She’s been waiting. She’s ancient and powerful, but she’s been unjustly held captive by lesser men with treacherous devices.
They can’t let her go, because they’re weak. Avaricious. Ambitious.
I slap my brother again, just for good measure. Just hard enough to leave a red welt on his cheek. Perhaps I’ve broken something.
His left hand flies to his cheek. He staggers backward. “You fucking bastard.”
“I’ve been called much worse,” I say mildly, even though I’m still seething inside. I could have so easily taken Ansar’s head off just then.
The crimson threads no longer surround his left hand.
“If you touch me again, I’ll kill her,” he snarls, holding up his right hand—the one that’s still adorned with glowing crimson threads. “Just one of them needs to unravel, and her soul will be sucked into the afterlife.”
Try it.
I can feel her aura, and now I can hear her.
Her heart beats.
Mine doesn’t. Not right now. It only beats for Finley.
Her mother’s heartbeat is glacially slow.
I don’t really need Ansar anymore.
I just need to follow that sound.
Ba-bump.
If only he’d release her life-threads.
He’s just lost a few—the life-threads of my father and the embalmer have disappeared. That means someone’s sent them to the afterlife. The Elite Guard are more than a match for two undead beings. I even wouldn’t be surprised if Finley herself has ended them.
If she’s come into her powers, then that would be a wonderful thing indeed.
I can’t wait to get back to her.
My anger at Ansar’s stupidity turns into impatience.
Did Ansar and his family really think they could defeat me by provoking me and luring me here?
I draw my sword and point it at the center of Ansar’s back, letting him feel the pressure of the tip of my blade. It pierces his robe and makes a tiny nick in his skin.
The acrid scent of his blood fills the air. It’s strange, laced with intoxicating poison. Even if I were desperate, I wouldn’t drink it.
“It seems our little stalemate has grown more acute on your end,” I say coldly. “Lead the way, little brother.”
“If you kill me, her life-thread goes with me,” he warns.
But the necromancer still values his life, it seems, for in spite of all his scorn and fury; his sheer hatred of me, he turns and starts to walk.
62
CORVAN
The tunnel slopes downwards. We go deeper into the Earth, and the air around us becomes heavy. The sounds disappear, too. I can no longer hear the trickling water or the skittering of creatures.
There’s a certain kind of pressure here; closing in from all sides, enveloping me in darkness and silence.
Cutting out the world above.
It’s stifling.
I feel like I’m being encased in cold tar, and the tar is quickly drying.
I force myself to ignore the sensation, even though a trickle of fear has entered my chest.
Yes, even I feel fear from time to time.
Finley’s words ring in my mind.
What if she’s vengeful?
The creature I’m most afraid of is down here, in the cold, silent crypts beneath Deignar Castle.
It doesn’t matter. She deserves to be free. And I’m fairly certain she would never harm Finley.
My task is to convince her not to take out her anger on the ordinary people of Rahava.
That’s the real battle here.
Not fighting the undead or Ansar or the Talavarras. They’ve thrown their armies at me and failed.
We reach a small door set into the crude stone wall. As I look at it, a pinprick of agony enters my temple.
It’s covered in Perigian glyphs. The metal itself gives off a painful energy, like heat radiating off coals.
It must be an antimagic spell. It makes me slightly nauseous.
“Open it,” I order.
Ansar presses his left palm against an indentation in the center of the door. It swings open, revealing a vast chamber.
It isn’t just an ordinary chamber. It’s a natural cave, with stalactites hanging from the ceiling and mineral deposits shimmering in the walls and the natural stone floor.
I recognize them at once.
Serpenstone.
It’s little wonder they’re able to keep Aralya contained in here. The sheer amount of serpenstone in this cave is staggering. It affects me too, dulling my senses, making me sluggish. It’s as if a heavy weight is pressing down upon my shoulders. I almost drop to my knees.
But I’m fortunate to be half-human. The serpenstone doesn’t affect me as badly as it would if I were a pureblooded vampire.
It must be dampening Ansar’s magic, too.
“Go inside.” I prod him in the back with the tip of my blade.
Ansar enters, and I follow.
And stop dead in my tracks as I catch sight of her.
For the first time in my life, I encounter a pureblooded dryad.
At last.
Relief surges through me. It’s really her. She’s alive.
They’ve locked her in an infernal cage—made of dampening iron and inset with thousands and thousands of serpenstone gems. The structure is domed like a birdcage and large enough to contain a person at full height.
She hangs suspended from the top of the cage, her wrists and ankles bound in dampening shackles, her body clad in rags and bound again in shimmering threads, into which more tiny serpenstones have been woven.
Her eyes are closed.
Her expression is almost peaceful, but twisted into a slight grimace, as if she’s in silent agony.
I stare at her.
It’s impossible to draw my eyes away.
She isn’t like anyone I’ve ever seen before.
She’s so very clearly not of this world.
Her hair is verdant green; the color of emeralds, of lush jungles in the rain. It’s so long it hangs down to her ankles.
Her skin is like polished oak, luminous and ageless.
And in her ageless features, there are unmistakable echoes of Finley.
My chest tightens.
This woman has endured so much. I can’t bear to see her like this.
“Ansar,” I say softly, both awed by the dryad and disgusted at what they’ve done to her. “You will release her life-thread. Now.”
He laughs. “You know why I can control her like this? It’s because she’s half-dead. It’s the only bargaining chip I have. You really think I would release her so easily? As I told you before, you take her place in there, and I’ll release any thread you want.”
“All right.” I sheath my sword, releasing him.
Ansar spins around in surprise. “What are you—”
But I’ve already moved. I reach the cage and wrap my hands around the bars, pulling them apart. The metal yields easily. I step through the gap I’ve created and walk right up to Aralya.
She doesn’t move.
Is she aware of me? Can she hear anything? Or is she completely oblivious to the world?
I grab the cords wrapped around her body and tear them away.
“Stop,” Ansar cries in the background, but I barely hear him.
He’s found a way to bind her to him using Death Magic. All this time, he’s been siphoning her power to create his undead armies.
Could he really sever her life-thread?
Not if I get to her first.