Page 77 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
Then I saw the remnants of the chain in the soil beneath it, tangled completely within its form.
Forsaken iron chain.
Do you know what happens when forsaken iron enters the blood?Montagor’s words came back to mock me.
Beg, little troll.That taunting whetted my fear into something else, something deadly.
I let my fire pour from my palms, wrapping around the metal that had trapped my kind long ago. Metal that would burn me just as those rings had. Only, instead of fear, fury ignited my magic, turning the chain molten.
The red-and-orange glow streaked with my lavender flame, made the beast roar in agony as the thick liquid dribbled onto the cursed earth. Hissing as it made contact echoing through the chamber like its own battle cry. The beast screamed as it was slowly unmade, the molten liquid seeping between the rocks and bones that formed it. Killing the spell from the inside, just as its master had unmade those fey. Turning them into nothing but bones.
The thing roared and twisted, crumbling in on itself, seeking any way to escape.
I walked slowly towards it, my sword a lethal weight in my hand. Its stone jaws snapped wildly with desperation. It’s head swiveled looking for any mercy from the darkness around it. From its Old Gods.
Mercy it hadn’t given those fey it feasted on.
Mercy I wouldn’t give it now.
One deadly arch and my blade seared through what was left. Rocks and metal tumbling across the cursed earth. A hiss atthe bitterness of the spell being broken filled the air, and what remained of the beast was reduced to nothing but ash that fell to the damp earth, extinguishing most of the fire I’d created.
Kyvor Mor.Curse Killer.
My knees shook as my arm dropped, the blade reducing itself to nothing but a hilt once more.
‘Bloody saints!’ William practically whooped from somewhere in the thicket. ‘You didn’t say anything about being able to do that!’
‘Bragging isn’t an attractive trait, William,’ I cautioned, as I pushed the sword into the safety of my bag.
Wiping the sweat from my brow, I sucked in a deeper breath of dead air, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart. Looking at the walls of that cavern, seeing the marks deeply gouged there. I felt a chill. Runes twisted and inverted with cruel intent.
‘Neither is trespassing,’ came a strange male voice from above and a distant cry from William.
‘William !’ I called out, running for the embankment. My legs were too weak and clumsy, only for something to come whistling through the air. There was nothing but white smoke, a horrid sweetness on my tongue as I tried to cough the spell from my lungs.
A subduing draught.
Panicked, I struggled to hold my breath, stumbling and turning to find a way out. But in the end, all I found was myself in a heap in the cold mud as darkness consumed my senses.
Chapter Twenty-Three
There was a high-pitched ringing in my ears, temples pounding with spell withdrawal, tongue dry and stuck to the roof of my mouth. Everything sounded muffled, as if my head was submerged in water.
‘Kat !’ someone called beside me, making me flinch away from the sound. Even the slightest movement hurt. It was William, calling my name.
‘Shhh,’ I hissed, opening my eyes, trying to blink the spots from my vision. ‘I’m awake, William.’
‘Thank the ancestors.’
I blinked the murkiness from my vision realising I wasn’t face down in the dirt of that forest. No. We were both sitting on what appeared to be dining chairs, hands bound in our laps. William was covered in dirt, twigs stuck in his hair and tangled around his horns. His cloak was missing and his shirt torn, face horridly pale with worry and pain.
We were in a large room with sparce bookshelves, a piano and a seating area before a flaring hearth.
The horrid sweetness of saints’ oil and incense was thick in the air. I straightened instantly, sensing a threat in the mere presence of such things.
Glass cases were spaced about, as if holding great works of art, but inside they were littered with war artefacts – tapestries and weapons used by various fey tribes, trophies of conquest.
A collection of beautiful ball masks was pinned to the far wall, their ribbons vibrant and intricately embroidered, but the masks themselves were dull and cracked. Fey flesh that had begun to peel and decay with time. Masks the King would commission for his balls.
