Chapter Eighteen Lore #3
I’d thought he was set to be hanged. I’d been wrong.
They were going to behead him.
He might be immortal, but I wasn’t sure how that would hold up to having his head sliced from his shoulders. And I didn’t want to find out.
I glanced down, my pulse racing. A few shadows seemed to stream out from my glove. I shot a nervous look around; no one was paying any attention to me.
Until that suddenly changed. Recognition hit a few of the nearest attendees.
They unnecessarily shoved into my family and leered.
“Stand back.”
Our footman shielded us from more errant hits.
But it wouldn’t be enough if the crowd turned on us. I hated the idea of anyone else ending up in harm’s way because of this cursed Trial.
I ignored the panicked feeling spreading.
I reminded myself this realm thrived on fear, and I was unintentionally feeding it in gluttonous amounts.
The midday sun beat down on us and I cursed the layers I was forced to wear for propriety’s sake.
Then, when the shouting and shoving had been stoked to a fever pitch, the guards made their entrance. Twelve heavily armored men strode out, six in the front and six behind their prisoner.
Sloth was bound and chained. His face was bruised and his hair mussed.
He scanned the crowd, his face a cold, ruthless mask; then his gaze found mine. All other sounds vanished as he held my stare.
There was no panic. No silent pleading.
Just a slight incline. As if the idiot was saying goodbye and good luck.
That strange pit of darkness writhed in annoyance.
I remembered what he’d said back at the tavern, that we could still be harmed in the stories. And that if he died here, he would actually be killed.
I exhaled a shaking breath, feeling less certain of my plan.
If I miscalculated, I could end up sending him to his death.
I cursed the damn prince for taking the blame.
“On this day, by order of the king and the magistrate of Season City acting on his behalf, we have found one Lord Ashmore Winters guilty. As such, he is hereby sentenced to death by beheading. At once.”
The man kicked the back of Sloth’s knees out, forcing him to kneel.
“Any last words, scum?”
The sociopath was back. The prince glared over his shoulder and the look he flashed was so filled with malice, the crowd stopped chanting for his death.
“Right, then. Executioner, at the ready.”
Sloth exhaled and glanced back at me.
His expression was completely closed off. If he knew I was planning something, he gave no indication of it. I really, really hoped this worked.
As the executioner slowly took the stairs, I made my move.
I raced forward and hoisted myself up, rolling and tangling in my gods-damned skirt before reaching the block.
“You bastard!” I yelled, drawing a hand back as if I was ready to slap him. The crowd cheered for the dramatics. “I’ll kill you myself!”
The guards were shocked by my outburst but also seemed sympathetic to my cause. The bride whose beloved was slain. No one made a move to stop me.
I’d been hoping for that. I wrapped my hands around Sloth’s neck, and his brows hit his hairline as I squeezed a little for dramatic effect.
“You’re going to get yourself killed, Lore.”
“Hush, villain!”
I concentrated on the stone in my hand; this time I would manifest the gods-forsaken ocean if it was the last thing I did. We needed to be as far away as possible. I swore I felt a ripple go through the stone when I made contact with the prince. Like whatever fueled its power was excited.
This time, the phoenix tear didn’t hesitate to meet my call.
Apparently, it didn’t want to lose our Prince un-Charming yet either. Later, I’d have to consider why, but for now, I was too thankful to worry.
I held on to Sloth and felt the rolling waves as I ignored the shouts from the guards, the cries for us to be slain as witches.
I sent my shadows out with a mental plea to save us, unsure if it was working until I heard the screams and sounds of people running from us.
I widened my stance so I could lean into the rhythm and not lose my footing.
I kept my focus turned inward, until I actually felt the salty mist of the sea on my face.
When I finally opened my eyes, we were exactly where I’d envisioned.
The ship—Silverbeak’s Wrath—was still covered in ribbons of shadows, but the cerulean ocean to our left was unmistakable.
There was no longer any bloodthirsty crowd; Sloth was unchained, clad back in his fighting leathers.
I was still in my day dress, but I didn’t care.
We’d survived the execution block. And I knew it hadn’t been patience like I first thought. It was definitely loyalty I’d been tested for.
I didn’t leave the prince when it would have been easy to do so. I stayed and plotted his rescue. And not just for selfish reasons. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being killed because I’d taken the easy road and left him.
