3. Knee-Deep in Deceit #4
A yard away, a Shadow Sword turned the dial with a fierce scowl. He was a handsome, tall man with dark hair and vibrant green eyes. With expert dexterity, he withdrew his sword and leveled it at Tarantula’s gut.
I rubbed at my chest, trying desperately to center myself as Tarantula convulsed on the floor. The Mist thickened, and the Shadow Sword turned down the dial. I recognized the soldier from the hall the day of the Iron Ritual. He’d pulled me behind himself protectively.
Axel coughed as he massaged his throat, eyes watering. Ella helped him to his feet, and he leaned heavily against her, his face pale, expression shaken.
“Knight.” The Shadow Sword bowed deeply, still holding his sword threateningly with one hand. He handed me the dial with the other. “The name is Ryse. I am at your esteemed service.”
“The diamonds don’t work.” I gestured desperately at Tarantula, who seethed, panting in the aftermath of the electricity. “He can still . . . choke people.”
Ryse turned the dial back up, radiating calm assurance. “They’re effective. He cannot conjure a storm. For all intents and purposes, he is neutered. He is now . . . handleable.”
Tarantula slapped his hand against the floor, muscles taut with electricity. “How dare thou,” he snarled.
He doesn’t look handleable to me.
Sinking into myself, I imagined the white-tipped trees in a quiet, peaceful forest. Snow was falling all around.
A chessboard was set up across a stump, and I played against myself.
Everything will be okay. I was blessed with luck and an endless source of joy.
The crushing pressure around my heart eased, and I forced my shoulders back, holding Ryse’s gaze.
“Thank you, Ryse,” I said, meaning it.
“Anytime you need me—” Ryse bowed once more “—I will happily serve.” He turned on his heel and left. Ella nodded to me as she helped Axel turn to head back to their room.
Axel glared down at the monster as he passed, but Tarantula didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was locked on me. Still not blinking.
Tarantula made a dark sound from the floor, eyes flashing with malicious intent as he stared. “Thank you, Ryse,” he said with a high-pitched mocking sneer.
“I loathe everything about you.” I stomped into my room and slammed the door shut in his face. I opened it again and closed it harder just to make a point.
Tarantula snarled something outside, but I couldn’t hear through the rushing in my ears. Sliding down the door, I wrapped my arms around my knees and rocked. Tears blurred my vision.
I can’t complete my quest.
I can’t complete my quest.
I can’t complete my quest.
Yes, you can.
On all fours, I crawled to the bag that held all my belongings: books, hand-sharpened dire bone daggers, and a few knickknacks.
I searched desperately for the thinnest book with a flowery gold cover. The one I’d impulsively stolen from Mom’s room the day I left to save her, because I couldn’t function without having a piece of her with me. Mom’s journal. She’d told me to never read it, and I still hadn’t broken my promise.
Sitting on the floor, I held it against my chest.
A few minutes later, afraid he was going to try to come inside, I moved to put it away. As I pushed it back into my sack, the pages fell open. I froze. They were covered in a strange, unreadable language full of x’s, z’s, and y’s. I held it up to the window light.
A tiny card fluttered out.
The portrait of a strikingly handsome man stared up at me.
Startlingly pale, with short, light blond hair, almond-shaped crystal-blue eyes, and an ouroboros tattoo around his right eye—the snake that ate its own tail into infinity.
He wore all black and possessed an aura of danger, tangible even in two dimensions.
The worst part—he had the eyes of a killer.
I turned the picture over.
There is nothing in my black, cursed heart, but thou.
My love is wider than the ocean, and fiercer than any
storm. Every day, I wake up and drown for thee.
Mom barely spoke about my dad, or that horrible day when he disappeared while she was pregnant with me. The few times she’d whispered about my father, she’d called him dark and handsome. She said we had the same eyes. Mine were light amber, a far cry from this man’s cruel blue gaze.
We weren’t related. He was just a dalliance from before she met my father. A stranger.
I flipped gingerly through the book, pausing at a page with strange symbols.
The Marshal said Royal Mages had three possible storm abilities: snow, wind, and water. Three of those symbols were depicted here, as well as fire and lightning. No, it can’t be. Was this some type of Royal Mage . . . storm power hierarchy?
Deeply unsettled, I gently shut the journal, hid it inside a larger book, shoved them into my sack, then tucked it all away under my bed.
The council elders of the Northern Commune always warned that hard times made monsters out of good men, but they never said what it did to women. I had a bad feeling Tarantula was going to make far worse out of me.