Текст книги "Horns of Wicked Ebony"
Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 43 страниц)
After all, I’d been blessed by the Giver with this unique power, with a bond that transcended all others, and an unbreakable will. I was the fucking Szélhámos, and the world would come to know exactly who I was by the end of this war.
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Kiira and I descended the stairs hand in hand. The freely given affection was healing me as much as it was healing her. “You know, I always wished for a sister. Prayed for one when I was young, someone for me to be with like Rokath and Xannirin had each other. I think the Fates finally answered me with you.”
“You’re going to make me cry,” I choked out, giving her a squeeze. Memories of my own sister flashed through my mind. She’d been the last of my family to die in the plague. But maybe, just maybe, I could find the same feelings with Kiira and among the females in Fured.
“I mean it. We have a sisterhood among the priestesses, but I can’t share with them like I can with you. You are as much in this as I am now,” she told me.
Flickering light appeared ahead as we descended the final spin of the tower. All was quiet with the late hour, not even a whisper of the guards who normally stood at the base to protect their Kral. We reached the landing, striding into the chilly night air. A shiver wracked my frame, and I released Kiira to rub warmth into my arms.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you?” I asked her, backing toward Rokath’s tower. Rapp and the healing wing were in the opposite direction. With a glance behind me, I realized no sentries were posted at the entry or along the hall.
They must be on a break.
“I’ll be fine,” she swore, wrapping her jacket tighter over her torso. “Get some sleep. You look exhausted.”
I snorted. “So do you.”
Kiira’s eyes widened, her breath catching—not the reaction I expected. “Assyria, watch–”
Something hard slammed into my back, sending me careening forward. Kiira shrieked, leaping out of the way. I twisted my body at the last moment, landing hard on my bad shoulder. Pain flared, and a loud pop reached my ears.
“Fuck,” I cursed, clutching my arm. Kiira continued to scream, and I tore my eyes open to find a male towering over me, molten pitch coiling around him. Thick whips snapped Kiira into a nearby column. Her sounds ceased, leaving only my thundering heart in my ears.
I shoved my feet into the ground and pushed back, creating distance between me and the hooded male. With the darkness covering his face, I had no way of knowing what his eye color was. What his secondary power might be.
“Rokath!” I screamed down our bond, snatching at the inky well in my chest.
A silver blade flashed in the firelight.
Without thinking, I flung my magic in all directions, covering Kiira should he attempt to slit her throat while she was unconscious.
“Where are you?” Rokath growled, my fear a wildfire down the bond.
“Base of the tower,” I managed to get out as the male leaped for me. He crashed into me, sending the air screaming from my lungs. A sharp sting sliced across my cheek. Stars danced in my vision. But I’d managed to avoid a dagger to the heart.
My shadows stuttered from the contact with silver. I gritted my teeth and dug deeper into my well.
This fucker would not kill me.
Obsidian power surged, shoving him off me. Wheezing, I flung out a hand, holding him at bay. Agony lashed my shoulder as I raised my other arm to twist the dark tendrils toward his hood to reveal his identity.
Stone trembled above us. A wicked grin curved the corner of my mouth. “You’ve made a terrible mistake.”
The would-be assassin snarled and slashed through my magic. Each rope screamed in protest as it shattered into nothingness. Adrenaline flooding my veins, I rose, preparing to fight with my fists.
He lunged again, and I ducked under the blow, dancing away from him. He followed, silver whooshing by me as I continued to dodge.
Why did there have to be so many fucking stairs to that tower?
I had no doubt Rokath was careening down them at a breakneck pace.
Positioning myself between the male and Kiira, I snapped, “Who sent you?”
Because the moment Rokath reached me, this male was dead.
He said nothing, silent as a wraith. I shoved more magic at him, attempting to knock him off balance and remove his cloak. But with a wave of his hand, he cast a shield of onyx at the last moment. Darkness claimed the space between us. My heart thundered against my ribs.
I couldn’t see him, could scarcely see my own hands. What if he flung the blade at me now?
The thought had barely finished before I was moving. And not a moment too soon.
