Page 51 of A Requiem of Fire and Ice

“Promise me you won’t harm them, Reen—no more bloodshed. You’ve spilled enough,” Walkyer calls.

I stop in my tracks, crane my head to look at him and say, “Is that an order?”

“I don’t want it to be,” Walkyer says. His voice breaks with exhaustion, but it’s his fault. If he had agreed to kill her a day ago, we wouldn’t be arguing about it now.

“I won’t harm any more innocents until I have my hands around Pandora’s throat and you give me the word to break it,” I declare. Innocents is a keyword, for if these friends of Pandora had an inkling of knowledge that she was a smuggler, their heads would be on the ground, and I could quench this thirst simmering inside me.

“Thank you,” Walkyer says before I leave the Throne Room.

The castle has three different interrogation rooms.

We use the first few rooms on the left side of the foyer for interviews or light interrogations. Usually, these involve business deals of that sort, or whenever Emmerton or Walkyer brings a woman back home, either out of infatuation or to fuck with Walkyer.

Now I’m being fucking cock-blocked by the new king because of some strange obsession with an unawakened brat he hasn’t spoken to yet.

But orders are orders, and I will abide by them if he wants me to bring her back for interrogation. However, I will salivate with my meal, instil fear into her, and play with my food for a bit before bringing her back to the doting arms of a brother who will probably believe her story, even if she held King Ragan’s head.

The difference between the two kings and their bloodlines is that King Ragan wants me to slaughter all who dare to kill him, while King Walkyer doesn’t wish for bloodshed, even when it is needed. My dislike for King Ragan aside, I would already be on my way to hunt her if he were present. Walkyer has too much heart to give; with it, his downfall will come if he keeps thinking with his heart more than his head.

I move down the stone steps into the central courtyard in the centre of the castle. Lifeless trees and twiggy shrubbery fill the yard. Old rose thorns twist against the sculpture of a woman with her hands outstretched, yearning for rain as her eyes bleed red and weep down her scaly cheeks.

King Ragan created this courtyard for my mother when he dragged us away from Eden Island and brought us to the Kingdom of Flesh. At the start of their marriage, she played the happy family, and I envied her for letting him slaughter my dad, brothers and sister. I would sit on the steps leading to this courtyard and watch as she grew rose bushes that butterflies yearned to kiss, tall weeping trees where birds nestled, and lizards slept in the cool shade.

Then she stopped after carrying Emmerton. She locked herself in her tower, and the courtyard died bit by bit. She took a piece of herself with it until we got what we have now—a barren place with no future life.

Broad iron doors lead into the Knights of Eraminia’s quarters on the other side of the courtyard. They make no sound when they open, and the pale light from the thickening haze seeps into the darkness, illuminating bare stone walls and ashen tiles, sleek with crimson. Eyeing the doors lining the corridor ahead, I turn right and open the door leading down into the depths of darkness.

A musky, smoke-stained scent lingers on the charred walls. Brittle bones crumble over the thick layer of ash, clinging like fresh paint to smooth surfaces. Flames lick at the torches as I descend, casting shadows dripping with nightmares onto the fallen bones. Spiders spin their webs, some oozing down like vines from a hanging plant. And slippery mice weave through skulls with broken teeth.

At the bottom of the stairs, the tunnel leads to the cellars, which no one uses anymore because King Ragan made a spectacle of the enemy before burning them. The enemies turned to dust, leaving nothing but whispers and ghostly remnants lurking in fear that haunt most cellars.

The more I walk, the more sounds I hear. Ignoring the whimpers of frightened elemny unknown in this place, there are voices of a calm conversation.

“Doesn’t it get lonely being down here for so long?” A familiar voice of that irritating woman who perched herself outside my mother’s door asks.

“Ziri comes down several times a week and cares for me. It’s not so bad,” Chloe speaks in a frail voice she doesn’t usually use.

Their voices simmer when I move past them. Uncaring, I can feel the petrified energy palpitating from them until I am out of sight. The flickering torches dim until they’re shrouded in darkness once more.

Near the staircase leading to the back tower, a door on the right of the cells connects to the long wall encasing the castle. I shrug the door open and eye Astin. He leans against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and a bored look on his face. I give him a swift nod, and he rises and leaves the room. After he’s out, I turn my attention to the quivering young elemny and twitch a smirk.

Chapter 24

Pandora Hart, July 12th

Rain batters the deck and causes chaos from unsettled, antsy elemny waiting out the storm. Wind and water work in unison to gain some semblance of control as the ship sways, tipping from side to side in this frantic motion.

There’s a whirlpool near the entrance to the Kingdom of Storm, preventing us from docking without fear of damaging the pier. They tell us they will wait it out until we can travel any further.

At this rate, I sense the damn Knights of Eraminia on my arse, and there’s nowhere else I can go.

The ship tilts again, and my stomach splutters in panic. I stumble forward, grip the corner of the kitchen counter, and grit my teeth whenever the ship moves back and forth.

Fuck me, I’m going to throw up.

The tightening in my throat constricts, and a strange funk crunches through my stomach until a wave of nausea sweeps over me.

I make it to the toilet. How the fuck does that work? Why does my body hold on to the vomit until I reach the bathroom? Then it’s like a switch flips. Spewing sprays out until an acidic taste burns down my throat.