Page 4 of The Dead Saint

A shiver rippled through Sorcha, cold lingering as they rounded another corner and came out into a plaza with a fountain bubbling at the center.

The area was full of armor-clad figures with their hands on their weapons.

All eyes focused on her.

Sorcha lifted her chin. Countless times, she’d moved through the court of King Roi, talking with advisors or generals, courtesans, or minor nobility. She knew who she was in every room she entered. There had been men as bloodthirsty as any in the Empire of the White Snake. She’d passed among them all—oracle and extension of the Saint—without ever questioning her safety. But this was different. These were the men who had brought the Golden Citadel to its knees.

“Keep walking.”

Her captor jerked Sorcha forward when she hesitated. If the man who gripped her arm so tightly wasn’t in charge, who would be?

Then she saw him. Sorcha stopped, brows pulling together, curious despite herself.

The man radiated power, an intensity that commanded attention and forced everyone else into the background. He had unusual features, with hair and eyes as black as onyx, which made her think of silence at midnight. No stars, no moon, only a watchful void. The black armor and leather gloves he wore were just as dark, the war horse beneath him a similar shade. A white wolf skull was tied to the saddle. The stories she’d heard said he wore it into battle, that his sword was always wet, that the blood on his hands would never dry.

The Wolf.

Chapter Two

Adrian had been instructed to find the Saint’s vessel—a young woman, twenty-two years old, with dark hair and blue-green eyes. The description had come from a high-ranking temple priestess who had come to the prince. The woman had said the vessel would have tattoos—a history and map of the dead Saint on her skin. She might try to hide her identity, but those markings, she wouldn’t be able to hide.

Her skin told the Saint’s story, her flesh would point the way.

So far, they hadn’t located the woman. But it was only a matter of time.

Any hope that the Golden Citadel had held for a reprieve from the death sentence that was the empire’s ever-conquering Horde had died as the gates fell inward and the fires took hold. If there was anyone else left alive in the city, they would know her, and they might give her up when the pain became unbearable and release was offered. If there was no one left, he would search every building, even as they burned and fell around him.

He refused to accept that she might have perished in the fire.

Prince Eine had offered riches beyond measure in exchange for the woman: promotion to the Black Tomeis, enough gold to last several lifetimes, and a personal favor from the prince himself. The favor, the ear of the prince, was the most prized. It would be something to hold tight in the face of the long months ahead and coming battles.

Anyone would welcome these rewards. Each man listening had been hungry, ready for the pale light of morning as the siege came to an end, so they would have the chance to enter the city and find the woman.

“What do we do when we find her?” a man asked, a stranger unknown to Adrian. The others in the crowd had turned to him, focusing hard eyes on Adrian, searching for any hint of deception.

“Bring her to me.”

The men had nodded, more than a hundred of them fanning out into the city as the gates came down. His own men, the Black Tomeis led by Revenant, were already gone, moving on Adrian’s private orders.

Find the woman as quickly and quietly as possible.

Make sure no one else did.

* * *

Adrian saw the woman before she saw him. Revenant marched her toward the group of waiting men, his face blank but eyes blazing, as the woman fought him. She pried at his fingers, working to loosen his grip, but she grimaced when he squeezed. She was singed and dirty, the hem of her crimson dress dark with blood and the long, loose sleeves torn. Her hair was a wild black halo around her pale face, bits of gold and jewels tangled in the mess.

This was the woman the prince wanted?

Adrian considered her, cataloging details, collecting what he might be able to use to his advantage later. She didn’t look like a woman of wealth and power. Or whatever it was she was supposed to be. She was bejeweled and wearing fine things, however damaged, but without an air of command. He would have passed over her in a crowd without a second glance, a forgettable woman in a sea of faces and nothing like what he’d pictured.

An oracle, priestess, and vessel of the Saint.

Her gaze landed on him finally—the only man on a horse in the square—and the shock of her anger sizzled between them. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth opened as if she planned to yell—yell for help or yell at him, he couldn’t be sure. But the directness of her expression and the fury in it changed everything. It transformed her face. The woman’s eyes were a vibrant, striking green. His breath caught as an arrow of desire pierced him, lodging in his chest—a dangerous surprise.

But the anger in her gaze shifted, eyes widening, skin going pale as she realized who she was being taken to. Understanding settled in her features, her knuckles white with pressure as she squeezed her hands into fists.

Monster.

---