Page 175 of War Queen
Soren dropped down and reached out to his neck.
Norah jerked up her hand. “Don’t—”
But Soren paid her no mind and brought his fingers to feel the old man’s pulse. Nothing happened, but it didn’t keep her heart from nearly beating out of her chest.
“He’s dead,” Soren said.
Norah glanced at Mikael, but his eyes were fixed on the dead seer.
“It was a serpent,” came a shaking voice from behind them, and they turned to find Esther.
A serpent? Norah drew her brows together. “A what?”
“In the Aether. He screamed for it to be gone. I couldn’t wake him from it.” Tears streamed down her face as she gave a small sob. “I couldn’t wake him.”
Soren stood, looking at Mikael. “We should take Salara to Kharav, to our seer. He can help us understand what’s going on here.”
“No!” Esther cried. “The serpent in the Aether—it would have come for him too.”
Serpent in the Aether? Norah’s heart stopped.
Samuel. The Mercian seer. He wasn’t a traveler like Nemus, but he still entered the Aether to see visions and create his paintings.
“Samuel! I have to get to Samuel!” she cried, and she fled from the small home and out into the night.
Mikael and Soren were quick to follow, with Caspian, Adrian and the Crest in tow. Her side stitched as she ran, but she didn’t stop. Racing back across the bridge, she barreled through the courtyard to Samuel’s gallery. She nearly collided with the door when she couldn’t open it fast enough but managed to swing it clear and maneuvered through the narrow aisle of paintings, knocking some over as she went.
“Samuel!” she called.
The rooms were lit by dim candles, and they moved farther back. When they reached the far room, she gasped as she saw Samuel lying facedown on the floor.
“Samuel!”
Norah ran to his side and turned him over. Like Nemus, black veins showed from under his skin. His hands caught her eye, and she jumped. They were covered in blood.
No, not blood. Paint. Wet, red paint. As if he’d dipped them in a can of it. She stared at them. Why did he have paint on his hands?
“Salara,” Mikael said, and she looked up. A canvas sat on the easel, still glistening with wet paint and a new image.
The image of a red serpent.
Chapter forty-three
Norahlayinthebed in her chamber, curled under the quilts with her legs folded to her chest and her hands around her knees. She waited the long, agonizing wait for the pain of when her hands would rip open again and blood would pour from her open flesh. It had been nearly two weeks since Lucien had placed the tether. The cuts came more often now, but irregularly and without warning. Sometimes it was only her hands, and sometimes, perhaps when a lot of blood was needed, her forearm would open—a long cut from the center of the arm to her wrist. Sometimes she would grow faint, the energy draining from her. But as soon as the wound closed, the pain would leave as quickly as it came, as if it had never happened.
Each time it took a piece of her, of her hope. The loss of control eroded her spirit and the resilience of her mind.
Now she could only wait.
A message from Phillip had arrived a week prior. Two of Aleon’s three seers had mysteriously died. It was a short message—delivered by bird—and likely followed by a messenger that would soon arrive with a more detailed one, perhaps with assumptions about how they’d died. But she knew how.
Lucien.
The door to her chamber opened quietly, followed by the clinks of a tray being set on the side table. Even though it was midday, Serene didn’t say anything to her, didn’t disturb her. For the past four days, Norah woke to dress and minimally tend herself. Sometimes she’d eat, then give herself to the solitude of her bed. Mikael came often, checking on her, kissing her palms, and nuzzling her cheek, then he’d leave her to the quiet. He was gentle, sweet, but underneath she could feel his silent rage, his hating anger, and his own suffering that there was nothing he could do to help her.
Bells rang out. She wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t dreaming.
“Regal High,” Serene said.
