Chapter 47
47
EVANGELINE
I prayed Malachi wasn’t spying from his peephole when I landed poorly in one of the hallways upstairs, knees folding beneath me when my feet hit the floor, twisting an ankle and face planting into the closest wall, knocking a hole in a painting of a much younger Tyrell.
Good fucking riddance .
I climbed to my feet, rubbing my bruised shoulder and getting my bearings. Well. I’d actually dematerialized and hadn’t killed myself. Go me .
Okay, this was bad.
Like end of the world bad.
Riordan—if that was even still Riordan—looked like he’d been dragged up from hell itself, all he needed was a pair of horns and a spiky tail. His eyes were glowing red, that crimson magic was filled with so much goddamned power I’d barely been able to breathe.
But the Riordan I knew and sometimes detested was still in there.
He had to be.
I needed reinforcements, weapons, iron shackles, some holy water and possibly a priest for an exorcism.
But most of all, I needed Blake.
I didn’t even want to put the driving urgency into words, couldn’t believe I was about to dust Blake’s lies under the proverbial rug, but for once in my life, I couldn’t solve this problem alone. I needed help.
I wanted help, and I wanted that help to come from my mate, even though some stubborn part of me was still supremely pissed off at him.
And who the hell was Ravok?
He’d announced his name in the “ don’t you know who I am ” way all self-important douchebags did, but something told me in this case, he was the real deal. Just the weight of his stare had crippled me, like I was peering into the pits of Hell.
I searched every inch of the castle for Blake, warning every soldier and staff member I came across to steer clear of the ballroom if they knew what was good for them. I sent Bex up to Angel’s room to make sure she stayed put.
Nash came storming down the hall, face set in furious lines, eyes spitting fire.
“One of my men said you kicked them out of the eastern wing, told them the king is in the ballroom and he’s dangerous . Care to explain yourself?” His brow was drawn so low I wondered how he didn’t have a migraine. “They’re not supposed to take their eyes off him, Evangeline. We’re under fucking attack.”
“Little do you know.” I muttered. “Our enemies are the least of our worries.”
“Then you’d better start talking.”
“Actually…words won’t do this justice.” I winced when I saw the storm raging outside. “This is something you need to see with your own eyes, commander.”
Nash and I watched Riordan from behind the yew bushes outside the ballroom.
He hadn’t moved an inch from where I’d left him, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. All around us, wind howled from the thunderstorm, rattling the cut-glass windows, but the noise of the driving rain kept us hidden.
“And he’s been like this for how long?”
“Since yesterday, I’m guessing. Blake tried to talk to him, but he was locked in the study. I noticed the change before the coronation, but I thought it was Tyrell’s magic.” Damn, why hadn’t we checked on him earlier? Maybe, if we had, we could have curbed this before it was too late.
“Ravok?” Nash peered at Riordan, “Are you sure?”
"He said that was his name," I said, my arms wrapped tightly around myself, soaked and frozen from the driving rain. "I mean, if you have another explanation, I’m all ears."
Nash tilted his head, watching those curling, crimson shadows spin lazily, his keen eyes studying Riordan with that careful detachment that spoke of decades of experience, seeing things even I’d probably missed. The silence stretched out between us, heavy and uncomfortable, until finally, he spoke.
" Fuck ," he muttered, his voice low.
I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms tighter. "Yes, that’s exactly what I said, followed by the word me . Now what can we do to get this hitchhiking bastard out of him?"
He crept closer to the window, his movements cautious, like he was approaching a wounded animal. "First, we find Sylvester," he began, his tone measured as he surveyed Riordan again, "This…Ravok’s soul must be connected to Tyrell’s magic. If there’s a way to separate the two, our healer will know how.”
Nash tipped his head, studying the shadows, the way they moved. “I was only around Tyrell a handful of times, but I never saw his power act like this. So either Ravok adds an entirely different twist to this puzzle, or the magic mutated when it passed to Riordan.”
I swore the wind picked up, the yew branches lashing us. The crimson magic fully encased Riordan, his face blanched ghostly white, hand fisted at his sides. I sharpened this image of him—tortured and damaged—into a weapon.
That’s right, Rohr. Keep fighting this asshole. Don’t you dare give up.
As if he’d heard me, Riordan’s head slowly swiveled our way, flame red eyes searching through thick glass and rain and wind and whipping bushes.
Nash and I planted our asses in the wet mud, backs to the wall, beneath the window, both of us breathing heavily at the close call. “What about pulling the magic out? Won’t that remove Ravok, too?”
“Possibly, but entities like this—and the magic—need a living host.” Nash mused. “I doubt either will release Riordan willingly. If Blake was here, he would know more, but he won’t be back until morning.”
My heart pounded in my chest as his words sank in. "Blake isn’t even here? Where did he go?"
Nash’s grim expression turned disastrous. "He went to Hemlocke House, Evie. Lady Morvessa summoned him, and he couldn’t refuse.”
Nash’s lips thinned out into a narrow line, his eyes glinting as he rose to a crouch and gripped my arm, urging me to do the same. “Of all our allies, she’s the one…”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Nash shook his head as we crawled through the wet, whipping bushes toward the door. “I don’t trust her. Never have.”