Page 141 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
‘Show me.’The dark language was sloppy from my lips. Only it didn’t seem to matter as the ink began to ripple and curl, twisting and forming new shapes. Shapes I recognised as the coast of Elysior. A map.
The runes for the Old Gods were spread across the land, as if they had …
Places of worship.
Conquerors write the history of their conquest.Gideon’s words came back to mock me.
‘Montagor was seeking something in fey ruins.’ William’s words penetrated my slowly building panic.
That was what Callen had said. What if mortals had learnt something from fey after all? A way to hide the past. A way to bury what they didn’t wish their followers to see.
Why the Councils and the mad kings of old had buried their predecessors’ failures.
I moved the papers aside, flicking through them like a madwoman until the map of Elysior fell open next to the page in the book.
Every fey settlement with its sacred ruins was exactly where the Old Gods’ runes were written in the book.
The fey had hidden them – or maybe the Kysillians themselves. Because what was the best way to defeat an enemy? By taking away the power of their story. By making them little more than a myth. It was why the fey settlements had always been affected first by breaches.
That darkness wasn’t seeking them out. The fey were just the first beings to cross their path.
I turned to the fiend.Orin. Now rubbing itself against an unbothered Thean’s leg.
‘We need to find the other pieces,’ I demanded. The relics that would lead Montagor to the same conclusion.
The gobrite turned as if understanding me, barking as if in agreement.
I remembered so vividly the fear in that darkness, as if it knew it didn’t stand a chance. It was sentient. Wild and cruel, but that was what it had been forced to be.
The gobrite had been forced into that book. Forced into it for a reason. Corrupted against its will.
I looked at the creature now, how it had manipulated itself to appear as something we would accept.
‘Dark magic can find its way home,’ I barely whispered. A fiend that houses part of a relic could find others. Just as Alma had been able to track the scent of that blood seeker she’d become.
‘You cannot seriously be considering trusting that thing?’ Alma hissed, slipping around the desk, her hands curling into fists, resisting the urge to shake some sense into me.
‘I think she’s beyond merely considering it, love,’ Thean added unhelpfully.
‘You stay out of this,’ Alma sneered with a flash of fangsat the voyav, sharp enough to make William wince before her annoyed serpent-like gaze met my own. ‘Have you lost your mind? It tried to kill you last time.’
‘I’m sure Orin didn’t mean it,’ William offered.
‘Stop giving it a name,’ Alma snapped with frustration before turning her irritation on Thean with a sharp pointed finger. ‘You. Talk some sense into the pair of them.’
‘I thought you wanted me to stay out of it?’ The voyav smirked.
‘Thean!’ Their name came between her lips in a growl and I ignored how they seemed to luxuriate in the sound of it.
‘Worry not, darling, the little beast is terrified of Emrys and considering our foolish Kysillian is covered in hisscent… I guarantee the little creature will be on its best behaviour,’ Thean continued in a teasing tone. Clearly ignoring my mortification at the statement.
‘Barlov,’ Thean commanded. The gobrite’s hound head twitched. Then it jumped up against the table to where the maps rested, tugging them down to the floor before it rooted through the mess with its snout.
Alma came closer, her curiosity clearly getting the better of her as she leant over my shoulder to see the map. The gobrite’s shadowy paw pressed against one spot.
‘It could be leading us into a trap,’ Alma hissed quietly, as if cautious the creature could hear her.
‘Dark magic does have a better respect for being bested,’ Thean observed. ‘That’s how most ancient dark creatures amass such power.’
