Page 25 of Of Nine So Bold

My heart sank. If the demon had permanently fucked up Casimir’s powers…

The creature surged beneath my skin. It wouldn’t allow that. Not if that meant Gwyneira had another reason to reject it.

Gritting my teeth, I fought to keep the monster contained, cursing internally. Acting rashly would scare everyone, Gwyneira included. Andthatwould be stupid as hell.

The demon growled at me, but it also stopped thrashing around for control of my body.

“Fixing this could be difficult,” Byron said, apparently oblivious to my silent argument with the monster in my mind. “But I may have an idea.”

A breath of relief left me.

“It is complex, though,” he warned. “And risky. And…”

That same strange, frustrated look flashed over his face again like he was cursing something.

“What?” I asked.

He exhaled sharply. “And we won’t be able to do it without the princess’s help.”

8

MELISANDRE

Idrummed my fingers on the arm of my throne and then scowled, stilling the ridiculous display of tension. The throne room was an abyss, not a candle or torch lighting the cavernous space. Humans would even think it silent, considering neither I nor the orcs keeping watch over the doors made a single sound.

They would be wrong.

The Voidborn rattled in my head like a thousand chattering birds. Gone were their soft, sibilant whispers. Their insidiously quiet clicks and hisses. What happened with that boy several hours ago should have been impossible. They knew that like they knew all the realms should fall.

As did I.

I closed my eyes, but the darkness only made their protests louder. They railed at the fact that irritating young man had dared to avoid being possessed. They ranted about the destruction of one of their own and the mere existence ofanythingthat could resist their will.

But that was where they were wrong. It wasmywill he’d resisted.Mypower he’d opposed. I ruled them now, and for that boy—thatgiant—to have stopped what I planned…

My fingernails dug into the scrolled armrests of the throne, making the gold plating bend and chip. The throne was weak, just like the former king. A monstrosity of gold overlaying its common wooden core. It had been the seat of the ruler for generations, and once I secured my hold on this world and banished any memory of Gwyneira’s family from the minds of the populace, I would have it replaced with something that did not reek of human frailty.

A throne of magic, perhaps. Of darkness and despair. Something to remind anyone who set foot in this place that only one being would ever sit upon the throne of Aneira again.

Me.

It was a pleasant enough thought, but the seething Voidborn and their irritating cries overwhelmed it almost instantly, distracting me once more.

“Shut.Up.”

My hissed command carried into the dark throne room. In the shadows, the orcs straightened, their glowing eyes twitching to me.

“I will solve this,” I snarled at them. “Whatever that boy did, he will not slow us down.”

A second slunk past as if unwilling to be noticed, and then the damned Voidborn quieted their protests.

Finally.

I steepled my fingers, thinking. The giants were devious. Everyone knew this. Yes, I’d set them up as scapegoats for my assassination of Queen Eira, but they were still capable of all manner of schemes.

The war had proven that in spades, after all. For years, the Erenlians had tried countless tricks to keep me out of their country, and their scholars had worked day and night to hold my magic back. But it was when the war ended that the true extent of their desperate refusal to bend became clear.

In the last days of the war, a magical barrier rose around Erenelle. An unschooled human might have thought it identical to the Warden Wall I’d crafted around Aneira, and insomeways, maybe that was true. Just as my wall burned alive any giant who dared attempt to cross, the Erenlian Wall killed anyone who touched its surface.

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