Page 82 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
A Kysillian. His dark, thick hair was pushed back from his face. Falling in a wild tangle down his back. His ears prominent and his darker skin had the classical Kysillian golden hue. Eyes ringed with lavender. The shadow of stubble at his jaw. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Emrys. But with a Kysillian’s more graceful ageing it was hard to tell.
As I considered the bulk of the warrior before me, I almost missed someone else appearing in the doorway. That was the strange thing about creatures from tales. You always expected them to bemore. Grander than words could say.
She was dressed in a luxurious dark suede jacket and breeches, a simple dagger sheathed at her side. She wasn’t tall or striking. Her beauty was subtle, lethal in its peculiarity. A sharp rose perfume penetrated the air, tanging nauseously with Lady Ramsey’s cigar smoke and the stench of sweat.
Her age undeterminable, thick brown hair slightly curled and brushed with grey – but there was something ancient in her eyes, a chilling blood-red colour to her irises. A testament to her power.
A blood witch with a cruel curl to her dark painted lips. One I had a feeling Thean had impersonated.
‘Secret meetings, Priscilla.’ Her voice was deep and smooth and there was a regal air about her, a practised ease to every motion as she came to stop in the centre of the box. ‘You wouldn’t be trying to hurt my feelings now, would you?’
The Countess.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kat
Beware the witch in the west who makes promises in blood. With no age or name. Who cares little for the world, only for the power she can drain from the beings who wish to save it.
A blood witch who cares little for her soul in her bargain for power. Why she lives eternal, to never face the ancestors for her crimes.
Warning from the western shores – The Crow’s Foot, 1856
Gideon slipped his hands into his pockets, despite the tension in his limbs and the faint sting of his power against my skin. As unsettled as the wishing stone beneath my clothes.
‘In my bounds, my company is my own business, Countess.’ Lady Ramsey smiled as she took another sip from her teacup. Those golden eyes hard and cold, filled with nothing but distaste for the creature before her.
‘For now.’ The Countess’s mirth was slow and predatory. ‘Still a cripple I see, Ramsey. Not enough coin for a good healer?’
Sigrid straightened and I could swear I heard her teeth grind.
‘To what do we owe the pleasure of your interruption, Countess?’ Gideon offered before Sigrid did something to turn the already tense room into a bloodbath.
I noticed the Kysillian remained still, those eyes pinned onme as if I was the last being he expected to see here. We had that in common at least.
‘Gideon, you’re supposed to be dead.’ The Countess pulled the leather gloves from her hands, holding them out to one of her rebels who took them obediently. Her fingers decorated in jewelled rings, but her skin stained red up to the knuckle, her nails long and tinged black. Marks of blood worship.
‘I tried my best,’ Gideon offered darkly.
‘Still tempestuous.’ Her answering laugh was small and seductive but it pulled too tightly at the corner of her mouth. As if a spell had been brushed on her flesh so it didn’t crease. ‘I thought some of your mother’s meekness would have rubbed off on you. Alas, I think Blackthorn’s arrogance won that battle.’
‘Lucky me.’ Gideon’s answer was dismissive but I didn’t miss the weight of her words.
She knew Gideon was Blackthorn’s. Apprehension prickled inside of me, at just how much she knew. Only I should have saved my worries for myself as those blood-red eyes focused on me.
No matter how rebellious you wish to be in this life. No matter how many fey you seek to save … that witch isn’t the saviour of anyone, my love.My mother’s words came into my mind. Another warning come too late.
‘I’ve never seen a Kysillian female,’ she noted coldly, her attention like an unwanted caress over every inch of my face. ‘I thought you’d be prettier with all the fuss you’ve caused.’
The slight glanced off me. Havingtrollhissed at you most days had that effect. Yet my lack of reaction didn’t stop her assessment.
‘Females are quite rare, aren’t they, Callen?’ she asked, making a jolt of surprise move through me before I could control it.Callen was a sacred name. Of Kysillia’s line. One of the ancient king’s names, one of the wielders of the sacred blades.
The Kysillian’s expression remained blank, his arms folded before him with little interest. ‘Quite.’
What was a Kysillian doing at the Countess’s heel? Only the question felt like a betrayal. The same question I should have asked my father. He’d been in service to her too. Once. An impossibility.
The Countess pursed her painted lips, running a stained finger along her own jaw in contemplation. ‘Quite a mess Emrys made in those Council chambers, Gideon. If rumour is to be believed.’
