Page 38 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
I pressed myself tighter against the cabinet, my heart hammering so hard my breaths hurt.
The Hollow King stood amid the wreckage, chest heaving, wings half-unfurled and trembling. His hands shook at his sides, claws extended. He staggered forward, bracing himself againstthe overturned table legs. His shoulders shook, his head bowed. For a moment, it looked as if he was laughing.
"I did this.” His voice cracked. "I brought back thewrong one!"
He smashed his fist into the table. The dark wood splintered, and the leg collapsed.
"All for nothing," he whispered, his voice suddenly aching and hollow. "Everything ends. Even hope.” His fists knotted as he turned his gaze toward the blood moon. His jaw worked.
His fist slammed against the table leg again. The wood groaned, then collapsed with a sickening crack. Maps and documents scattered across the floor, and he dropped to his knees among them, claws tearing at the parchment.
He rose suddenly, staggering to one of the cabinets. He yanked the doors open with such force that one tore from its hinges. From within, he pulled a small painting in a carved silver frame. Precious few lines or color remained on the portrait, but he seemed to recognize it. His face twisted, and he slammed the picture onto the floor. His wings thrashed wildly, sending papers swirling through the air like autumn leaves caught in a hurricane.
I pressed myself against the wall, making myself as small as possible while keeping him in sight. His fury was terrifying, but something in the raw anguish of his movements kept me rooted in place. I couldn’t leave. Not now. Even if I didn’t have even the faintest shred of an idea of what I could or should do.
He turned suddenly, his clawed hand striking the tall standing mirror and ripping off the cloth. The impact sent it teetering precariously, its silver frame catching the dim light.
My breath caught in my throat as it hung suspended in the air, then crashed forward. His face twisted with rage as he flung his arm up instinctively, shielding his face.
The glass shattered, fragments exploding outward in a glittering spray. One large shard sliced deep across his palm and another into his forearm as he tried to deflect the falling frame.
"Damn it all," he whispered, his voice suddenly quiet as if he was suddenly drained and worn. The weight of the centuries seemed to press upon him as his wings drooped and his shadows flattened like spilled ink across the glass-strewn floor. Then the shadows even faded from his wings, leaving them skeletal and faded, no longer so dark and smoky in color.
He sank to his knees among the broken glass, his shoulders slumping. Dark blood welled from the gashes across his palm and arm, dripping between his fingers to pool on the floor. The thick dark liquid was the darkest shade of dull deep red I’d ever seen. If it hadn’t been next to the darkness of his shadows, I’d have thought it was black.
I covered my mouth, my heart clenching. He looked... defeated. The crown on his head tilted forward as he bowed his head and stared blankly at the floor.
"I've failed them," he murmured, his voice now so soft I strained to hear. "All of them." His gaze moved to the frame with the practically blank parchment. “You murdered them all, Tanith. You murdered them all when we would have joined with you to help you and your people. But you lied. Ihelpedyou, and in so doing, I doomed my people.” His eyelids slid shut.
My chest tightened at the sight of him broken and bleeding among the shattered glass. Something in me shattered like that mirror. I knew what was wise. To creep away and later take advantage of this weakness. But something drew me forward. My mind spun. I didn’t know what to say exactly, but I slipped up beside him and took his wounded hand. “Let me help you.”
He startled, looking around with a bewildered expression as I was suddenly at his side. Though he grunted, he didn’t pull back.“What’re you doing here?” he demanded, his voice rough and thick.
“That’s a deep cut,” I said.
“This isn’t your concern,” he snapped. A sneering scoff twisted from his lips as he shook his head. “Did you follow me? How long have you been here?”
My brow furrowed as I studied his hand and forearm. I’d never seen wounds like this before. Blood dark as ink welled from his veins, and a sharp, bitter scent filled the air. It was strange, more like iron-rich molasses than blood. “Do you have the salve?”
“The salve alone won’t work,” he said tightly. “I’ve been injured too many times. Been here too long. Get out now. I’ll send for Doctor Rasoul in the morning when he’s finished with his meditation.”
I should have said yes, should have run. But that strange tugging that had filled me did not let me go. I continued to hold his hand. “Do you have the supplies on hand? It doesn’t seem wise to wait until morning.”
His eyebrow lifted, and his posture softened slightly as he kept his palm upturned. “What do you know of stitches?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Enough to stitch anything shut from your hand to your mouth.”
He scoffed again, but his tone lightened. “Apothecary cabinet.”
Though he didn’t specify which one, I could spot an apothecary cabinet anywhere. The sigil with a staff and herbs cut into the wood signified its purpose as clearly as any written sign.
Careful not to cut myself on the broken glass, I picked my way through the rubble. The sleek black wood was a little coarser to the touch than it looked, and inside the cabinet was a myriad of medical supplies ranging from dried herbs to a slick dark thread, a curved needle, and long silver needle holders withpolished fingerholds. Bandages, cloths, healing salve, astringent, and more lined the other shelves.
“Move off the glass if you can. And if you have anything for pain, I’d recommend you get it. Stitches always hurt.”
He grunted as he rose, a pained sound escaping his lips. He moved to one of the cabinets, opened it, and removed a black bottle. Glass crunched beneath his heavy boots.
I spotted a small alcove on the other side of the room, mostly free from the debris of his outburst. “There. Sit.”
