Page 141 of Of Shadows and Blood

Images play in my mind of massive slaughters, families torn apart, refugees at unwelcoming borders. Something we are experiencing again.

“Cala was beheaded in front of her wife, they say. I think she did not make it out of the bedchamber that night. Her wife escaped, but her line has remained a mystery.”

“They murdered the queen in her bed?”

“It was no secret that Cala was extremely powerful. She was like you in that she was half cess, half vampyr.”

Before I can finish processing this information, a loud bang sounds on the other side of the house. Dust sifts down from the floor above us, my teacup shakes on the plate.

“Stay here,” Grace says, conjuring a cess flame in her hands and walking down the hallway into the other room I now suspect is the receiving room of this townhouse.

My eyes stay trained on the front door as she slowly approaches, the light barely illuminating her face as she presses her ear against the door. A few moments pass and I release a tense breath as she smiles, shrugging her shoulders.

Another bang sounds and she draws her cheek back to listen. I’m already halfway out of my chair when suddenly her face blanches, looking at me with wide eyes. “GO!” she yells.

The wall across from me transforms into a door again and the front door blasts open, Grace’s fragile form flying with the splinters. I scream as her bloody body lands in a heap. The Carver walks into the room, his boots crunching over broken glass and plaster, surveying the damage before his eyes land on me. My own dart down to Grace and the door, measuring the distance. Behind him I can see the carnage plaguing the town square. He was destroying every building to find me.

“Filthy cess and their spells,” he snickers, stepping on her lifeless hand as he moves towards me. The hand that just held mine.

I turn to run to the door on the wall, my last chance at escape, but it has disappeared.

She’s dead. Grace is dead.

Tears brimming my eyes, I throw my hands out, hoping to disarm the Carver again. But nothing comes out. The hum beneath my skin has disappeared. My stores, what little I tapped, have drained and my body is exhausted.

“Poor birdy,” he coos. I try again, grinding my teeth. “There’s nowhere to run.”

“They’re going to find me,” I threaten. “But know that when your time comes, it will be at my hand.” My vision blurs and my heart squeezes because it knows, I know, what comes next. My magic manifests weakly as I channel every ounce of emotion within me. Anger, fear, exhaustion, anything. A small flame flickers from my fingers before quickly wicking out.

“Best to clip those wings,” the Carver says before making his move. He reaches out to restrain me but I duck and roll, my back hitting the cabinets. A kitchen knife rattles next to me and I snatch it before lunging forward at his abdomen. I manage to nick his side as I spin to land another strike on his shoulder. The Carver lands a punch to my stomach and I lose air. My vision already started failing at the expense of magic so it takes everything within me to stay upright.

“Rolan is expecting you back. You’re the guest of honor, birdy,” he snickers, pushing chairs aside to clear the space. This feels like a predator playing with his prey. I hold the knife in front of me, poised to attack.

Offense, not defense.

“Why me?” I demand as he begins pacing the room. I evaluate my exits. With the magical door gone and the front door being inaccessible, I only have the window above the sink. The spells obviously died with Grace.

Another soldier, high ranking as well, enters the kitchen. She’s younger than my aggressor and vaguely familiar.

“Lady Elivienne.” She bows. “General Schelle. I’m sure you do not remember me, but I work primarily with the king on matters of the state and war planning.”

“Thanks for the introduction.”

Schelle smiles tersely, looking to the Carver. “Wait outside.”

“I would say now is a bad time for conversation,” I goad, eyes darting to the window. Schelle takes a seat on the one unbroken chair in Grace’s kitchen.

“Is it? My apologies on your treatment. King Rolan had no knowledge of the extent of your… punishment. Trust that the king is ready to make a deal with you.”

She cannot be serious. Considering Rolan was there for half of my torture, I want to break into laughter at this apology.

“My punishment? Why am I being punished? Why am I being held? I am not a citizen of Duresden. Your quarrel is higher than me.”

“Semantics. Regardless, King Rolan has graciously offered you one last chance to change the fate of Lux. Surrender yourself to King Rolan, pledge your fealty to Duresden’s claim of Lux’s land and forgo all relations with the court of Lux. You will marry Rolan to provide an heir. Your Nyxian line will be safe and secure under his reign.”

My face hides no emotion. Has this been about ownership all along? No, he wants something from me. The sounds of soldiers flooding the town bring my attention to the war raging outside these four walls.

“You must be out of your mind. I’m promised and bonded to King Cedric. My allegiance lies with Lux.”