Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
His amusement vanishes in an instant. He snaps his fingers. The closest gargoyle scoops up Jarek’s limp body and runs up the main stairs with surprising speed; a dozen wisps take flight behind him.
I chase after them, my heart pounding in my ears, Loth and Zorya on my heels.
By the time we reach his chambers, Jarek is already stripped of his warrior leathers and lying in bed, draped in a white sheet speckled in blood. A long, thin line drags across his rib cage, where the claw of this vrog opened his skin. It might have been little more than a scratch at the start, but now it’s angry and red and swollen, with a black, tar-like liquid oozing out.
The wisps hover around his body, their giggles contrary to the grim task ahead.
Tears prick my eyes. “You stubborn idiot!” He should have gone to the casters when he had the chance.
Oredai slides in silently behind me. “They must remove the poison.”
“And how do they do that?”
“There is only one way.”
My mouth drops as one of them shoves its clawed fingers into the wound.
Jarek’s eyes open with his bloodcurdling scream.
9
Sofie
This is not my husband.
He may wear his handsome face and use his deep, melodic voice. His palm may feel the same, smooth against mine.
But the more I pay attention, the more I catch the subtle differences.
The way his chocolate-brown eyes glimmer with cruel intentions.
The way the corners of his lips curl with a perpetual sneer.
The way he squeezes my hand too tightly, as if wanting to remind me of his unparalleled strength.
This is not my Elijah, and I refuse to think of him as such.
“It is a pity the rebels caused such damage. It will take weeks to get the stench of smoke out of these drapes and paintings,” Malachi muses as we stroll up the aisle toward stairs leading to a dais. There are countless eyes on us in this packed throne room—of nobility and peasant alike, ushered in by the guards like cattle to pack every corner of the majestic space.
Tension cloys the air, and I cloak myself in a shield to ward off an attack. But Malachi is unfazed as he sidesteps a pool of blood. Countless puddles and smears still mar the hallways. The surviving staff are hard at work, scrubbing marble and dragging bodies to the waiting wagons—to cart away and burn.
There is blood everywhere I look, and yet after three hundred years of feeding off it, not so much as a twitch of hunger stirs inside me. A riddle I would like an answer to, but silent observation seems safest for the moment.
We climb the steps toward the two thrones. I keep my focus on the heavy skirts of this ivory dress I donned at his request, pulled from the queen’s overflowing wardrobe. Malachi chose a black suit that hangs a little too large on his frame. The previous king had broader shoulders. He insists he’ll have the royal tailor adjust everything, but we have yet to find the person who holds that title.
He doesn’t need a tailor for the king’s crown he found secure in the royal vault. That, he placed atop his own head, before setting a matching, slightly smaller crown on mine.
“You are quiet, my love.” He gestures toward the queen’s throne.
I choose my words cautiously, for this is Malachi, and even in flesh and blood, surely, he is formidable. “I am adjusting to this new world.” And the deep sense of betrayal and discontent that clutches me.
I am no fool, so how did I not see this coming? Again and again, the Fate of Fire has used and abused me. And the clues were all there, laid bare. How much he enjoyed assuming a corporeal form during our visits, how often he talked about me as his queen.
Malachi regards the horde of people watching us, everything from fear and shock to calculating distrust on their faces, while the corners of his mouth tic. Never in my life have I sat in a room of so many immortals, let alone mixed with the lesser humans. They all look the same now—ragged after the city’s turmoil, unwashed, their clothing soiled in varying degrees. It’s as if they were pulled off the street and ushered in here at sword point to fill the room. Perhaps they were.
“Have no fear, my love. Your husband is not lost. I am merely borrowing him for a time.”
A glimmer of hope strikes me. “What does that mean?” Is Elijah still in there, somewhere? Will I see him again?
But Malachi doesn’t answer me, turning his attention toward the crowd. “My people!” He addresses them with open arms and a jovial voice. “Gone are the centuries of weak monarchy. I have arrived to bring you a new life. Under my reign, we will grow strong and wealthy.”