Chapter 21

“We aren’t blind, Adrian. Or deaf. Do you think the prince will be?” Ivo threw his hands in the air—an electric mix of frustration and fury. “He will kill us all because you’ve displeased him.”

Someone tried to quiet him, several voices pitched low, soothing and making promises to discuss this later.

Magnus put a hand on Ivo’s shoulder, his eyes locked on Adrian’s sword hand.

“No! I’ve had enough of this.” Ivo shook Magnus off and pointed at Adrian, his eyes wild. “You value the life of a witch more than that of your men? More than the empress?”

Adrian let out a deep breath. His chest felt tight, and pressure was building behind his eyes. Ivo had been with him since taking the city of Oro. He was much younger than the rest. When he’d been made a Black Tomeis, they’d drunk half the night away and woken up before dawn to kill a city. Ivo never faltered, never hesitated. He was one of Adrian’s best men. He’d even trusted Ivo enough to be Sorcha’s guard on occasion.

“Are you still loyal to Prince Eine?” Ivo asked, voice shaking.

“Idiot,” Magnus muttered, stepping away from Ivo.

Are you still loyal? The question throbbed in the air—caught in Adrian’s ears. For all his life, he’d valued loyalty over everything. Did he still? Could he still claim it was important when he’d chosen Sorcha over his men in his heart?

Ivo watched him, expression guarded, shoulders tense while the rest of the Tomeis’ kept their faces neutral. The accusation throbbed between them all, a shared open wound. It could not be ignored.

He drew his sword, pointing it at Ivo.

“Now,” Adrian said, keeping his voice low while adjusting his grip on the weapon.

The black leather glove creaked, tight across his knuckles. He exhaled slowly, waiting for the man to decide. He would either die with a sword in his hand or without. It was Ivo’s choice.

With a grunt of acceptance, Ivo drew the sword he wore slung across his back. It was shorter than Adrian’s, and the edge was serrated like a carving knife—pain and suffering shining darkly along the blade.

With a cry, Ivo charged Adrian, sword raised, face red.

Adrian let him come, rushing across the space between them. For a split second, their gazes met—resentment, fear, anger, hurt, and love. Love.

There was no ringing steel, not even a fight. It ended before becoming anything more than a swift kill.

With a smooth motion, Adrian drove his sword through Ivo’s heart. The man’s momentum carried him as he slid down the blade until it stuck through his back—a slick, meaty sound and the scent of blood filled the air.

Ivo slumped forward, and Adrian let him fall, pulling his blade free and flicking the blood off it. He turned to each of the Black Tomeis, giving them the option here and now for a quick death.

Thompson exchanged looks with Domenico and Bran. A faint smile hovered around Revenant’s mouth—pleasure in someone else’s pain.

“Take him away!” Adrian roared. “Go!”

When one of their own died, there was no burial, no remembrance of any kind. Dead was gone. Gone was nothing. They’d lost men through the course of this war—to cities and sickness, to the blade of another’s sword, even each other’s at times.

And now, to Adrian.

Sorcha stood beside Epona, a hand on the horse’s neck, watching him from a distance. Her face was shuttered—emotions locked tight.

* * *

The empress gasped, sucking in air, fighting death. She stared wide-eyed into nothing—concentrated on some inner image, witness to an inner beast. One hand curled into a fist as her lips pulled back to reveal clenched teeth and bloody gums. Pink-tinged saliva pooled in the corners of her mouth as a low animal sound filtered through.

No one in the room moved. The space was full of advisors and handmaidens, physicians and mystics. Servants stood motionless in the periphery, bearing trays of medicine, tinctures, oils, and basins of cool water. Incense clung to the ceiling—the heavy scent unable to cover the sharpness of crushed herbs and sickness.

Each person had been entrusted to care for the empress. And yet, she’d been poisoned.

Whoever had done this— imprisoned her in a rotting body consumed by pain, whether asleep or awake—would die. He would make sure of it. Her death was coming—almost here. They all knew it. She knew it. And he raced against it, searching for relics and believing Adrian would find them no matter what. The Saint would bring the empress back. He would rip her from the underworld to place her once again in the court that loved her.

The court that feared him.

Eine could feel their eyes as they dreaded the rage that would follow. He welcomed the anger, embraced it, because it would drive the hated fear away and his inability to change the situation. He turned away from his mother and strode from the room. Her labored breathing followed, and a low murmuring from the advisors broke out.

“Get Adrian,” he said to the short man scurrying after him. “At once.”

“He is traveling with the woman, my prince.”

“Find him. I wish to personally impress upon the woman that time is running out.”

“But my prince, if you recall him, it will waste time.”

