Page 45 of Vow of the Shadow King

“Really?” she looks up sharply. “What of the others? The people of Hoknath? Were they saved as well?”

“No. They damned well were not saved.”

“Ah!” Her expression dims and her shoulders slump. She turns her attention back to her bleeding hands. “I feared as much. They could not find a willing sacrifice. The magic will not reach far if the sacrifice is unwilling. There’s only so much even the most faithful can do under such circumstances.”

I stare at her. This woman who was my father’s wife. The mother of my brother. A proud, dignified queen of her people. How could she have come so thoroughly into the clutches of a madman like Targ?

My steps quick, I cross the room, catch her by the wrists and turn her hands palm-up, displaying the wounds. Ugly slashes in the delicate flesh, blue blood drying almost black. “Tell me the truth, Stepmother,” I say. “This is Targ’s doing, isn’t it. He made you do this.”

“Don’t be foolish, boy.” Roh wrenches her hands free of my grasp and swiftly grabs the towel once more. “No one makes me do anything.”

“What is he trying to do? Turn you into his sacrifice? So he can put theva-joron us all, willing or unwilling?”

Her lip curls. “All true troldefolk are willing to return to the stone. It is our natural state.”

With a single swipe of my arm, I knock the washbasin to the floor. It breaks in two, water spattering. The heavy pieces of crockery skid away to different parts of the room. “Vor!” Roh cries. For the first time, I hear a note of fear in her voice.

I lean over, forcing my face into hers, forcing her eyes to meet mine. “Hear me, Roh, and hear me well,” I say, my words low and hard. “If I catch you or Targ practicing dark magic in Mythanar, I will execute him and banish you without a second thought.”

Roh’s eyes flash, her pupils like two pits in the center of white-fire irises. “Is this how it is to be now, Vor? Your little human bride has become your spy. An unexpected turn of events, I must say.”

“What?” I draw back from her as though struck. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t pretend with me.” A mirthless smile curls the corner of her mouth. “She’s been sneaking around the palace ever since you let her out of the holding cell.”

I stand up straight, retreat two paces.

“Everyone knows it,” Roh continues. “She’s quite unmanageable so they say. Poking her dainty little nose into places it doesn’t belong. You’d be wise to lock her up properly, dear boy. This indulgence of a prisoner does not reflect well on you.”

Maybe I inhaled moreraogpoison than I thought. Because suddenly, I find myself nearly overwhelmed with the urge to grab her head and dash it against the stone table’s edge. My hands slowly curl into fists.

“She found her way to the Dark Altar.” Roh looks up at me, her expression vicious. “I don’t know if by accident or design. But she was there. She witnessed agrak-vaceremony underway. But theurzulstones responded to her strangely. It was like . . .” Her voice trails off, and her gaze slides away from me, seems to stare into some far-off place. “It was like something I’ve seen only once before. But never so strong.” Her eyes snap back to mine. “I think your human may be gods-gifted. Perhaps the god who gifted her wasMorar tor Grakanak. . . and the gift was intended for Mythanar.”

My blood runs cold. For a moment, I feel as though I too have been bound in deep stone, incapable of thought, movement, speech. When words finally come, they fall from my lips like molten magma. “If you so much as look at Faraine again, I will end you.”

“Is that so?” Roh smiles slowly. “Well, if that’s how you feel, dear boy, I do hope you can get over it soon. No passion of yours, no matter how hot, can withstand the will of the gods.”

I wrench away. It’s all I can do not to murder her then and there. Her laugh trails after me as I march from her chamber. “The end is coming, Vor! It’s coming for us all! You must decide if you will die as a human or live as a trolde. The choice is yours!”

Even when I reach the hall and slam the door behind me, her words echo in my ears. I make it down one passage, take the turn, then lean heavily against a wall. My breathing is labored, my body covered in sweat.

Faraine.Faraine.I don’t understand. What does Roh want with her? Does she intend to use her as a sacrifice? There’s no chance Faraine would willingly die for the sake of a trolde cult devoted to a trolde god. But there was something hungry in my stepmother’s gaze. No, not hungry—ravenous.

I shudder. Images of the murdered girl in Hoknath flash through my mind’s eye. I’m afraid. More afraid than I’ve ever been in all my life. No battle or bloodshed ever moved me like this. My world, my very existence suddenly seems so fragile.

I need to see Faraine. Just for a moment. I need to see her and know that she is alive, that she is whole and well andhere.I will not touch her. I dare not. But a mere glimpse would be enough, a single word from her lips pure heaven.

My body is in motion before my mind has come to a decision. My feet carry me swiftly to the royal wing of the palace where I take the stairs three treads at a time. All the exhaustion of the last several days melts away in this need, this compulsion. I reach the floor to her room. There’s no guard in the hall outside her door. Strange. Where is Yok? Is he inside her chamber? Or . . . or maybe . . .?

I hasten to the door and knock five times, a quick percussion. No one answers. “Faraine?” I call. “Princess, are you there?”

Still nothing.

Panic churns in my gut. I reach out, try the latch. It gives. Why is it not bolted? If Yok isn’t out here standing watch, she should at least be safe behind a bolted door! Someone’s head will roll for this. I push the door open.

It stops partway. Stuck against a body.

My heart stops.

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