I’d only wished I’d made him suffer longer, if only for the memory of my sister.
While I couldn’t make him feel her pain, I could inflict it on those he appeared to care about most—his councilors.
“Lady d’Hida,” the same councilor pushed, snapping me from my reverie. I whirled on the man, spots dancing in front of my eyes as my twin braids whipped against my back. Lips pulled into a snarl, I glared at the sniveling man. Near my dead father’s age, a relic of a time past.
With no warning, I pulled the sword I’d worn at my side since I’d found it in Vespera and, in one fell swoop, lopped the man’s head from his shoulders—or at least attempted to. My blade stuck in his neck about halfway through the strike, not severing the appendage completely, and only serving to mortally wound him. It took a great deal of strength to cleave a man’s head from his body, strength that was waning the longer I remained unBonded.
Damn Rune Master and her “unknown” affects for severing a Bond.
Screams tittered around the room as the councilor’s body slumped to the ground, silk-covered knees hitting the stone first before the rest of his body followed. The force of his fall pulled the sword from my hand, where the tip clanged loudly as fountains of red gushed from the wound. Some spurted high into the air, his heart not aware that it was disconnected from his brain. A wayward arc sprayed from his neck and splattered against my face, warm tanginess dripping from my forehead, down my face, and across my lips.
I pushed the coppery liquid off my mouth with the back of my hand, smearing the residue against the silk of my tunic-dress.
With a last gurgle, the man’s body stopped twitching as he finally,finally, succumbed to the injury. Blood still poured freely around the site where my blade was embedded in his neck, though it no longer shot upward.
Stupid bastard and this godsforsaken headache, I lamented as I splashed through the growing puddle of blood so dark it was nearly black. The warm liquid wasquickly cooling, steam rising from it as I put one bloodied slipper against his shoulder for leverage and pulled.
With a wet sucking noise, the sword came free from the councilor’s neck.
Chest heaving with exertion and pain from that damn headache, I let the bloodied blade fall loosely to my side. A slow clap reverberated through the now silent space.
I whirled on my heel to see the gods standing in the open doorway. The hall beyond them was just as white as the receiving room and flooded with the same light, though it was blessedly empty, the petitioners wisely evacuating the surrounding area lest they fall on my sword next.
“That was . . . quite a show, Vessel,” Kaos growled, his enormous hands still slowly clapping as he and his sister made their way farther into my receiving room. The gods were taller than humanly conceivable—nearly seven feet each—but where Kaos was considerably bulky with a skin so obsidian its contrast was almost painful in the pure white space, Solace was impossibly thin and just as pale as the walls in the Samyrian manor.
“Glad I could provide you entertainment,” I groused as I wiped the blood on the dead councilor’s robe.
“Positively barbaric. Ihatethose weapons,” Solace hissed, her long fingers gesturing aggressively to the blade in my hand.
I shrugged before sliding the sword back into the scabbard at my hip. It was the last thing I had of King d’Refan, and I was not about to discard it simply because of Solace’s preferences.
Kaos stopped to admire my handiwork while his sister practically floated to the throne, pausing only briefly before resting delicately in its confines.
I never wanted to rule Samyr, but I bristled seeing her sitting there.
King d’Refan—the man I owed my allegiance, my heart, my soul—despised the goddess with the force of a thousand suns. His dislike of Kaos was not far behind, but his hatred of Solace was legendary—at least to me.
He’d shared so much with me—his visions, his plans, his dreams for a free Elyria—all while I offered him relief no one else, not even hiswife, thought to grant. His predictions were . . .severe, but I endured every one of them and would happily do so again, if only he were alive.
I nearly snarled at the thought of King d’Refan’s death and the Mage who was responsible. My hate for General Rohak d’Alvey eclipsed even my immense disdain for my previous Bonded group.
“You’re looking quite murderous right now. Who could you possibly be thinking about?” Kaos goaded, dry humor lacing the god’s tone. His sister simply huffed in annoyance, an action that seemed to make the male’s smile grow wider.
Solace was a bitch, but she was easy to decipher. Kaos, on the other hand, wasa complete enigma. It made him unpredictable, and people who were unpredictable weredangerous.
“She’s thinking about that descendant of yours,” Solace said with a lazy wave of her hand. Kaos’ smile fell then, his expression darkening at the mention of King d’Refan.
He grunted some sort of acknowledgement before moving to stand beside his sister.
“So, where is thisweaponyou promised us?” Solace asked, her ethereal voice taking on a sharper edge. I nearly shivered in response, every inch of my body screaming for me to run from the two predators who had made my home their own.
“Not a weapon. Someone who could help us meet with certain people . . . who would give us a weapon.” The explanation sounded lame even to my ears.
Solace’s mouth flattened, and her eyes sparked.
“I hope you didn’t lead us here under false pretenses, mortal,” she hissed as Kaos scratched at his chin, seemingly uninterested in our conversation.
I spread my arms wide, indicating the whole of the manor as I spoke. “I gave you food and shelter, did I not? A place to rest and regroup after half of your army was destroyed. An army of trained Mages who have swollen your ranks to numbers you only dreamed.”