“I am not the one wasting time.” Eine turned, eyes hard. “She needs to understand there is no other way forward but the one I’ve given her.”

The advisor swallowed and nodded.

Behind them, a wail broke the air, shuddering down the halls, filling Eine’s head. Another voice picked it up. A woman sobbed. A priest began to chant a prayer to a foreign god—the words echoed and built upon themselves, becoming a chant of many voices. A white-faced servant stumbled from the room, eyes wild with fear. He fell to his knees before the prince, arms outstretched, tears streaming down his face.

“Have them killed,” Eine said, jerking his chin toward the room, ignoring the man at his feet. “All of them.”

* * *

The messenger found them on the road to the next relic.

Magnus, bringing up the rear of the party, heard the hooves first—a rider approaching at a breakneck pace—and he signaled for the others to move off the roadside. Soon, a thin man on a large roan mare came into sight. He used no saddle and carried nothing but a skin of water slung around his chest and a leather cylinder. On his shirt, a silver snake glinted. The mark of the empire.

Adrian rode to meet him, and for a brief moment, Sorcha thought the messenger might join them. He kept looking beyond Adrian to her, pale eyes intent and curious. But he turned and rode away after a brief conversation, his horse breaking into a gallop within a few feet and carrying the messenger away.

Sorcha’s stomach twisted—uneasy with the expression on the man’s face. He’d been studying her, searching for anything on her face that he might present to the prince upon his return. Only the prince would have sent someone. Sorcha had learned long ago that no other man held sway over Adrian’s life.

But the continent was vast. The Traveling City had fallen behind them weeks ago. If this man had reached them so easily, it meant the Traveling City was closer than expected. They’d made it over the mountains and might have even had a few days’ hard ride. Maybe there was an easier path, and the city had come the long way around. Not that it mattered. The relics would be reunited sooner than she’d anticipated.

Revenant rode out to meet Adrian, the two stopping their horses to continue a conversation without the Tomeis listening to every word. It was impossible to read Revenant—his faintly glowing eyes landed on her face for a moment before moving on—but Adrian’s anger was unmistakable.

Adrian listened without speaking for a time. Then he shook his head, a single movement, as his gaze found her. Relief hit her as the two men rode back. But it vanished when Adrian’s face remained stony.

“Prince Eine has sent an urgent message.” Adrian turned to Thompson. “How far are we from the next relic?”

The man pulled out the two maps he consulted at every turn. He shook his head, shrugging. “Not too far. We’d be there by early evening.”

“Good.” Adrian nodded, voice terse. “We’ll keep going.”

* * *

A bog stretched out in either direction around them—miles and miles of murky water and half-dead trees. Tall, thin grasses quaked in the lackluster wind moving through, bringing the occasionally hints of the coast. The ground was soft in places, and the horses picked their way carefully, working to find solid ground.

Soon, the party divided. Adrian, Revenant, and Thompson continued on with her. The others turned back to wait for their return. The farther they traveled, the more a sense of watchfulness touched them.

Sorcha could sense something out there. A creature of some kind, frightening as the werewolves and the vampire skeletons deep in the cave. What else? Something like the creature in the blizzard? No, it would be something new. Something as equally terrifying.

As they rode, Thompson murmured to himself. Sorcha caught bits and pieces of it. He was watching the map, looking up briefly from time to time, and taking mental notes. No matter what happened, he would know the way out of this maze. Continuing on, Sorcha kept an eye on the sky, but it was overcast, making it impossible to determine the time of day. Morning or afternoon. Possibly evening. Or an exceptionally bright moon could be fighting the cloud cover in the hopes of lighting their way. No matter what, the light remained unchanged.

“Stop.” Thompson rustled a map. “That stone to the right. See the carving?”

Barely visible and worn down by time, the engraving could still be seen on the broken pillar. A skull. Crude and possibly cut in a short amount of time. There was a quality that felt rushed to Sorcha. It made her uneasy.

“It should be near here.”

“Sorcha?”

She jumped, startled out of her thoughts. Adrian was watching her—his expression giving her nothing.

Was this the man who had pushed her body to its shaking limits? Or the man who killed those around him without a second thought? Or was this the man who had talked about leaving this all behind and running away together?

“Which direction do we go?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Sorcha said, turning away from him.

She closed her eyes, breathing in, working to calm her mind. No questions. No distractions. Find the relic. Resurrect the Saint. Nothing else mattered. Adrian didn’t matter. He couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Despite what her body might be screaming for out of blind lust and terrible longing.

They were here for one reason.

“Tribute? Sacrifice?”

The question came across the water—up from the earth or down from the sky, it was impossible to tell. It held that note of other.

