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How I wish I could control it. I’d spare him all of this pain.
“I will not allow the blood of men to sully your hands formysake,” he says softly, his tone both dangerous and comforting. “No matter what happens, just stay close to me. Whatever strength I need, I’ll take from you.”
Then he leans in and kisses me, and whatever stray thought had crept into my mind; whatever fear, or doubt, or worry…
They’re all snatched away by his inevitable force.
50
FINLEY
And that’s how we found ourselves walking down the marble halls of the Imperial Palace in Lukiria at a leisurely pace.
It happened faster than I could have imagined. Corvan stole through the streets; through the foul sewers and the oppressive dungeons. All the while, he carried me, never once letting the dirt touch my boots.
It’s absurd that he just carries me around like this.
In a vain attempt to preserve my dignity, I offered some feeble attempt at a protest, but he was insistent, as I knew he would be, and what am I supposed to do against an unstoppable force of nature, who bends the fabric of time itself so that we’re moving through it at the speed of light itself?
We shot through the sewers and made our way through a maze of iron gates and grilles and massive stone doors. When they were locked, Corvan simply tore metal apart with his bare hands.
I knew he was strong, but I didn’t realize he wasthatstrong.
When we encountered guards—dozens of them, stationed to guard even this narrow, dank, entrance—he simply became a blur and rendered them unconscious before they knew what was happening.
He’sthatfast.
Several times, he even caught a crossbow bolt, plucking the damn thing out of the air, his vision perfectly sharp in the shadows.
Soon, we found ourselves in the dungeons amongst filth and misery, passing cells with wretched prisoners inside; some displaying signs of torture—poorly bandaged wounds and naked terror in their eyes.
And once again, Corvan left my side several times, disappearing into thin air. Bodies fell to the floor. Not dead, just unconscious, he reassured me. He doesn’twantto kill, even though it would probably be easier.
He cleared the dungeons with ease, before leading me up many narrow flights of stairs, through dark corridors and hidden passageways, past the servants’ quarters, where the palace staff are still asleep in their beds…
Through kitchens and bathhouses. Past cavernous offices and empty chambers that echo with the sound of my footsteps. Everything vast and grand. Everything made from white and grey marble.
There’s something cold and sterile about this place. The absence of anything organic—even wood—makes me feel slightly nauseous.
I try to imagine Corvan as a child, walking along these vast corridors. There’s no warmth here. It feels like they’ve tried to recreate someone’s vision of heaven—only, it’s empty.
Growing up, was he lonely, or was he always surrounded by people? Did he have friends, or was he waited on hand and foot by the ones that served him?
Moving through the empty space, imaginary ghosts of the past flit through my mind.
In this part of the palace, there are no guards, no servants, no administrators or nobleborn lords and ladies.
There’s just the gas lamps, glowing mutedly in their sconces.
The floor is polished to a high sheen. It gleams brightly under the golden light. It reminds me of ice—dangerous and slippery.
And moonlight filters in through the tall windows, reminding me that the depths of the night are upon us.
I feel a terrible sense of unease. It’s far too quiet. And the magic inside me—thedryadside of me—shrivels and recoils from the energy in this place.
“Are you all right, Finley?” Ever perceptive, Corvan must have noticed something.
“I don’t like this place,” I whisper. “It feels malevolent.”