Metal clattered against stone as I crashed to the ground, more pain flaring in my shoulder. Tears pricked my eyes, but I gritted my teeth, muscles tense, and prepared to fight again.
A roar ripped through the night. Our bond flared with fury as I sensed Rokath mere steps from me. The sharp edge of a blade sliced the air. A cry echoed. Firelight returned, casting a harsh glow on the blood-soaked stones.
The male fell to his knees, hands clutching a deep wound in his side.
And my mate stood over him.
My breath caught—this time not from fear, but from awe. Clad in nothing but a pair of pants, his blade dripping the crimson blood of my attacker, tattoos on full display, Rokath was vengeance incarnate. Carved by the Fates themselves to rain divine justice.
“You touched my mate.”
A low, primal growl rumbled from him, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I scooted toward Kiira, ensuring their brawl wouldn’t bring harm to her.
“No one gets to do that but me. Because of your transgression, I will gut you so thoroughly the Fates will weep for what they wove.”
The male drew a dagger hidden at his side and swiped at Rokath. My mate sidestepped it, dipping and catching the assassin by the throat. He threw him against the wall, rattling the keep. Bones crunched as the male crumpled to the ground. Blood flew from his mouth as he spit onto the pavers.
“Symbols rise. Symbols fall, Halálhívó,” he taunted, hurling himself forward for another attack.
Ice shattered through my veins. Those words…
A blade scraped over Rokath’s chest, but my mate drove him into the stones again. Then, he wrapped the back of the male’s head and slammed it against his knee. More ruby spilled from him as he ducked out of Rokath’s grip.
But his movements were slow, sloppy. Rokath caught his fist on the next strike and twisted. Another crack sounded. The male howled in pain.
“Not as quickly as inept assassins,” Rokath ground out. Yanking the silver blade from the male’s hand, he flipped it and plunged it into his throat. His chest. His stomach and dragged.
A cascade of garnet slicked his clothes. With a sickening gurgle, the would-be killer fell to the ground. The hood of his cloak dropped too, revealing glassy maroon eyes.
Rokath raced to my side, noting Kiira lay there too. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. Kiira is out,” I said, salt stinging my eyes. Rokath brushed his knuckles over the cut on my cheek, and I hissed. “Except for that. And my shoulder. It’s injured again.”
A string of curses fled his lips. “I’m taking you both to the healing wing.” In one powerful motion, he scooped up his cousin. Then, he helped me to my feet. I swayed for a moment, my entire body trembling as I came down from the fright of the attack.
Once I was certain I wouldn’t collapse, I found Rokath’s sword and grabbed it. What if more were waiting to rise if their comrade failed?
He took two steps before halting. “Where the fuck are the sentries?”
“They weren’t here when we came down,” I told him, my voice weak.
Rage, hotter than a volcano, burned down our bond. “Heads will roll.”
Of that, I had no doubt.
On sore, tired limbs, I followed my mate to the healing wing. Kiira groaned, her head lolling. “Rokath?”
“Sh, rest for now. I’m taking you to the healer.” Rokath adored Kiira, and like me, he’d do anything to protect her. She’d told me as much during our conversation on the terrace at Gyor Palace.
To see it now made me love my mate all the more.
Rokath roused the lead healer in residence to care for Kiira and me. Laid out on an examination table, he tended to a deep gash on the back of Kiira’s head. I sat on the end, cradling my arm.
“Where is she?” Rapp burst into the room, his face contorted.
“For fuck’s sake, we can’t have you ripping stiches again,” Rokath growled, catching his Hadvezér. “Assyria is fine.”
Yet as I studied the wide-eyed terror in Rapp’s expression, I got the sense that the emotion wasn’t entirely for me. He found us a moment later, his frame sagging with relief. “I heard your voices. Had to check that you were alright.”
“We’re fine. Just a bit shaken up.” Kiira offered Rapp a reassuring smile, but it didn’t seem to calm his panic.
“Who attacked them?” he whirled on Rokath.
Anger vibrated through my mate’s muscled frame. “He’s dead now. But he didn’t act alone.”
Rokath quickly relayed what had happened while the lead healer finished his work on Kiira. Approaching me, he gave me a quick once-over. “I can put a salve on your cheek so it doesn’t scar. Your shoulder, I’ll have to set. Do you want something to bite?”
