Page 44 of Oath of Betrayal
‘Is there anything I can do to help? You can lock yourself up in the workshop, but you can’t hide from me. I know you too well,’ I said.
‘If you know me so well, you’d know you shouldn’t ask,’ Alaric answered calmly, and only years of conditioning helpedme control my emotions before I reacted. I purposefully took a moment to relax my tense muscles before I nodded to him.
‘I came here because I wanted to ask about Ani and tell you about the gift I brought back from the mines. A vjesci—one that looks like the old paintings of the Moroi. It likely crawled here from the Barren Lands. Maybe you can find out why he’s here and how he escaped?’
Vjesci weren’t an aggressive type of Vel. They had a sharp intelligence that seemed to suppress the mindless hunger of their fellow demons. They appeared to those who were about to cross death’s veil, feeding on the fear their appearance awakened in their victims. That’s why people call themMessengers of Death.
‘Where is it?’ Alaric asked sharply.
‘Where else? In the dungeons, the cell closest to your workshop.’ I said, and he nodded and ran towards the stairs.
‘Should you not wait for Ani? She is a battle mage after all, and I’m sure her training included a few tricks we could use.’ I rushed to keep up.
‘No, I’ll tell her about it later,’ he answered. ‘Where is she, anyway? Does she know about the demon?’
‘She’s with Vahin in his lair. Don’t ask me why. She slept there for some reason,’ I groused, and he laughed without humour.
‘He is her Anchor. That is reason enough.’ I frowned at the tone of his voice. Alaric seemed on edge, and I wondered if it was the vjesci or something else that darkened his mood.
We reached the basement quickly. I nodded to the saluting soldiers before we entered the warded cell where I’d left him. The undead demon was still there, calmly sitting on the stone floor. He turned his head as we entered, and I could clearly see the bloodless face and unnaturally red lips that confirmed his origins.
Alaric’s eyes narrowed when he saw the creature, but before he moved forward, I touched his shoulder. ‘Should I stay?’ I knew he didn’t like people seeing him use necromancy, as if the lack of witnesses meant it didn’t exist. But I would stay if it would help, even if the stench of the undead could turn the strongest stomach.
‘No, this won’t take long. Go find Annika. I will join you shortly,’ he said. The smile returned to his face, but I could feel how tense his muscles were under my hand.
‘Fine, don’t take too long, and if you have any trouble, we can do it together later.’
Alaric surprised me when he tilted his head, and for a moment, I saw my old friend looking back at me with those mesmerising golden eyes. ‘Together? You volunteering to clean up the mess once I’m done?’ His gentle chuckle and dark humour instantly brightened my mood. ‘Go, Orm, I will be fine. Necromancy is my natural talent, after all.’
1.Vjesci— an undead demon that preserves the thoughts, personality, and body of the person it once was. After death, the body cools closely, and the limbs remain limber. The lips and cheeks remain red, and spots of blood often appear under the fingernails and on the face.
After Orm left, I looked at the soldiers guarding the cell and gestured towards the door.
‘Leave.’
They hesitated. Orm strictly enforced his protocols, and one of those orders was that no prisoner should be left alone with one guard, but this was no ordinary prisoner … and I wasn’t a guard.
Besides, I needed to be alone with him because as soon as I’d entered the dungeon, I’d felt my family’s magic signature on the demon.
The vjesci stood up and looked at me. He was also waiting, which showed just how lucid he was after his corruption. The unblinking stare didn’t disturb me, nor did the hypnotic swaying, the demon buffeted by the aether moving through the cell. With a guilty look at each other, the guards left. As soon as we were alone, I approached the prisoner.
‘Speak.’
‘Alaric’va Shen’ra, I have a message for you.’
A small bubble of bloody saliva splattered on his chin. Purple flames burst into life on my palm as I called on my necromancy, ready to destroy him if the message proved volatile.
It was unlikely a vjesci would be sent as an assassin, but I couldn’t exclude the possibility. Before letting him continue, however, I asked, ‘Did my sister send you or my father?’
‘Lady Rowena made me, but I’m not her messenger.’
The creature licked his lips, taking a step closer. I could see the flash of anger in his gaze, but other than that, he didn’t make any hostile moves. The blood oath on my chest throbbed. Its proximity to my sister’s magic caused it to burn with urgency. I could feel the aether condensing around us, filling the space with the tension of an impending storm.
‘Is she still alive?’ I asked, unsure if I wanted to know the answer, as both possibilities were equally terrifying. ‘Alive … yes, she was alive,’ the creature answered, tilting his head as if pondering the meaning of the words. ‘She serves our lord now and wields significant influence.’
‘Why did she make you?’
I refused to believe that my sister, the golden-haired, loving girl, kind even when causing mischief … no. There was no way someone so full of life could create a vjesci. It took a skilled necromancer, one willing to perform the foulest of magics, to rip the life from someone whilst preserving the soul and mind so that it retained the ability to think and speak.
