Page 51 of Season Warriors & Wolves

Every single soldier had stopped along with us to hear the little sister’s words.

She let the bird go and stood. “They take shiny things and hide them. Souls shine more than diamonds however tarnished they are because souls are precious. A pretty tale, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling. “Ah, it was Snow who told me that story.” Her emerald eyes hardened when they landed on Nesrin’s head. “It is a shame that there will be no soul to send out to a heaven or hell. I suppose the bitter end of it all is not to be granted a second chance to a soul that prayed so hard to be given one.”

I could swear every man and woman in that terrace flinched.

Thora flashed everyone a girly grin. The most charming and disarming gesture considering what she was capable of. She knew how to use it well to her advantage. “I might have an idea,” she said, reaching Nia’s side and leaning her head on her shoulder.

Nia’s gaze softened as she linked an arm around the younger sister’s waist and rested her cheek on her head. “That is the most frightening thing you might have ever said.”

Chapter fifteen

White Pawn to C3

Snowlin

I spat blood on the green marble of the underground temple now cluttered with nothing but seared bloody flesh and chunks of alabaster that had frayed from the tall sculptures of the unblessed false deities that had taken a hit during our fight with perhaps the ugliest beasts I’d seen. Harhounds—that is what Demir had called them. A human creation. A man-made contortion of a wolf and a deer. The unblessed did not use magic, and their human attempts had created something fouler than what magic ever could. How odious did the human mind become when power stood between them and the ruination of others.

A hoard of the Harhounds laid in pieces along the giant who had guarded the last sceptre piece. It had been fast even though I’d wished it had not been so. The veil had been weak, the monsters even more so.

Demir stared around rather disappointed for a different reason than mine. He bent down to grab the sceptre that had been lodged inside the giant creature’s rib cage. “A troll,” he sneered, struggling to catch his breath, the wounds on his face healing a little slower than usual. “They had put a troll to guard her.”

“You have lived so long amongst us that you have forgotten your kind pays no mind to the divine.” Of course that they had not taken caution in its protection. But taking in consideration that craft was the weakest in this land, and that we’d crossed the veil without issue, this was another level of recklessness and sloppiness.

He glanced at me and then tightened his grip on the sceptre.

Though he didn’t let it on, I knew I’d gotten to his empty green head. I knew how to break someone’s spirit. I knew what it took to weaken someone, and as soon as Aurora was raised, he’d become the weakest of them all.

Even though he couldn’t see my grin, a growl slipped between his clenched teeth as if he could smell my excitement.

“Hur,” I whispered, words barely a breath of air as they left my lips. “Ma’hazur kahaz.”

The sceptre piece lit up in his hand and he jerked back, dropping it. It flashed for a few more moments, emitting a chill in the air and causing a shiver in the already weak barrier that held back my magic.

Whatever divine call poured out of it affected him too, his skin flashed green and scaled while his breathing turned hoarse and heavy. Pure panic seeped in through those soulless eyes when he began coughing up blood.

Heavenly magic was bane to dark magic, it helped it surface from every corner it hid, and the blue gyre in his bloodstream was neutralising it.

Science. As simple as that.

I bent down and picked the silver rod up, twirling it between my fingers before offering it to him again. “Be gentle. I want to be the one to put that first bruise on her.”

Father looked rather unimpressed after returning from his visit with the unblessed princes. He’d been unimpressed with his best soldier too, when he’d retreated to the ships after he couldn’t stop coughing up blood.

The humidity was thick and left a harsh taste of dust in my tongue as we left the Breshall castle, heading back to the bay where the ships had docked. The stench of craft had variegated in the muddy air, and it was making me nauseous.

Four Crafters were circling me while Melanthe led ahead, and all four were struggling to walk and draw enough magic to keep me chained at the same time.

The air had gotten colder compared to when we arrived, and I was certain it was not because of me or my father. It was nothing spiritual either. Not a warning. Not one from gods at least. It seemed like the rest of the entourage had caught a whiff of the change, too, as they all slowed their march, attentively surveying our surroundings. It wasn’t until howls set off in the distance and the beasts accompanying us turned agitated to have the archers mount their bows and a few others to slide their cold white steels out of their sheaths. The slavering green beasts that prowled around us sniffed the air and growled at the faint touch of fog encapsulating the phantom unblessed city that had gone quiet and empty.

The two floor grey houses around us looked like a graveyard, no light, no movement, no sounds, no life at all.

I sucked in a breath, listening to the faint sound hovering above us, hidden among the fog—too loud to be a flock of birds and too quiet to be thunder.

The way everyone’s heart picked up a steady beat of fear made me giggle a little and Melanthe turned a scathing look on me. “Quiet.”

Her minions circled me, the hold on my magic growing heavier while they grew fainter.

“Like a mouse,” I whispered back.