“Please,” I said, bracing myself for the pain to come. He fetched a piece of wood and I opened my mouth so he could place it between my teeth.
Kiira sat upright and held my good hand. “Squeeze as hard as you need to.”
I nodded and dragged in a breath through my nostrils.
“Three, two…” The pop echoed through the chamber. A grunt ripped from my throat, and my hand shook from how hard it gripped Kiira’s. Rokath whirled, having felt the harsh adjustment down our bond.
I spit out the wood. “I’m fine,” I told him in a hurry. He was already on edge from the attempted assassination, and I really needed this healer to fix me. He couldn’t do that if he was dead.
“Drink this,” the healer said, proffering me a milky green vial.
“What is it?” I asked. The smell was atrocious, and I attempted to hold back a gag.
“A mixture of pium, poppy, and willow bark. You’ve already hurt this shoulder before, which is why injuring it again was so easy. The combination will settle the tissues around it and help it heal faster. You should be alright the day after tomorrow.”
Rapp made a sound of disbelief. “Why haven’t you been giving me that?”
“Because it won’t work in your case,” the lead healer stated, using a fresh cloth to dab a salve over my cheek. Once he finished, he took a step back and looked at the males. “Ensure they both sleep tonight and rest tomorrow. Especially the High Priestess. Her wound should close by morning, but the interior bruising will take more time.”
Rokath blew out a long breath, his chest deflating. “Thank you.”
The healer merely nodded and packed up his tools. Then, with a sigh, he handed another vial to Rapp. “Since you’re awake, an extra dose wouldn’t hurt.”
I snorted a laugh as Rapp uncorked and tossed the contents back. Kiira shook her head but winced. “Probably best not to move it for a bit.” She pressed her palm into her temple, flashing the edge of her new tattoo.
“Woah, what is this?” Rapp questioned, grabbing her arm and shoving up her sleeve.
Kiira grinned up at him. “A symbol. The devious eye.”
Rokath leaned in and studied it for a moment before directing his attention at me. “Was this your idea?”
“Actually, no,” I quipped, gritting my teeth and shimming out of my jacket to show him the ink gracing my skin just beneath his brand. “The priestesses wanted something to mark who we are and what we are doing.”
Rokath came to stand in front of me and cupped my cheek. His thumb traced over the H on my wrist. “You are a true leader, Assyria.”
His affirmation pricked at my eyes.
Without breaking my gaze, he spoke to Kiira. “You should sleep in my chambers tonight where I can keep an eye on both of you.”
Rapp leaned against the table beside her, arms crossed over his chest. “She can remain here with me. That way if she has problems in the night, the healer is readily available.”
A muscle ticked in Rokath’s jaw as he considered the proposition. “You’re in no shape to fight should someone else come for her.”
I reached for my mate and tugged him closer. “I don’t think they were after Kiira.”
His heavy brows dipped together. “Why do you say that?”
“Because of what the male said. ‘Symbols rise, symbols fall.’”
Kiira sucked in a sharp breath. “Surely you don’t mean to imply–”
“That Xannirin had something do with it?” I snapped. “Perhaps none of you remember how horribly he treated me during our first dinner, but I do.”
Rokath’s eyes flashed with the type of darkness that made my core clench. Yet beneath the outward anger, an inner storm roiled.
“There are plenty of others who are unhappy with the current situation,” Rapp pointed out. “And unfortunately, Assyria has become the face of it to many in the army.”
“He’s right,” Kiira agreed.
Their dismissal, combined with the instinct to fight leaving my body, left me irritated. “The sentries weren’t there. Who else has the power to send them away?”
“Not many. Us, Olet. The Százados in charge of the night watch,” Rokath said, his mind racing through endless possibilities. “Tomorrow, I will round up each for questioning, including the males who abandoned their posts.”
He crouched so we were eye level. “As much as I want to go on a rampage right now, I need to take care of you. Your health, your safety, your protection, are paramount to me. I am so sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner.”
Tears burned my eyes. I reached up and cupped his cheek. The soft hairs of his beard tickled my palm. “You came as quickly as you could.”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Come, you need to rest.”