Sorcha swallowed. Another guardian, Sorcha thought. And what price would she have to pay here?

“Why have you come?” the deep voice asked.

“We’re looking for something,” Adrian replied.

“I have nothing for you.”

“But you do for me,” Sorcha said and dismounted, smoothing out her riding skirt. “I’ve come for the relic.”

A laugh erupted, and a shiver ran across her skin. Fog, hugging the ground but slowly rising, rolled toward them. There was no other choice than to go forward. Sorcha hesitated at the edge of the bog, studying the hillocks and narrow waterways—the murky pools of water. Half-dead trees grouped together here and there, deep green moss clinging to the trunks and hanging from the branches. What might have been a path wound through it, leading deeper in.

“I can smell you.” A voice came out of the fog, chasing chills up her spine. “Come and walk my muddy waters. Come to me.”

Sorcha took a step forward, the earth undulating beneath her—the air full of decaying vegetation. It was impossible to tell if it were night or day, the world shrouded in half-light and suggestion. The suggestion of shape and time of day, the suggestion of safety and danger. Nothing there was solid. Nothing could be trusted.

Adrian followed her, their arms brushing. He reached out and grazed her arm with the back of his hand. Such a subtle gesture, barely registered.

“No, temple girl. Your lover stays behind.”

She met Adrian’s gaze, giving him the barest hint of a nod. Revenant’s anger was a physical force beating fists against her back. He would have something to say about the word lover as soon as she was out of earshot. And from the look on Adrian’s face, he knew it too.

It struck her that this was the second creature to call Adrian her lover. Lacus had said it so casually, as did this one. Was it so obvious, then?

The voice laughed, the sound booming out, rolling over them and taking their breath.

“Yes. You are easy to read. Your emotions taste sweet. But I prefer the bitterness of the yellow-eyed one’s anger. His thoughts are delicious, like fire and ash.”

Sorcha couldn’t help it, and she turned to see Revenant’s face. He was furious. She could see it in the way he held himself, the expression in his eyes, even though his face remained flat and smooth.

“You are wasting time. My curiosity is fading.”

“No.” Sorcha swallowed. “I need to speak with you.”

“I’ll be here,” Adrian promised. “When you come out, I’ll be right here.”

* * *

Adrian had to send her in alone. It happened over and over, and each time, it became harder to bear, to watch her walk into danger, to face the threat alone. Revenant and Thompson watched him—hot focus and growing anger. Sorcha had changed it all, corrupted their leader, the monster, the man they followed into battle, the man who let the blood flow. He knew what they thought of him now. But he would not go back. He would not change it.

This woman had turned his world upside down. He watched her constantly, unable to pull his eyes away, wondering if redemption was possible. Prince Eine had promised to let him go. And if he did keep his word? Could she love a monster? Could the monster love her?

Come back to me,he thought. Come back to me and press your lips to mine. Come back to me and change my skin, change my bones. Melt into me and change my life.

With each day that passed, he wanted it more.

“Should we follow?” Revenant asked. “Will she come back with the relic?”

“We don’t need to follow,” Adrian said.

“You’ve made a mistake trusting her.”

Adrian tensed. “There’s no reason not to. She’s done what the prince asked.”

“And seduced you.” Revenant’s tone was flat, but Adrian knew him well enough to feel the accusation in it. “Do you think the prince will be happy that you’ve tampered with his witch?”

Adrian didn’t respond, waiting. He knew there was more. Ivo had been the tip of a blade. Now Revenant planned to twist it. Thompson looked down and then away, noisily rerolling the maps.

“What are you suggesting?”

“You want to regain control? Prove to the Tomeis and Prince Eine that you’re still capable of completing this task, and kill the woman now. We’ll take the pieces we have back to the Traveling City. The prince would not be displeased.”

“It would go against his wishes. He wants her alive.”

“What punishment could there be if the end result is the same?”

Adrian turned to him then. “You speak of treason.”

Revenant shook his head. “We follow you. Into battle, to the ends of the earth. If you serve the prince, then so do we. If you do not...” His voice trailed off, the rest of the sentence implied.

“I serve the prince,” Adrian said flatly.

“As do we. Long may he live.”

The men stared at each other for a long moment. Thompson remained silent, shuffling the maps and keeping his gaze averted. If Revenant was speaking now, he was speaking for the unit.

Kill them, a voice deep within him said. Each and every one. If you don’t do it now, you’ll regret it later.

Adrian shifted his hand to his sword, resting on the hilt casually. Revenant kept his attention on Adrian’s face, reading his next move there.

Behind them, back the way they’d come, Domenico was shouting.

The tension in his shoulders eased as Revenant looked away.

“There’s another messenger!”