Lord d’Refan cocked his head in thought before taking a small step toward the quaking soldier. “Is that so, General?” The question was thrown over his shoulder to the man standing at his back.
The General looked almost bored by the inquiry and shrugged noncommittally.
“He appointed himself leader.” His voice was quiet and flat. And while he seemed less murderous than Lord d’Refan, there was still an air of danger that surrounded him. The girl shuddered and was glad that her physical form was tucked away in the secret room.
Lord d’Refan’s gaze flew back to the soldier and settled there. “Self-appointed, hmm?” The softness of his voice was lethal.
The soldier audibly gulped, his normally pale skin paling even further as sweat dripped down his brow and he began toying with the dagger at his side in earnest.
“Y-y-yes,” he stammered as he took slow shuffling steps away from his lord.
“Then you will be held accountable for everything that went againstmyexpress orders.”
The soldier held up his hands in a placating gesture as words rushed from his mouth in a constant stream. “We were told to gather the Matriarchs and bring them down here! That was all! They’re still alive, still breathing. We were told to keep them alive!”
The girl took immeasurable joy at the look of unadulterated horror on his face.
“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?”
The soldier relaxed a fraction at his superior’s words, though the girl mentally chided him.
Never relax around a predator that is bigger and more powerful than you.Which is exactly what Lord d’Refan was in this situation.
Lord d’Refan flexed his fingers and cocked his head to the side before taking quick stock of the people pressed against the circular walls of the room. The girl’s mother and great-grandmother stood still, meeting his probing stare head-on, unlike his soldiers who visibly cowered and shrunk from his gaze. She couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride and warmth for the Matriarchs.
“I only see two Keepers. You’re missing two generations.” Lord d’Refan’s eyes came to rest on the soldier again, the air crackling with anticipation.
“Well, the one bitch was already dead by the time we located her. And the other just...disappeared.” The soldier’s fake bravado returned as his body eased back into a state of false relaxation.
“What do you mean . . . disappeared?” Lord d’Refan cocked his head again, his eyes whizzing about angrily.
“Her signature tracked here, but then just . . .poof.” He extended his fingers up and away from his hand in emphasis.
Clearly, one of the runes on the rug encased her magical signature, and the girl was inherently grateful to her unknown ancestor for their addition.
In a movement so quick the girl almost missed it, the Warlord—as her grandmother called him before her death—grabbed the offending Mage by the throat and dragged him close, their noses almost touching.
“Let’s see the truth of that, shall we?” he growled before pulling a short knife from his waistband and slashing the Mage’s neck.
Blood spurt from the wound, covering both the Mage’s tunic and the Warlord’s face. But there was no remark of revulsion, no move to wipe it away.
Instead, much to the girl’s horror, the Warlord’s tongue shot from his mouth and licked his lips, a slightly audible groan leaving his throat before he pressed his mouth to the wound in the man’s neck and sucked.
The Mages in the room diverted their attention from the spectacle while the General’s eyes stayed glued to the Warlord. No emotion passed across his face, but the girl was almost certain she saw a flicker of sadness before he schooled his expression once more.
Her mother and great-grandmother stood shocked and transfixed bythe sight in front of them, neither daring to breathe as the Warlord continued to ingest the Mage’s blood.
Abruptly, the Warlord released the Mage and his body fell to the floor with an audiblethunk. The room was utterly silent apart from the Warlord’s various grunts as he shut his eyes, seeing something only he could see.
When he reopened his pitch-black eyes, they were still, the constant and unnerving whizzing noticeably absent.
“She’s down here, but we cannot access her. She disappeared from their sight as soon as she entered this space,” he intoned, suddenly sounding tired and maybe even a bit drunk. “Her reckoning will come soon enough.”
He gestured for a cloth, which the General procured from one of his pockets. The Warlord wiped his face before throwing the cloth on top of the Mage’s corpse, blood still oozing from the wound in his neck into a puddle on the floor.
“You’re not the only ones with god-given gifts, Matriarchs. Kaos felt it would . . . even the playing field so to speak.” He grinned toothily at the two women.
The girl’s mother and great-grandmother let out identical gasps. Though, they were less alarmed by the soldier’s death, and more fixated on the Warlord’s admission.
