Page 40 of The Princesses of Ruin
Small miracles.
“You will not survive this.”
Ashai speaks in the queen’s voice. My mother’s voice.
I have one memory of her being kind. It’s a simple thing, just a stroll through the garden. She was pregnant with Reina, and my father pushed a carriage containing Lily and Alyse. I remember white flowers. She picks one for me. Her smile…
It was the first and last time I remember seeing her smile.
Grandmother died that day, and Mother changed.
My fingers skate up the runic marks on my forearms and a realization I’d hidden in the back of my mind bursts forth. Ashai has been hunting and hurting my family for centuries. My grandmother was a victim too, and probably her mother, and hers. Who knows how far back the depravity goes?
I grit my teeth and whisper to the night, “I don’t care if I live, as long as you die.”
“Pathetic girl, I am the essence of life, the goddess of what makes you,you.There is no future without me.”
“Lies,” I snarl. “Yegress is the god of life.”
Her laughter rings in my mind.
“Existence is not the same as being alive. If only you knew what I’ve done for your species, maybe you would be on my side.”
Pain bleeds through my thoughts and I look down to see my nails puncturing the runes on my arm. The marks don’t hold. They bleed and fade, leaving only pain and a few drops of crimson behind.
Ashai’s runes are irremovable, unchangeable. I am her vessel. She marked me so.
And I will make her rue the day she did this to me, if only for a fraction of time before her eternal demise.
I lay back and blissful darkness takes me swiftly.
Another two days’ ride gets us to the edge of the Hollow Forest. Very inappropriately named, the forest isthickand sweltering despite the season. We shed our extra layers miles ago, and it still doesn’t feel like enough.
A sign is posted in the middle of the road into the forest stating that monsters lie ahead, and if we’d like to remain in one piece, we should turn back now. A sheaf of worn parchment pinned below the wooden sign reads, “Wanted: Razor Fang pelts. 200 gold for good quality.” The bottom of the page has a stamp for Myrlin’s Fine Wares in Illyan territory.
“Think we’ll have time for a detour?” I ask.
“Maybe next time, love.” Zane dismounts and pats Kor’Tar on the neck. The horse chuffs, sounding almost like a laugh.
I slide out of the saddle and look up at the white mare my youngest sister brought home from her journeys. “Do you remember the way back?” I ask.
Kor’Tar pads the ground and bobs his head.
“Damn horse really understands us,” Zane says.
“Alastair said he could. Did you doubt it?”
Zane shakes his head. “He’s just abeast.”
“And what are we?”
He looks at me, his glowing gaze trying to penetrate the layers I’ve built around my nightmare.
“Beasts of a slightly higher power. Language, our winning tool,” he says, patting Kor’Tar again.
“And our downfall.”
He takes a deep breath. “It’s not yet written.”
