Page 116 of The Stolen Throne
So fast I don’t expect it, Trysolde lunges at me, snapping up a staff I hadn’t noticed propped against his throne. The metal staff reforms in an instant to a scythe, the razor-thin blade glinting at me with nasty intent. With a shout to rattle the stones of the chamber, he swings it above his head and hurls it at my chest.
Time seems to slow as the weapon tumbles end over end, the whomp, whomp, whomp of it cutting through the air pounding in my ears. I gasp and only have time to raise my hands in a pathetic defense.
In that instant, a wall of shadow slams up between me and the scythe. The weapon hits with a muffled thump, then drops to the ground, clattering against the marble floors. I barely notice as I double over my belly, wrapping my arms around myself as a queasy sensation threatens to upend my breakfast all over the floor.
Because it almost felt like those shadows came from me.
“For that, you die.” An unworldly voice has me jerking upright to find the wall of shadow still raised between me and the king. Reven stands in the center of the roiling darkness, as though the wall is part of him and he’s part of the wall.
Whatever Reven is doing, Trysolde is so frozen in fear, he looks like Vos hit him with ice. A stringent odor hits my nose, and I glance down to find a yellow puddle seeping out from under the wall…from the king.
I scoot back. Mother goddess. This is very, very bad.
49
One Down
I reach out to touch the wall of shadow, hoping maybe it only blocks dangerous things like scythes, but nope. It’s solid, enclosing the dais. Hellfires. I pound a fist against the wall. “Reven!”
He doesn’t react. Not so much as a twitch.
When I brush my hand over my scar, the sensation that feeds through me is rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. I’m pretty sure he’s so far gone he can’t hear me or feel me.
I need to get around this wall. Fast.
Edging to the side, I reach an angle where I can see more of the side of his face through the veil. Fear steals the breath right out of my lungs because he’s doing that thing. The Shadows inside him are cycling, taking over in rapid succession, each face his and yet different. Cunning. Furious. Sneering. Bored.
Not Reven.
I do the only thing I can think of to get their attention. “Look at me, asshole.”
The Shadow snaps his head to the side, staring at me, faces still contorting and twisting and changing. Huh.
“Do you remember what happened last time you tried to take him over?” I shout. “I’ll kill you all. Don’t think I won’t!”
The wall of darkness stutters, then starts to curl in on itself, unfurling in streamers that reach for me.
I lurch back. “Don’t test me again.” There’s a wobble in my voice that gives away my fear. Goddesses above—or in the amulets or whatever—please don’t let them have heard that.
Movement draws my attention back to Trysolde. The scythe has turned into a molten metal and is returning to him at his call, his hands glowing yellow at his sides. The mass slithers up the stairs. Reven jerks his attention back to the king, loosing a growl so sinister, even my heart stutters.
“No!” a feminine voice cries out.
Before either man can attack the other, tree roots sprout up from the floor between them, growing and layering until a hedge of intertwining branches forms around and over the king. A forest of thorns.
Istrella.
Shadow pitches forward, hands on his knees. Reven? But no. The darkness he’s wielding doesn’t dissipate around him, still reaching for me.
Reven thrusts out a hand behind him…toward me? Confusion keeps me in place. Is he telling me to stay away or asking me to touch him? To try—
I’m at his side on my knees before I even think to move. Please let this be what he wanted me to do. I reach out tentatively. Only when I take his hand, darkness shoves me away.
The hells with that.
“Back off,” I growl and lunge for him, grasping his hand hard. If the shadows want me off, they’ll have to peel me away.
“Meren.” That’s all he says. A barked reflex of a word. But it’s Reven’s voice, not one of Eidolon’s Shadows.