Nodding, I slid off the table. He tucked me under his arm, the safest place in all the worlds.
“Send for me if you need anything,” he told Rapp and Kiira.
“We will,” Rapp promised. Using the wall as support, he shuffled forward. Kiira joined him, her steps as careful as his. Rokath and I followed them to Rapp’s room before quickening our pace.
My entire being ached. When we reached the entrance to our tower, Rokath scooped me into his arms. I didn’t protest as he carried me up the spiral staircase, merely rested my cheek against his heart and let the steady rhythm soothe me.
And when we reached our sleeping chamber, I let him undress me. Let him carry me to bed. Let him wrap himself around me. Let him make me feel safe.
“Sleep, Assyria. I will protect you.”
But I’d tasted the truth tonight. And it was bitter. No one, not even Rokath, could shield me from the discontent of those who preferred the status quo. Traitors hid in the shadows—Fates, right out in the open.
Next time they came for me, I wouldn’t be caught unprepared.
I’d be waiting. Ready. Primed with fire in my veins and fury in my heart.
They wanted to cut down a new symbol; instead, I’d show the world what it meant to be the fucking Szélhámos.
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***
The High Priestess glided through the halls of Varbad Temple, her mind flitting over a dozen tasks still unfinished. She’d risen later than normal, entirely by accident, and at midday, she returned to her luxurious rooms at the pinnacle to retrieve a notebook she’d left behind in her rush.
“High Priestess,” her acolytes greeted her, dipping into deep curtsies as she passed them. She offered each a bow of her head in return. After all, she wanted the faithful to feel welcome and at home among these walls. For decades now, she’d been training them, honing their beliefs like her cousin honed his soldiers and their weapons. Now, it was finally time to start sending them far and wide into the Demon Realm to spread her word.
Which came with far too many challenges and far more work than she ever expected.
She ascended another staircase, internally berating herself for insisting she had the top floor all to herself. She’d wanted the views and the sanctuary, and yet as her thighs burned, pressing into step after step, she debated if it was all worth it.
Breathless, she paused on a landing, bracing herself against the wall. Beneath her lived the high-level priestesses—those who had been extremely eager to join upon the announcement of the construction of Varbad.
One such female descended the thick stairs, smiling warmly through her veil until she took in the pallor of her leader. “High Priestess?” she said, rushing forward.
With a leap, she managed to catch the High Priestess before she collapsed to the ground. The High Priestess’s burgundy eyes rolled back in her head, revealing only the whites. A convulsion wracked her frame, and foam appeared at the corners of her mouth.
“Help!” the female shouted, scanning the area for anyone else. From below, a second raced up the stairs, skidding to a stop when she beheld the scene.
“We need to carry her to her room,” the second said, shaking herself out of her shock and reaching for the High Priestess’s feet. She was the very first acolyte and had secured her place at the High Priestess’s side nearly a century ago. Yet this was the first time she’d witnessed her mentor in this state, though there was no denying what it was—a vision.
A third appeared a moment later, gasping at the sight of the High Priestess on the floor.
Together, they managed to ascend the final flights to the High Priestess’s room, settling her on a settee. An occasional tremor wracked her frame as they all watched on, scarcely breathing. The third quickly sliced into her palm, making an offering to the Fates and praying for the safe return of their High Priestess.
Yet what they witnessed was nothing compared to what their leader glimpsed of the future.
The air was thick with moisture, and the cloying scent of tropical plants assaulted her nostrils. Tentatively, she stepped through the thick underbrush. Green dripped ruby, and she nearly stumbled over something hidden among it.
Glancing down, she nearly retched. Glassy, lifeless blue eyes stared at the canopy overhead. A pool of blood surrounded his head, the cut in his throat so deep that it was hanging by the barest of sinew to his body.
Slowly, her gaze drifted forward, to an entire trail through the thick forest lined with similar corpses. Ahead, the faint sounds of fighting reached her ears. Picking her way carefully, she closed the distance. After rounding a particularly thick trunk, the city of Sivy came into focus.
