A Queen of Thieves & Chaos (Fate & Flame, #3)

It is as terrible as when I was six years old and hit with the lust for blood the first time. “How many trips out here before your tolerance grew?” I call out. Abarrane has been through these gates every day since we arrived.

She flashes a smug smile over her shoulder. “Whatever do you mean?”

Elisaf casts a vulgar gesture—a rarity for him—and it earns her wicked laughter.

The air is noticeably cooler, another sign that wherever we go once we step through those gates, it isn’t Islor. I scan the clear, star-filled sky, half expecting the same two moons that cast light in Ulysede each night. But there is only the one.

What will become of Islor after the next Hudem? If my foolish brother goes through with this arranged marriage, he will regret it, there is no doubt about that. Kettling will not honor any alliance when it comes to the crown. They will betray him. My father knew it, I knew it. But the decisions we’ve made have always been a thorn in Atticus’s side. I shouldn’t be shocked he’d do the opposite.

We navigate around the boulders, closing in on Horik and Abarrane. From this distance, my affinity can’t reach the torch flame at the gate. “Why must the wagon be so far out?”

“When the sapling screams, that imbecile screams, and I recall a tongue lashing from His Highness the last time there was too much screaming for the princess’s liking.”

“The mortal is still alive?” Genuine surprise laces my tone. We took that mule of a man prisoner in Norcaster after he divulged information about Lord Isembert’s deal with the saplings. We thought he might have more information to share.

“If he hasn’t revealed anything by now, then surely he has nothing to offer,” Elisaf says.

“On the contrary, he offers me entertainment while I work on the sapling. You should hear the stories he sputters to see what might save his vile life.”

I shake my head. “The things that amuse you cause me worry, Abarrane.”

Elisaf slows, his narrowed focus on the ground. He crouches.

“What is it?”

“Grass. A few blades.” He plucks one from the ground and holds it up in proof.

Abarrane snorts. “Do you suddenly fear vegetation?”

He ignores her, peering up at me. “Do you recall seeing anything the day we arrived?”

“No. Nothing.” Barren, dry soil, devoid of so much as a weed. It’s been this way for as long as anyone can remember.

“And yet now there is grass. Here …” He stands and walks a few steps, then points. “And there too. As the land prepares for winter.”

“It is coming up all over the place. I’ve seen it in the daylight,” Horik confirms.

Elisaf’s brow furrows. “What do you think it means?”

“I do not know. We’ll get a better look tomorrow.” Perhaps with Gesine, if we can pry her from the library.

Horik stops abruptly twenty paces from the wagon. “Do you smell that?”

“Piss and vomit?” Abarrane trails behind him. “For days now.”

“No.” He inhales deeply. “Rotten flesh.”

His description rings an alarm bell in my head as Abarrane reaches him and inhales. “Fates, that is offensive.”

My nostrils catch the stench a moment later and grim memories flood my mind, of a night long ago when Elisaf and I fought for our lives. “That is a hag.”

Their agile bodies shift into a defensive stance, searching the surrounding darkness.

“It’s likely in the wagon already, devouring its prey. Assume we’ve lost our source of information.” We should have expected as much. These beasts from the Nulling still linger in the depths of these mountains, close to the rift. Normally they stay hidden, but with two powerful casters to draw them out—even tucked into Ulysede—it seems they can’t resist the pull. That or this thing couldn’t resist an easy meal, and we basically left it bait.

Horik curses. “How did we not see it?”

“Because they are small and fast and intelligent enough to lie in the shadows until their best opportunity to strike.” Unlike the grif that strolled up to us during the battle against the saplings. “Their scent is usually their only warning.”

“I have waited my entire life to fight one of these.” Abarrane draws another sword, excitement in her voice.

“And here I was, planning on living my entire life without fighting another,” Elisaf mutters. “The last nearly bested us.”

“It was not facing me.” She prowls forward.

“Your arrogance is about to kill you. It is not hiding, it is waiting for you,” I warn. “Move back now.”

They heed my warning, their eyes never leaving the wagon.

“This is not the time to tempt a Nulling beast, especially one with claws that can slice you in half. Let us be finished with this one swiftly.” Elisaf and I each draw a second blade, and I holler, “Loth! Flame!”

Seconds later, a fiery arrow is sailing in an arc across the sky, embedding into the wagon’s evergreen canvas. It’s all my affinity needs. The entire canopy erupts in a ball of fire, the blast of heat touching my skin.

With a shrill cry that resembles a daaknar’s and echoes across the mountain range, the hag tears through the burning wall with swipes of its blade-like claws and launches itself toward us, its ragged cloak ablaze. At first glance, someone might mistake it for any one of us—walking on hind legs, arms at its side. But the moment it lifts its cloaked head, reveals its ghastly gray skin and black eyes, and opens its mouth to show off the four rows of jagged teeth ready to rip apart flesh, there’s no mistaking this for anything other than the stuff of nightmares.

“It is small!” Abarrane declares with glee.

“We do not want to fight this thing!” I holler, cursing. “Move out of the way.”

But it’s too late. The hag wastes no time, launching itself at Horik, its body contorting unnaturally to avoid his first swinging blade, then his second, the cloth swirling with its movements, disguising its gangling limbs as they swipe through the air.

Horik grunts as its claws rake across his torso, dropping him to his knees.

With a battle cry to challenge any Nulling beast’s, Abarrane leaps at its back, carving her blade through its spindly shoulder before spinning out of its reach.

The hag pivots, searching for its attacker, its teeth snapping at the air in anticipation. It can’t seem to decide which of us to lunge at first.

Without warning, it decides I’m its next target. I move out of range at the last moment, but its claw catches my arm above my gauntlet, biting into my flesh.

I answer with a swift blade strike that slices into its side before it falls back.

Abarrane scowls. “Why doesn’t it make a sound when wounded?”

“I do not think it feels pain like we do.” My fists grip the pommels of my blades. “Draw it away from us.”

Abarrane whistles to catch its attention. She sways from foot to foot, dangling her swords in a taunting manner as she steps backward, enticing it to follow.

It works, the fetid thing creeping forward.

I reach for my affinity, preparing to raze the hag and be done with this deadly charade.

“So it will not feel this?” With a deft tumble and powerful swing of her blades, Abarrane launches another offensive attack.