“Then someone else might take it? Indeed. Someone else may come to this crumbling ruin and see that it still has use. There will be no more witches here, Sybil. We will not bring another coven back to this cursed place. We move forward and we move on.”
Her shoulders tensed with every word, but she did not argue, merely ducked her head in a sharp nod before leaving the room.
Elric feared he had been too hard on her. He knew the depths of her anxiety in leaving the place that had been her home for centuries. She’d been here, alone, and these walls had given her comfort. She’d lived with the ghosts of the past for too long, though.
If she stayed, those ghosts would consume her soul.
He turned his attention back to the statues behind him, but he did not see their stony expressions. Instead, he focused on the new tether that had wriggled its way into his soul. Like the witches, he had a well of power from which he drew.
All the actions he’d taken of late had drained that well significantly. But he hadn’t used any power in many centuries. There was still plenty left to share with a witch who had gifted him so handsomely.
Accepting a sacrifice took time. He had to allow the magic to gather in this realm, and even then, the spell needed to rot the surrounding ground. Wherever a witch had made a sacrifice, there was a black mark on the world, which made it even more surprising that the witch had sacrificed a cow right in the middle of a field. Anyone who saw that black stain would know instantly what had happened.
Taking a deep breath, he followed the magic and felt his form disintegrate and then re-form. One moment he was in the manor, and the next, he stood in a field of wheat among knee-high yellow fronds. Wind waved the stalks of gold in a subtle breeze. Crows wheeled overhead, their caws grating at his ears even as he saw what they feasted upon.
The bloated body of the cow lay in a circle of flattened wheat, fallen where it had been killed while grazing. Its long tongue lolled out of its mouth, where even maggots and flies refused to land.
The black stain of the sacrifice leached into the ground, spreading around the beast and pulsing with power. It waited for him, and who was he to deny such a gift?
Elric bent, feeling his form warp and distend with power as he crouched beside the reeking body to accept the witch’s sacrifice. Blackooze cracked out of the cow’s splitting skin and rolled toward him in strings of inky goo that latched on to his wrists and body. The dark magic consumed him, clinging to him like a cape that billowed from his shoulders and boiled in waves of movement.
A faint sound reached his ears, one that made little sense for an empty field with a dead cow and crows above his head—but the soft gasp was expected from someone spying on a feasting god.
He looked up, feeling the magic already writhing underneath his flesh. Tiny fissures of black ink had reached up his face and were already pooling in the sockets of his eyes.
A farmer stood there with his mouth hanging open and his face white as parchment. He was a stout man, born ready for a life of hardship. His hands were worn with calluses. His clothing was simple and well-used. Leathery skin had long been burned by the sun’s touch, but it was the man’s eyes that gave away who he was.
There were laugh lines all around his face, the deep grooves of a man who knew what happiness was, and that was the only reason Elric allowed him to live. If he had revealed even a hint of violence or greed, Elric would have killed him instantly.
Instead, he gifted this man with the sight of a god.
He stood, feeling power stretching around him. The great cloak of ink spread from his shoulders like raven wings. His frame grew taller than he normally was. Wider, longer, stretching until the very sky seemed filled with night.
The man began to pray, whispered words of shaking fear that claimed he would be a good man if the gods would protect him.
“There are no gods,” Elric said, his voice deep and booming in the field. “None but me.”
The farmer fell to his knees, vowing to be a good man for the rest of his life. He would not allow any to sway him. If there were gods, then he would worship them until the very last moment of his life. Spare him.
Family.
Farm.
Love.
The same words everyone spat as they claimed value in their lives not worth saving. There were a hundred men just like him. A hundred men more who were gone and forgotten. And still a hundred more yet to be born. This man was just a drop in the ocean of humanity, and losing him would in the long run affect nothing.
But Elric was not the same god he once had been. Now he had a voice in his head whispering that people had value. That even after they had killed him so many times, there were still people worth fighting for in this kingdom. And that voice, that soft feminine voice, calmed his rage.
So he stood there, allowing the man to drink his fill of a feasting god. He enjoyed the fear coursing through the man’s veins, let it linger in the air, and then drew it deep into his lungs.
“Tell all what you have seen here today,” he intoned, spreading a warning before he left for the manor. “For I am the Deathless One, and I have returned.”
Jessamine hadn’t thought travel to the Pleasure District would be so easy. They had a few run-ins with the infected, but less than expected. Perhaps that was because there were so many guards on the road. All of the men wore Leon’s dark navy colors with hard expressions and orders to make sure that nothing happened.
She wasn’t certain why. Sybil thought they were a sign that Leon was on the move. No one wanted the king to run into the infected on the streets. Elric thought the same. Regardless of the reason, every time they mentioned his name, Jessamine felt like she was going to come out of her own skin. She couldn’t think about her murderer’s plan. Not yet. Fortuna still stood between her and him. There was still time for her to build up the bravery to face him.
The closer they got to the Pleasure District, the more guards they saw. Jessamine kept her hood pulled close around her, making certain that her face wasn’t easily seen. Nyx rode upon her shoulder underneath her cloak, giving her the look of a hunchback. Few people would recognize her, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a risk. Some former palace servant might have survived Leon’s coup, and notice that her face looked an awful lot like the princess’s.
