“You don’t sound entirely convinced.”
“When my father is gone, the Rahavan Court will regulate itself. I’ve no appetite for it. I never did. And if Ansar oversteps or becomes corrupt, I will pull him back into line.” Corvan goes still, holding up a hand. He cocks his head to one side. “Finley. Wait here. I’ll be back very soon. I need to go and check on something.”
And just like that, he becomes a blur and disappears, leaving a rush of cold wind in his wake.
One moment, we’re talking about the deep secrets of the Rahavan Empire. The next, I’m standing alone in the wintry forest, surrounded by trees and silence, with disquiet brewing in my heart.
Disquiet quickly gives way to a gaping chasm.
What if this is all a ploy, and he just planned to leave me here? What if he isn’t coming back?
Deep inside me is a great fear of being abandoned by this man, and I despise myself for it.
If he left me, I’d find a way to survive.
But he isn’t going to do that. I force the dark voices in my head to shut the hell up. I’m not in my father’s castle anymore.
This is Corvan. He looks like a beautiful monster, but he’s got more honor in his little finger than my father and Dorava combined.
33
CORVAN
I keep one ear attuned to Finley as I dart between the trees, heading for a familiar place—a small clearing where I’ve placed a lycan trap.
She’s safe for now, but the moment I hear anything untoward, I’ll be back by her side.
A foul stench fills my nose, making me wish for a dose of Ciel’s astringent antiseptic. I know that smell—putrescence and decay. It’s the same smell that comes when a rotting corpse has been sitting under the hot sun for days on end.
It makes me want to retch.
Dread courses through me. Even if there’s a dead body nearby, it shouldn’t smell this bad in the middle of winter.
There’s no lycan-stench here. Just foulness.
I reach the trap; a large iron cage that would accommodate a dozen men. That’s what it might have been used for in another time, but I’ve had these specifically made to entrap the magical wolven beasts that come down from the mountains.
At first, they were quite effective. I trapped and killed dozens simply by hanging a few dead hares inside the traps.
But the lycan appear to have become wise to my tricks.
Now, it matters not, because there are no lycan inside the cage.
There’s only a man.
At least, what used to be a man.
I stop breathing as I near, because the stench has become unbearable. The man—thing—stands, but he isn’t breathing either. He’s grasping the bars of the cage, staring at me with unblinking blue eyes. The whites of his eyes have turned cloudy grey. His golden hair is matted and falling out in places. His skin is dull and grey. In some places, it’s bruised and ulcerated, festering.
I recognize his tattered uniform. It’s the standard kit of an Imperial Military soldier.
“You’re undead,” I murmur, horror and revulsion welling up inside me.
This poor, wretched soul. He was a man, once. Now he’s just an animated corpse. There’s no life or intelligence behind those dull blue eyes.
He probably has a family somewhere. Do they even know he’s dead?
I’ve read about this phenomenon, but I’ve never seen it in real life.
As the undead catches sight of me, a low moan issues from his throat. He pulls his weapon—a crude broadsword—from its sheath and tries to impale me through the bars.
I dance backward, easily avoiding his blade. The creature roars and pitches the damn sword at me, point-first.
The blade sails through the air at considerable speed. I dodge. It lands in the snow with a dull thud.
That was some serious strength. To an ordinary soldier, these things could pose a serious threat. And an army of them…
Would mean serious trouble.
The only reason a corpse would be able to reanimate like this is through necromancy.
Where did it come from? More importantly, who’s behind this?
Someone is responsible for this.
I add them to the list of people I need to kill.
“Stay there,” I growl. The undead gnashes its teeth and rattles the bars, but it can’t do anything.
The cage will contain it. That thing was built strong enough to keep lycans imprisoned.
In an attempt to preserve my sanity, I seek out Finley’s sweet, familiar scent. It occurs to me that I’ve forgotten to breathe. The lack of oxygen hasn’t bothered me at all.
Hm. That’s new. I have never before realized that I don’t need to breathe anymore. I could probably swim to the very bottom of the Istrivan sea and float amongst the monsters in the depths.
I hear her; pacing around, her breathing fast and shallow, her heart thudding.
As I seek out her scent, my breathing drive kicks back in, settling into an unconscious rhythm.
Strange. But I can’t afford to dwell on it. She’s uneasy. That was my doing.
I rip through the trees, scooping her up into my arms as I pass. She gasps, but quickly recovers once she realizes she’s with me.
“Sorry to startle you,” I whisper in her ear as we shoot through the forest. “Something came up. We’ll resume our journey shortly, but I just need to return to the castle and inform Kaithar of something.”
“Wh-what is it?” In my arms, she offers no resistance. She’s breathless and oh-so adorable.
“Nothing for you to worry about. A small security matter.”
We reach the outer grounds of the castle. I accelerate, drawing power into my legs.
“A little warning,” I murmur. “I jump high.”
Then I leap.
I hold her tightly. We sail through the air. She lets out a gasp as we fly over the castle walls, and for a moment, I have a perfect view of my domain.
I catch sight of my soldiers. They’re doing sword drills in the training grounds. I see Kaithar amongst them; he isn’t hard to spot. I control our landing, dropping onto the balls of my feet.
In a heartbeat, we’re just outside the entrance to the training square. I gently set Finley on her feet. “Sorry, Finley. I’m going to have to ask you to wait once more. This won’t take long.”
She straightens her jacket and gives me a wry look. “You didn’t tell me you could fly.”
“I’m still getting used to this body,” I lament. In truth, being able to move like a god with her in my arms is exhilarating and addictive.
“You’re lucky I’m not the squeamish type.”
I chuckle, genuinely delighted by her company.
It’s been so long since my mood has been this light. Even my discovery of the undead creature can’t put a dampener on it.
Finley Solisar makes me feel alive.
Did my father really know what effect she would have on me when he sent her to me?
I take her hand into mine and squeeze. She gives me a look that’s part exasperation, part astonishment.
I leave her standing by the wall. Forcing myself to move at a normal pace, I walk into the square, where the sound of men grunting and swords clanging assaults my hyper-acute hearing.