Page 98 of Bride of Ash & Dust

Maybe he’s decided it would be best if he killed me.

I stare at the dark tunnel that leads out of here. The rough outline is just beginning to glow with the distant flicker of torchlight. The footsteps grow louder. They’re strong, confident, and heavy. That’s a change from Varitan, who walked lightly, as if he were trying to blend into the shadows. No, this sounds more like⁠—

“Shit,” I whisper under my breath as the man emerges from the tunnel.

Prince Syvan of Vsenrog. Fantastic.

He pauses once he enters the room, glancing at the walls and the few sickly torches that still sputter against the subterranean gloom. And then his eyes settle on me. He grins. His teeth seem very white in the torchlight, that perfect prince’s smile. He walks toward me slowly, his footsteps loud and heavy. Strange echoes bounce off the walls, making it sound like a ghost followed him down the tunnel.

“The snake of Vsenrog,” Syvan sneers as he approaches me slowly, like he has all the time in the world.

Cold fear courses through my veins. Godsdamnit, I wish it had been Varitan. Maybe I should have asked the elf for a clean death, something like what he did to Fyrris.

Syvan holds a torch in one hand and a blade in the other. He turns the blade as he walks, making it catch the torchlight and throw it back on the stones. It’s a move that’s probably meant to intimidate me.

Sadly, it’s working.

I tear my eyes off Syvan and glance at the entrance to the cave, frantically, like a dying man might stare at the horizon, wondering when the gods will appear to grant his fervent last requests. But there’s nothing in that black hole. No gods, no⁠—

Wait. The entrance to the tunnel is still outlined in light.

Perhaps Syvan left a torch burning in the passageway. I narrow my eyes.

And the light in the tunnel goes out. I blink, then turn back to Syvan. The prince places his torch on one of the stakes next to Fyrris’s table, then runs his finger delicately across his blade, like he’s testing the edge.

“You know,” Syvan says, as he bends close enough for me to smell his expensive perfume, “I’m delighted you’re still alive, little snake. Because that means I get to kill you.”

“Charming,” I mutter. “You’re so eloquent, son of the king. No wonder you were sent all the way to the Devil’s Arse.”

I see the hit coming, but it’s not like I can avoid it. Syvan’s hand meets my face, and my world explodes in bright, blinding agony. My head hits the back of the chair; my lip splits open again, spilling blood across my teeth.

“You insolent little shit,” Syvan spits. “I’m going to take great pleasure in this, you know. I’m going to make it last a very long time.”

A pebble falls on the far side of the room. The sound is unmistakable. Syvan tilts his head toward the tunnel.

“That would be a first,” I snap.

Syvan turns back toward me. Whatever made the noise is forgotten, for the moment.

“No one’s ever accused you of lasting a long time,” I say.

Syvan scowls, but then, horrifyingly, his grimace turns into a smile. A scraping hiss rises behind him, the sound of someone trying to move silently over rough ground. Syvan doesn’t seem to notice.

“That gives me a brilliant idea,” Syvan announces as he twists his knife. “You’re so fond of visiting the whores at the Golden Rose. I think I’ll begin with your balls.”

There’s a whisper of breath from the darkness behind Syvan. I bark a laugh to cover it.

“That’s fitting,” I snap. “All of your brilliant ideas come from someone else, don’t they?”

“Oh, you are a slimy one,” Syvan replies. His smile is gone, replaced by a feral glint in his eyes. “Trying to piss me off so I’ll end it quickly? That’s not going to work, you godsdamned serpent.”

He leans close to me. Torchlight winks off the golden thread in his shirt and cloak. Even here, in this horrible pit, he looks like a prince.

His blade closes the distance between us, then comes to rest on my chin. It’s cold; I suppress the urge to shiver. His eyes meet mine.

“There’s no slithering out of this,” Syvan drawls.

His knife traces a path down my neck. It’s so sharp I don’t realize I’ve been cut until he pulls the blade back, its tip glistening with my blood.