Page 101 of The Shadowbound King

“It’s gone,” he gasped, his voice raw with disbelief.

Othor didn’t respond. Instead, he turned back to the Edeloak. Expression grim, he raised a knife and plunged itinto the tree’s center. Light burst from the gash, illuminating the men’s faces. Wind whipped Othor’s hair and robes. Golden blood splattered his hands as he stepped back from the tree.

“Now!” he shouted.

Chest heaving, Walto reached into the wound and wrenched a massive, pulsing jewel from the tree. The size of a human brain, the Kree shimmered in his hand, its golden blood spilling to the ground. Walto turned toward Othor with a triumphant look. The Kree pulsed, and Walto’s expression fled, replaced with one of pure agony. He screamed as his hand smoked.

Othor moved quickly, wrapping the Kree in a heavy cloth. As he pulled the bundle away, Walto’s severed hand fell to the grass.

Distant footsteps rang out, followed by muffled shouts.

Othor shoved the bundled Kree into Walto’s arms. “Go!” he shouted over the wind. “If they catch you, they’ll kill you!”

Walto turned and disappeared into the shadows. Darting a look at the path, Othor spun and raced from the King’s Grove.

The vision on the leaves swirled, the images shifting. Now, Othor stood over me as I knelt before the Edeloak. Rot spread up the bark, black fingers crawling toward the knife wound that weeped golden blood. Staff in hand, Othor chanted as I plunged my fingers into the dirt. Sweat poured down my face. Othor reached his free hand down and gripped my shoulder.

“Almost there, my king. Let your magic flow into it.”He chanted in the Old Language, his deep voice conjuring a warm breeze and a rush of magic.

The rot stopped spreading. Lifting my head, I panted as the sigils around my neck thickened. For a brief moment, golden light flared in my eyes.

The vision changed. Now, the leaves displayed a slightly older Walto. He paced a richly furnished study, his golden fist clenched at his side. Othor stepped from the shadows in a swirl of robes.

“Let me see it,”Othor snapped, rushing forward with his staff in hand.

Scowling, Walto went to a bookcase and pulled a book from the shelf. A hidden door opened, revealing a large metal box with an ornate lock. Walto carried it to his desk, withdrew a key, and lifted the lid. He and Othor peered into it, their faces illuminated by a rich golden glow.

“How much longer?”Walto demanded.

Othor shut the box.“I can’t be certain. Andrin is strong. It could take a while.”

Walto raised his golden fist.“Just like you weren’t certain aboutthis? I’m crippled!”

Othor raised a brow.“Ease up on the dramatics, Walto. If I can give you eternal life, I can restore your hand.”

Walto’s eyes darkened.“Why don’t you focus on becoming king first.”

“I’ll return when I’m able.”Othor moved toward the shadows.“Forget our bargain at your peril, Walto.”

The vision changed. Now, an older Walto stumbled through the door of a darkened bedchamber. An older woman in a bloodstained apron turned from the bed, where a redheaded woman lay against the pillows. Pale and shivering, she blinked open bleary eyes.

“Walto?”she rasped. Her rounded stomach heaved as she gave a hoarse sob, sweat beading her brow.

The aproned woman bobbed a curtsy in Walto’s direction.“Has the doctor arrived, my lord?”

“Yes,”he said.“Now, leave us.”

The woman hesitated, her gaze going to the pregnant woman.“But?—”

“Out!”Walto ordered.“I want to be alone with my wife.”

Gasping, the woman gathered her skirts and rushed from the chamber.

Walto crossed to the bed and took the woman’s hand. She gazed up at him, love shining in her eyes.

“Is the doctor coming?”

Walto nodded as he released her hand. His golden fist winked in the dim firelight as he used his good hand to withdraw a small square of white cloth from his jacket.“Don’t worry, Ondine. Everything will be over soon.”He pressed the cloth over her mouth and nose. She struggled, her eyes flaring as she screamed behind the cloth.

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