Page 82 of The Dead Saint

Revenant shook his head. “We follow you. Into battle, to the ends of the earth. If you serve the prince, then so do we. If you do not...” His voice trailed off, the rest of the sentence implied.

“I serve the prince,” Adrian said flatly.

“As do we. Long may he live.”

The men stared at each other for a long moment. Thompson remained silent, shuffling the maps and keeping his gaze averted. If Revenant was speaking now, he was speaking for the unit.

Kill them, a voice deep within him said. Each and every one. If you don’t do it now, you’ll regret it later.

Adrian shifted his hand to his sword, resting on the hilt casually. Revenant kept his attention on Adrian’s face, reading his next move there.

Behind them, back the way they’d come, Domenico was shouting.

The tension in his shoulders eased as Revenant looked away.

“There’s another messenger!”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fog swirled around her, obscuring the surrounding bog and leaving her to wonder if this was the right path. Or had she wandered off it, stumbling in the wrong direction, headed for sucking mud and the endlessness of preserved death?

“Who are you?”

Sorcha froze, heart stuttering, threatening to stop entirely. The voice came from behind and above her, so close—almost in her ear.

“Sorcha,” she said, pushing her voice above a whisper, keeping the tremble out of it.

“You smell of dying cities.”

“I’ve come from a dying city.”

“Have you come here to die? The mud would have you. The fog would eat you. I could help you die.”

She was too afraid to turn around and see what stood behind her. A creature. Those words—the booming, slithering echo—did not come from a human chest.

“I’ve come for the relic.”

Silence. Consideration.

“It’s time,” Sorcha whispered. “I’m the vessel.”

“Show me.”

Sorcha sucked in a breath, fingers going to her bodice, turning slightly. The only proof she had was the tattoo—an inked map and curse in one. Her salvation and death wrapped tightly around her.

“Stop,” the creature hissed. “I do not want your flesh, temple girl. I want your mind.”

“How?”

“Close your eyes. Hold out your hand.”

She trembled, couldn’t stop it or help it, grateful for the darkness behind her eyes as the creature loomed over her. The mud shuddered, threatening to turn into quicksand and swallow her whole.

When Sorcha did not lift her hand, the creature took it. She gasped. Bones. Naked and bare. Stripped down to nothing. And claws, long and curved, sharp and pricking her skin, taking her gently by the hand, hovering at her side.

“Show me.”

“I don’t know how.”

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