Page 95 of Bride of Ash & Dust

The elf moves quickly. One moment, he’s nodding before the stone wall. The next, he pulls his hand from his side, and something long and bright appears in his fist.

I don’t think Fyrris even sees the strange weapon until it impales him.

Fyrris makes a sound, a choking sort of cough, as the bright spear-thing emerges from his back. Blood spills down his white robes. He collapses to his knees and starts to gurgle.

I turn away until the gagging stops. I hate to watch people die.

When the noises stop, I turn back to the wall. Fyrris lies motionless on the floor of the cave, surrounded by his blood-soaked robes. The glowing spear, or whatever it was that impaled him, is gone.

The tall elf looks directly at me. His eyes are pale blue, the color of the winter sky at dawn.

“I bow to no one,” the elf whispers.

“Great,” I whisper back. “Good for you.”

Varitan steps over Fyrris’s lifeless body and walks toward me. He flicks his hand over my shoulder; the torch behind me flares to life with a rush of air. My skin tingles. I swallow hard. Varitan tilts his head at me.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“The son of the royal gardener,” I reply. My voice sounds like it’s being forced through a rusty pipe.

Varitan narrows his eyes. I can only imagine the mess he must be seeing. Prince Syvan’s bastard soldiers had their way with me, then dragged me up a mountain to serve as some sort of magical conduit for a madman. I probably look like a plate of leftover dog shit.

“Interesting,” Varitan finally says. “Tell me, gardener’s son, what waits for me beyond this cave?”

I cough, then clear my throat.

“A bunch of assholes,” I say. “Armed assholes. Seven of them, maybe more. Under the command of Prince Syvan. He’s the worst of King Malrik’s four legitimate sons.”

Varitan brings his hand to his chin. He watches me for a long time with those strange, pale eyes.

“What kind of man is Malrik?” he asks.

I remember the way Malrik looked at me after I met Fyrris for the first time, when his tailor was fitting me for the beautiful clothes that I would wear on my way to my doom. It was the kind of look you might make when you’re forced to sacrifice a pawn in a game of kings and queens.

And it was so much like the look the king of Dungal gave me as the soldiers of Vsenrog led me away to pretend to be his son, the hostage prince, for the rest of my life. Or for however long I would survive.

Then I think of the metal vial that hung around my neck for so many years, the one Syvan’s soldiers must have ripped from my neck.

My lips bend into a smile, and I tell the strange elf every single thing I know about the kingdom of Vsenrog and its glorious king.

Chapter 52

Lilias

IS ANYONE ALIVE IN THERE?

There’s no way I’m getting into that mine.

I only see one entrance, and it’s surrounded by soldiers standing at attention while Prince Syvan prances around in front of them on his increasingly irritated stallion. It’s a miracle they didn’t all see me when I first walked up here.

I tuck my hand in my pocket and run my fingers over the little miracle that saved me.

I’d been stumbling up the path in the patchy moonlight, shivering and feeling half-mad, wondering if this had all been some colossal misunderstanding. I’m a princess, after all. Perhaps I should have commanded the soldiers to return me to Marion castle. Or even Vsenrog. Hells, anywhere would be better than this freezing, godsforsaken mountain.

Then the clouds parted, the moon shone through the night sky, and something in the path before me glittered like a fallen star.

I froze. And when I finally moved forward, tiptoeing toward whatever it was that was suddenly shining like a beacon in the dirt, I heard the voices of Syvan’s soldiers. If I hadn’t stopped to look at the thing caught in the moonlight, I would have blundered right into the middle of their patrol.