Page 93 of Of Blood & Stone

“A fruitless offer,” he said, “besides, you’d be singing a very different tune if you knew everything Sylzenya has done in her lifetime. In fact, she’s committed atrocities far worse than yourself.”

Sylzenya’s gaze fixed on Distrathrus, her stomach twisting into itself. She didn’t know what he was talking about, and yet, something inside herself did. Something that’d been lurking just underneath the surface for years. A truth meant to stay buried.

What had she been doing as an acolyte all these years underneath this god’s commands?

Elnok sneered. “You’re even more insane than this kingdom’s lore suggests.”

“Don’t believe me?” he questioned, “Kharis, your sword, please.”

Sylzenya’s stomach dropped.

The warrior gave Distrathrus his blade, the weapon glowing a bright yellow from the orodyte serum. Sylzenya pleaded to her goddess to save them, looking towards her willow tree behindthe throne as if Aretta could somehow resurrect herself and come to their aid.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Shock ran up her spine. A small spark of golden light flashed along a branch, dissipating into the night air. Surprise lit her chest as she felt it: the earth singing to her; the branches of the tree calling her name, begging her to touch it—to be in its power.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Sheneededto get to that tree.

“I’m not one to tie you down and force the cure on you, Sylzenya,” Distrathrus announced, “And so I’m giving you a choice.” He stood behind Elnok, his white hair flowing in the breeze as the sword glowed. “Do you know why orodyte serum makes it easier for swords to slice through flesh?”

Sylzenya’s insides twisted as the god in human form pressed the flat side of the blade onto Elnok’s scarred back.

He smiled. “Because it burns.”

Chapter 22

Mine to Keep, Yours to Lose

Sweet-smelling tea drifted in the sunroom while a tart raspberry biscuit crumbled in Elnok’s mouth. Brown dust blew across the crystal-cut windows, the dark brick of Vutror’s castle walls shielding them from one of Druenia’s heavy winds.

“Elnok, dearest, is it archery or astronomy today?” his mother asked, her thin yet strong fingers gripping her favorite black teacup.

“Archery was yesterday,” his father answered gruffly, his eyes trained on a freshly delivered letter, the paper sealed with a golden Estean leaf, tied to a dark wine bottle, “arithmetic today.”

“It’s anthropology,” Elnok replied with a quick grin as he took another bite of biscuit, “Or was it art?”

“Perhaps assholery?” The familiar voice of his brother quipped as Tosh opened the broad double doors of the room, “A subject you truly thrive in, brother.”

Elnok twisted in his chair. Tosh stood with the air of a royal, black hair flowing to his chest, pale green eyes just like their father’s, and a thin smile like their mother’s. Elnok didn’t hesitate as he threw the raspberry biscuit, the breakfast treat sailing through the air, heading right for Tosh’s head.

Feigned shock followed by a quick dodge had his brother stumbling to the floor.

“Elnok!” their mother scolded, “What have we said about throwingbiscuitsof all things in the sunroom?”

But Elnok ignored her warning as he lept for his brother, Tosh’s shock turning to twisted laughter as they met on the floor. Blue and red carpet pilled underneath them as they jabbed for each other’s stomachs and groins. If mother was scolding them, they didn’t hear her. Tosh delivered the final blow, causing Elnok to curl into himself while laughter fell from his mouth.

“Assholery?” Elnok gasped between breaths. He smiled wide at his brother six years his senior, “That’s the best you could come up with?”

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