Suddenly, another vision crashed through me.
This time there was no mistaking what they were; they were memories that weren’t mine but felt so visceral, so real, that I wanted to scream.
I saw reassuring hands reaching out as a friend dangled from the edge of a cliff, but instead of helping her up, I watched in horror as the woman slowly ground her heel into the other’s fingers, letting her fall.
The memory expanded and I saw another person hanging on to the cliff; his eyes widened as his devotion for whoever he stared at twisted into betrayal.
Feminine laughter rang out, sharp and delighted, as her lover begged, only to realize the one he’d revered had damned him.
His shock, his heartbreak, seared into me as if I had been the one to betray him.
I wanted to cry out, to save him, but it was too late.
He fell into the abyss. Then I was yanked out of the vision and stood blinking in the rays of the sun off the ocean.
I wondered if I was losing my mind, or if the Book of Nightmares was punishing me for winning the last test. The vision only lasted a few seconds, so I ignored it for now and focused on claiming my small victory.
“I did it!” I tried to banish the dark cloud still hanging over my thoughts, but the falseness in my tone was hard to disguise.
Sloth was stoic as ever, but when I glanced up into his face, I knew he was thrilled. It was that slight twinkle in his eyes that gave him away.
“Is this Silverbeak’s Wrath?”
The shadows were still slowly streaming back, but I didn’t read many pirate books. “I’m pretty sure.”
“Another shifter story?”
I gave him an indignant look.
“I’ll have you know, I read more than shifter romances. As was clearly evident by the historical murder we just escaped.”
He shook his head. “And this delightful tale features…”
“A pirate king. More of a fantasy adventure. And he’s obsessed with booty. Be thankful you’re not about to lose that pretty head.”
Blondie’s eyes skimmed down my frame in cool assessment.
If I were being delusional, I’d almost swear a muscle ticked in his jaw. By the time I blinked again, his expression was unreadable.
“We’ll see.”
I grinned.
“While it’s flattering that you think my bottom is a treasure, I meant gold and jewels. The pirate king is hunting the ultimate treasure in the story. A sea serpent–octopus–unicorn hybrid. Its scales are worth a fortune.”
I tried to recall the name.
“Serp-i-corn. Uni-pus? You get the idea.” I waved my hand around in dismissal. “It’s a giant sea monster with a horn, basically.”
“Let’s not be too hasty, darling,” an unfamiliar voice purred from behind us. “I’d consider parting with some coins for time with you alone.”
Before I could turn around, the man who’d spoken with that low drawl grabbed a handful of my butt and squeezed.
I yelped, more from surprise than pain, but his grip hadn’t been gentle.
“Your ass is treasure enough for my tastes. And we’ve been out at sea for too many lonely nights. Ain’t that right, boys?”
Shouts rang out in agreement and my blood turned to ice.
I’d done it, all right.
I’d finally used my magic and brought us to the story I’d been imagining.
But with Sloth’s life hanging in the balance, I hadn’t had the time or the space to think it through.
This might not be the best book for us to be trapped in.
I spun around.
The shadow ribbons had fully receded into the phoenix tear, and I was able to take quick note of the leering crew before settling my attention on the pirate king.
Theo Saint Elliot, known to his crew as the Devil of Dark Water, was exactly how I pictured him.
Windswept dark gold hair fell to his shoulders in unruly waves, a well-trimmed beard accentuated a cut jaw, and—
The prince stepped around me and seized the pirate king by the neck with one hand, effortlessly lifting him off his feet as if he weighed nothing.
With his other hand, Sloth forcefully clamped down on the pirate’s chin, his grip unflinching as he held him in place.
I watched in stunned silence as the prince twisted sharply and violently.
A loud, bone-chilling snap reverberated across the ship, instantly silencing the raucous hoots and jeers from the crew, leaving only the haunting sound of the sea lapping against the sides of the boat in the background.
Dozens of wide eyes drank in the sight of their leader, now limp in the prince’s hands, a puddle of urine pooling at his feet.
My heart thudded against my ribs.
The prince dropped the pirate and stared coldly at anyone stupid enough to hold his gaze.
His low voice sent a ripple of fear through the crowd.
“I’m the king now. Any objections?”