered pattern on the stone floor.
My eyes followed each mote until I was staring without seeing at the remains of the God of Truths.
With no preamble, a roar echoed throughout the chamber, and I bent to cover my ears against the sudden onslaught of sound.
Was Solace here? Am I to die?
Even as I pressed my palms hard against the sides of my head, I found that the sound still echoed inside my skull; almost as if the noise came frominsideme.
The noise, like the wind in a tempest, never dissipated, morphing into a pain that burned from the inside out. I screamed as the feeling intensified, like my heart was liquefying in my chest, my lungs disintegrating.
At some point, I’d fallen to the floor, thrashing as pure, raw, unadulterated power ripped through my body.
I’m dying. Kaos was wrong. Killing him doesn’t give us the advantage, it gives it to hissister.
For without me, could Elyria’s forces withstand countless attacks from an immortal, all-powerful being?
Despite the heat in my body, my blood ran cold with the sting of betrayal.
Pain sliced through me like hot knives, a parting gift before it dissipated completely, leaving me a sweaty, panting mess on the floor of the catacombs. My breaths sawed through my raw chest, my body too exhausted to move my hand to check and make sure there were no outward wounds that needed tending.
Each breath was agony; the expansion of my lungs and beating of my heart sending ribbons of burning pain through my torso and down to my fingernails. Even my hair was sore.
I wept then, my tears coating my sweat-soaked cheeks and pooling beneath my head. My despair did nothing to change the fact that I was lying completely defenseless on the floor while a maniacal goddess stalked the earth feet above my head.
I’m going to die,I lamented, my wracking sobs sending shots of fire through my chest.
Please, gods. Don’t let this be the end.
Chapter Seventy-One
Torin
Three days I’d been stuck in the palace I once called home.
Three days without so much as a whisper from Hosmunt.
But now, after three days of silence, the Chief Vizier suddenly summoned me for dinner not thirty minutes ago.
It was all a power move—the exhaustive waiting followed by the quick summons—but I’d learned to play these games long ago.
Dressing quickly, I hesitated in the wardrobe for a moment before hastily grabbing the northern tunic and pants. I’d already made my point with the traditional garb of my people; stout leather boots and earth-toned clothing in the Northern style suited me just fine.
I was no longer the Prince of Iluul, or hopefully wouldn’t be after the dinner tonight. If all went well, Hosmunt would take my deal, and I would depart Iluul with ships but leave behind my title and heritage.
Sooner than expected, a light knock sounded. I opened the door, exposing both the servant as well as two janissary escorts. Without so much as a greeting, the janissaries flanked my sides as we traipsed silently through the hallways. The palace was surprisingly empty at this time of night; the servants and other viziers retired for the night.
I was led on a brisk walk through the winding hallways and wide-open spaces until we reached the complex of kitchens and open-air dining rooms.
“The Chief Vizier will be here shortly,” the manservant said as he gestured for me to take a seat at the sofra. It was a beautiful dark mahogany, the wood shinyunder the heavy polish and low lighting of the space, and I gracefully folded my legs before sitting.
The janissaries left to stand guard just outside the entrance of the private kitchen. I sighed, tapping my hand relentlessly against the wooden table as I waited for Hosmunt to finally grace me with his presence.
I wasn’t unaccustomed to power plays by little, weak men, but this waiting felt childish. It was as if he thought a rumble of hunger in my belly and impatience caused by the purposeful slight would cause me to unleash my rage. Certainly, he expected that outcome tonight, if the janissary guards were any indication.
