Page 72 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
Flustered, I turned my attention to the abandoned items in the room. The oddities that littered the sideboard behind me. Jars and strange dried herb mixes. A peculiar, small metal orb sitting amongst the mess. Odd runes carved into it. I reached for it only for the voyav to suddenly be next to me, catching my curious hand. The warm brush of their body making my breath catch.
‘I wouldn’t touch that,’ they warned, their fingers strangely soft.
‘What is it?’ I frowned, looking up to see them eyeing it suspiciously. How they tugged me away ever so slightly.
‘A vorg,’ they answered, gently releasing my hand. ‘A way of transporting summoned fiends.’
I reared back, appalled. ‘Why would you want to transport them?’
‘Hungry creatures do well in battle.’ Their eyes remained on the orb, cautious of it. All their humour gone. ‘What do you think made a mess of Emrys’s pretty face?’
Horror ploughed through me at just how hideous this world could be. No mortal or lesser fey could have survived such an attack. The brutality of it. Only it was their lack of surprise at anything that had unfolded to do with those relics that caught my attention. Their lack of surprise at any of this.
‘You’ve seen a relic before,’ I accused. They’d said as much as Kat read over thoseCrow’s Footpages. Unsurprised by the development.
‘How clever you are.’ Their fanged smile gleamed with predatory delight – back to their games so quickly.
‘Don’t mock me.’ I bared my teeth.
‘Little love, I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Their hands slipped so easily into their pockets – taunting me with their relaxed ease. Making me ponder how many of their perfect teeth I could knock out in one hit.
‘Tell me,’ I demanded. Knowing I had nothing to offer in such a bargain. Hoping that if they had any pity left in them, they’d allow me this answer at least.
Those sharp eyes dragged over my tired features. If they were repulsed by my dishevelment, they didn’t show it. No, they considered me as if weighing up what price they’d ask for.
‘Shehas one,’ they shrugged but I didn’t miss how a coldness crept over their expression. How they rubbed at that summoning mark at their collarbone as if it irritated them.
The mere mention of the Countess coated my veins in ice. My beasts rippling beneath, making me clench my fists and turn my attention to those candles flickering weakly on the mantel. My nose suddenly filled with a cloying stink of roses. A repugnant sweetness mixed with the distant scent of decay.
‘Why would she need a relic?’ I asked.
‘How do you think she holds her flock to their blood oaths?’
My gaze shot back to them, falling to the mark that was poking out of the edge of their shirt.
Of course. There was no fey summoning that dark. No magic that would trap a being as ruthlessly. Why the menageries were full of Verr worshippers, why they used forsaken iron to chain us, drank our blood in some perverse amusement. Our pain an aphrodisiac. The other dark incantations to make us do their bidding.
You already knew this, little rat. Did you forget?
I bit the inside of my cheek. The Keeper’s taunt wasn’t real. The ghost of him wasn’t here. I’d made that voice up to torment myself.
Dark magic was the only power that could suppress fey. Why it could now only be found in the vilest corners of the world. Why those mortal kings had craved it above everything else.
‘Those relics have been out there all this time.’ I swallowed. Being used on fey and the Council had never cared.
‘They hold power. Just like the one your Kysillian keeps.’ Those sharp amber eyes watched every one of my breaths, just like the predator they were. As if waiting for some dramatic emotion from me.
‘Kat doesn’t have any power like that.’ Her blade. A sword this creature before me should know nothing about, but whatever game the voyav was playing – they had no clear interest in Kat’s secrets.
They wouldn’t be lingering here with me if they did.
‘If she stopped pretending that blade doesn’t belong to her … she could.’
Kat didn’t seek power. No, she wanted to be left alone to read her books, to study and heal this world. Only that dream of a simple life had been taken from her.
I wanted to deny it. But Kat had always called it her father’s blade. As if she was simply minding it. Always hidden it. Knowing the brutality of such a weapon and what it meant.
I shuddered, remembering the stories the keepers had whispered. Of vicious Kysillian beasts who seared creatures’ bones for nothing more than sport. Why I’d recoiled from Kat the moment we’d met in that dank dorm room in Daunton – seeing those violet eyes. Because my keepers had taught me that fear well. Because the monsters we were taught to fear as children took different form depending on who was telling the tale.
