Page 280 of Interion

I looked around and realized I was thirty meters off the ground, perched on the trunk of a towering tree. The forest was dense, the ancient branches intertwining like suspended bridges. This was Drutes territory. My home.

“Did you really think I didn’t know about you?” A voice not of this world spoke. “I’ve tracked your every step, faerie, and I know about your lineage. The scent is faint, but his blood runs through your veins, and that makes me... hungry.”

I knew this wasn’t a dream about the archangels, but the sensation the voice gave me was the same. What I was seeing was a memory—I was aware of that. I dragged myself along the trunk, searching for a vantage point to see what was happening below.

“I studied your lineage for years, waiting for you to manifest some kind of immortal power. But as I suspected, the archangels’ blood couldn’t adapt to the earthly world. The power is weak now that the eyes are scattered.” The speaker clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Just look at you—you can’t even produce a spark of arcane power. Your lineage is just another failed experiment.”

When my eyes finally found a gap in the foliage, I felt every piece of my life crumbling. Below me lay a river of corpses, piled one atop another, and a woman sat upon the dead as if lounging languidly on a divan.

Part of me knew my parents were responsible for all these deaths. They had fought to escape the city and get us to the general who’d been in contact with us, but it had all been in vain from the moment the woman in black appeared.

“Don’t fight... Run,” Mom repeated.

Her voice was like the dying sparks of what had once been a great bonfire. I forced myself to see past the tears and searched for my mother among the broken bodies. I found her half-dead beneath the woman who was speaking. She lay on a pile of soldiers, her skin a cadaverous gray, her face painted with war runes—but the red stood out starkly against her pale skin.

“How long are you going to keep repeating that? The girl won’t do anything—can’t you smell the fear?” The woman sniffed the air and laughed. “Oriel would be ashamed to see that all his efforts produced nothing but a lineage of cowards.”

She stood up, brushing off the black dress that was stiff with blood and dirt. Now that she wasn’t blocking my view, I could see Lagherta’s body. Her chest, arms, and thighs were pierced by long, sharp points connected to metal chains that extended from the woman in black. Not exactly from her body—she wore a metal belt where the chains attached.

“Don’t fight. Run...” my mother repeated. Blood gurgled in her throat as she looked at the sky. At me.

I knew I needed to help her—that was why I’d climbed the tree: to surprise the woman in black and bury my blade in her back. There was a dagger in my hands; Dad had taught me to wield it only in emergencies. Too bad he hadn’t taught me how to overcome my fear enough to use it. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t move—not to fight, not to flee. Dad had wasted his time with me.

“Your lineage is the last of Oriel’s five attempts. All failures, but do you know what’s most incredible?” she asked, kneeling over my mother. “The most incredible part is that in trying to create weapons against me, the Gods created weapons for me. You make me stronger—like the finest wine from the finest vintage.”

Her hair was black, which was strange—a Drutes queen should have red hair. I couldn’t see her face, but the feeling she gave off was different. Wrong. Like the dreams I’d experienced with Angel and Oriel.

Mom looked at me with urgency as the dagger in my hand trembled and I could barely contain the scream of despair in my throat. The queen lowered herself and grabbed Mom’s face. Mom finally tore her eyes from me to face the terror approaching. Then the queen kissed her lips by force and pulled something from her mouth. Horrified, I covered my mouth with my hand, remembering the illustration from the book about how the devourer removed souls. My mother tried to fight as her soul was being stolen, but there was nothing to fight against—this was more powerful than an entire army.

I wept in silence and watched everything with such dread that my heart barely dared beat. Her golden eyes locked onto mine again, still fighting for her life. Until the last second, there was no fear in her gaze—she was Drutes, and she would die as one. I watched her chest rise one last time, then the light in her eyes went out. Even when everything had been stolen from her, the expression remained: that hard, courageous look, as if defying death itself.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight, couldn’t flee. Fear paralyzed me to the point where I couldn’t even look away. The useless dagger in my hands trembled so violently that it slipped from my grip and fell to the earth. Its bone handle was white, with a red stone set in the hilt. It was Mom’s dagger. I covered my lips with both useless hands and felt urine soaking through my pants. Mom’s eyes kept staring at me.

It felt like a black hole had opened in my chest as I took the full measure of my cowardice. That was certainly the first time my heart broke, but even it didn’t dare make a sound as it cracked and split in two.

The queen rose, gathering the chains that moved like arms around her. They serpentined through the air, then merged with her body, going lifeless and becoming a skirt that dragged over the corpses. Now I could see her face clearly.

I gasped, finally understanding.

“What a waste of food,” she said, surveying the corpses. I curled up on the branch, my small heart still beating—terribly broken, terribly pained. “And you, little mouse?”

She looked at me as she picked up the dagger I had dropped. She examined the weapon as if it were a gift, her fingers tracing the hilt and blade, testing the edge. A smile spread across her lips, her slanted eyes narrowing to slits.

The painting on Serguei's wall had captured that smile exactly. My head spun as I tried to understand.

“A pup is no use to me, but one day it will be. I know the destiny you're bound to, and one day that knowledge will prove useful. For now, I have a better purpose for your insignificant life. I know the lines of fate will lead you to someone I once knew. When you find him, tell him I haven't forgotten the promise—nor what he stole from me. I'll be back to collect.”

The woman kept staring at me, as if expecting something.

“What's wrong? Need help escaping?” she asked with a smile.

Immediately, her chains rose, undulating and pointing toward me. She drove them into the tree where I stood. The sound of creaking wood snapped me out of my paralysis. I looked around in panic and scrambled along the branch, leaping to the next one. My muscles didn't want to obey—they only wanted to collapse and lie among the sea of bodies—but I kept running, because it was my mother's last request. I heard the queen laughing below as I fled through the branches, crying and sobbing, utterly abandoned and desperate. I wondered where to go, who to find. I had no one. I was alone, and the forest was immense.

“Run, little rat! One day I'll come for you too!”

I ran and leaped through branches and ancient trees. I fled from the voice that was pain and cruelty. The voice that had stolen my childhood, my land, and the people I loved most. She had taken everything from me—except the fear and the shame.

Those stayed with me forever.