Page 7 of An Empress of Air & Chaos

Emara had been so concerned with her grandmother’s expression that she hadn’t noticed the figure that stood like an ancient rock in the middle of the room below. Her breathing caught as she took in the enormous size of the man that towered head and shoulders above her grandmother. Power radiated from him, power she had only read about in story books or old traditional folklore. Power which comes from nothing good—or human.

Emara glared at the figure dressed in what could only be described as battle attire; it looked completely out of place for this world. He had black boots that laced halfway up his shins, metal pads over the vital spots, and awkwardly big shoulders that were covered in steel. His hair was as black as the tunnel to hell and lay slick with moisture, tied at the nape of his strong neck.

Her grandmother’s eyes flickered to her on the staircase for a brief second and then re-focused back on the intruder.

She had spotted Emara and, for whatever reason, she got the feeling her grandmother didn’t want to bring any attention to the fact that she was there.

Oh, Gods, I’m in trouble.

Fear ran thick down every vein in Emara’s body. This wasn’t just a robbery or an argument from an angry art aficionado. This person was an undeniable threat. This man was death.

What should she do?

Think! Think! Oh, Gods, think!

She tried to command her brain to come up with some sort of plan, but fear paralysed her.

“I don’t have what you are looking for,” Theodora warned, never again looking up to the staircase. “It’s long gone, with the ancestors before my time. I think it’s best you go back from where you come and tell your king that you failed him again.”

Just then, the male figure moved quickly—inhumanly fast—and struck her grandmother over the face with his gigantic fist. Emara covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to scream.

“You reek of lies. I can smell them. Tell me where it is!” the creature roared at her, his voice penetrating through the skulls of the village. Emara had to blink a couple of times to regain vision as she held onto the spindles of the staircase.

It was the only thing stopping her from falling over.

“Putting barriers in place won’t stop us, Theodora. It will only delay the inevitable. We know your daughter had it. Where is it, you insignificant witch?”

Theodora held her face from the punch for a second longer and then straightened. “If I was insignificant, you wouldn’t be here, begging me for something your king will never have.” Theodora spat at him. “I will never tell you anything. You will never get what you are looking for—the Gods will protect it. I will die to protect it. To protect her.”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the figure pulled out a blade from his belt and plunged it into the side of her neck.

Her grandmother’s neck!

A shriek escaped Emara’s mouth before she could control herself, her body pinning itself against the wall behind her. The figure spun to stare her right in the face. Their eyes locked, glued together.

She had been right, that “man” wasn’t human—not with the burning crimson eyes that had spied her on the staircase.

Before she could even think about what had just happened, her grandmother choked out, “Run, Emara, and don’t stop,” as blood spilled from her neck and mouth.

Emara tried to stand, but wobbled enough to hit against the wooden beams of the banister. Her face was wet with tears. She hadn’t realised she was crying until her vision started to blur, almost blinding her. She blinked the tears out of the way, unable to use her hands to wipe them.

Move!

She had to move.

She had to get away from that—that thing. Before her brain could catch up with her body, her legs were carrying her up three stairs at a time, grabbing every spindle the staircase offered to hoist her up quicker. She heard a roar from the kitchen that had her tumbling over herself. It had come from that beast of a creature. That unnatural being. Another roar shot through her mind like she had been impaled by his sharpened blade.

But she had to keep moving.

Keep climbing the stairs, she swore to herself. Push! Push, push!

She flew through the hall, wiping her tear-covered face frantically to explore her options. She swung around a corner, her body stumbling out of control, bumping into her grandmother’s décor as she moved. Paintings and ornaments smashed and shattered behind her as she hurled through the hallway. She flung herself into the main bathing chamber, rounding the door at a speed she didn’t think was possible and slamming it shut. Her heart thundered against her ribs, vibrating against everything inside her, and she pushed her hands against the door until she could see the white straining in her fingers.

“Emara?” a voice croaked.

She spun to face the bathtub to see who was in the room with her.

Cally stood alone, shaking, tears dripping down her face. Her pale hair was now flat and lifeless on her head, her eyes awake with fear.

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