Her breath caught in her chest as she beheld the smoke drifting from thatched roofs, catching their neighbors’ homes ablaze. All the way to the largest tree at the very center, two armies engaged. There, gleaming white marble entrenched its expanse, twice as large as Gyor Palace in the Demon Realm.
Her every breath felt stolen, her every heartbeat a drum in the ritual of war. This wasn’t a dream—it was a reckoning.
She raced forward, hugging each tree on the outskirts of the Angel capital, peering down alleys that weren’t thick with bodies. She did her best to remain unspotted, and yet, she nearly ran straight into a fleeing Angel. He didn’t even seem to notice her as he raced into the thick ferns a mere breath away.
Her brow furrowed, and she pressed forward. Again, no one glanced her way as she walked into the midst of battle. Bodies fell, then rose, and a sudden realization hit her: the Halálhívó was here.
A group of lifeless forms stumbled forward, jaws slack, eyes vacant. They fell upon Angels in white, ripping at flesh and not flinching when the same was done to them. Blood sprayed in her direction, and yet, when she looked down, none of it stained her bare arms.
Shaking her head, she pressed onward, searching for any sign of her cousin blessed with the power of Calling. A roar shattered the air off to her left, and she raced in that direction, hoping, praying, that it wasn’t one of pain from him.
Skidding onto the main thoroughfare, she finally found him.
Onyx spiraled in a raging inferno, engulfing anyone within a dozen feet of him in the furious frenzy. His bronze blade flashed in the flits of light breaking through the canopies of the massive trees. With a sharp whistle, it cut through the air and into the neck of an Angel kneeling before him, trapped in the inky tendrils of his power.
The head hit the ground with a sickening thud. More Angels thrashed against their binds, and she realized then just how much power her cousin was wielding at once. Tentatively, she stepped forward again, trying to gain a better view.
That was when she saw the Zahal kneeling, his ice blue eyes glaring up with an eternity of hatred and his teeth clenched in righteous anger. The Halálhívó bent, snarling in his face. Still, he did not falter. Then, the blade arced through the air again, cleaving his head from his shoulders too.
The shadows ceased swirling as the Halálhívó collected the severed heads. Fisting their white hair, he raised them high and let out another roar. Even his cousin quaked in its wrath.
Then, he stomped down the central thoroughfare, his gaze pinned directly on the royal palace. She rushed to match his furious strides, dodging wave after wave of white-haired Angels prostrating themselves and pleading for mercy.
He halted at the base of the stairs, still hoisting the two heads high. With the way he gripped their hair, she saw that one had an H carved into his forehead. Instantly, she recalled him as the male who had ignited the spark that set this whole war ablaze.
“Korona Ioath, your people are defeated. You have no army left to defend you. Emerge from your marble walls and surrender if you wish to live.”
With a gasp, the High Priestess shot upright, startling her faithful watching over her. They dropped their clasped hands and raced to her side, dozens of questions tumbling from their lips. Blinking forcefully, the High Priestess attempted to ground herself in the present as the remnants of her vision bled away.
She didn’t know when this battle would come. Only that it would—because the Fates only revealed truths that had not yet been born to her.
But she couldn’t help the smile that rose to her lips.
“What is it, High Priestess?” the second pressed. She flattened the back of her hand to her leader’s forehead, checking for a temperature.
The High Priestess swatted her hand away. Slowly, she eased herself upright, the world spinning. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her bones, and yet she’d never felt so giddy, so exuberant, not in the years since she and her cousins had taken power.
“Find the Kral and inform him that I must speak to him at once. Here, in the temple,” she instructed the third. The prophecies took an enormous toll on her, and she needed to record what she had seen immediately, so she could rest properly after. “You, get me parchment and ink.”
The first hurried away, returning with both a moment later. “What did you see?” Her tone brimmed with breathless wonder. After all, the visions of the High Priestess were legendary. And to bear witness to one? Divine. Holy. Sacred.
The High Priestess accepted the materials, hands trembling with excitement. “I saw the Halálhívó win the war.” She paused, remnants of the revelation slipping away like smoke between her fingers. Yet a foreboding dread curled in her gut, bitter and biting, even if she could not place its origin. “But the cost…”
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