Page 7 of The Night Prince 3
Everyone knows this! Look at Rhalyf, the voice chuckled. He’s practically moaning with desire and dread to get there!
Declan’s eyes shifted to Rhalyf and he saw that the voice was correct. There was only the thinnest veneer of insouciance that the elf normally cloaked himself with. Thin and cracking. When people weren’t looking directly at Rhalyf, his expression was taut. And Declan didn’t think it was because he was afraid of what the Separatist woman had said that no one returned alive from the Pedway.
But Aquilan is no thief. Unlike Darcassan and Rhalyf. He would never dream of taking anything from purple-towered Illithor, the voice waxed poetic. Ah, it’s maze-like streets where one could find a shop containing the rarest of scrolls or a knife against one’s throat! Oh, the domes of its temples where pot-bellied, forgotten gods feasted on the blood of innocents. Their screams rising up in the distance only to end in groans of pleasure-pain. And then there were those dens of iniquity where anything and everything was for sale!
You sound like you’ve been there, Declan replied dryly.
Been there? The voice chuckled. Oh, yes, you could say that.
So if Darcassan finds a rift there will the Night King know? Declan asked.
Yes, Declan, the Night King will know, the voice answered softly, almost slyly. He will most definitely know.
And what will happen? Declan’s hands fisted at his sides.
To Darcassan?
To everyone, Declan clarified. Aquilan is clearly worried that Darcassan going there–
And stealing! Don’t forget the stealing part! He doesn’t just intend to sightsee, the voice reminded him.
Borrowing things that the Night King just left behind will cause problems between the Aravae and Kindreth, Declan pointed out. Do you think that’s true?
Well, how would you deal with a thief who broke into your home and took your most precious things? The voice wheedled.
Precious? He left them behind for who knows how long. So clearly, he’s not using them, Declan pointed out.
They’re his, the voice’s tone became hard and dark. No one has the right to take them without permission. Do they?
I hardly think the Night King is around to ask, Declan continued. They shouldn’t be left to rot when people are in need.
Oh, you say that now, but imagine if Darcassan took Krith from you. Would you still feel the same? The voice pressed.
A possessive stab went through Declan and he found himself pressing a hand over the tattoo of the knife. He couldn’t take it. It’s a part of me.
Everything in Illithor is a part of the Night King just the same as Krith is a part of you, the voice told him. Keep that in mind.
The others were starting to organize themselves as to who would lead, who would follow and who would bring up the rear. Finley, of course, was to stay in the middle with Helgrom, Snaglak and Glom guarding their back.
“We’ll not let anything slip up on us.” Helgrom had a wicked looking two-handed hammer with him that he passed from hand to hand as if it weighed nothing at all. The metal had a dark cast to it and there was elaborate leather stitching around the haft.
Glom bit the air.
Snaglak, who had a simple club that was run through with spikes, chuckled. “Will have lots of fangs to turn into the Separatists after tonight.”
“I’ve no doubt you’ll handle them all,” Finley said with a smile. “I feel quite safe with everyone taking care of me.”
“I’ll take point,” Declan announced without waiting to see if anyone objected.
He was certain that the elves likely would. He understood why. They thought him quite as helpless as other humans. Except he wasn’t helpless and he wasn’t human. He had accepted these things now.
He walked silently through the broken metal doors that were practically twisted out of joint into the silent interior of the Thompson Center. Declan remembered being impressed with the inside of this building once upon a time. The sheer vastness of the space was amazing. One could look up from the bottom all the way to the top. Offices and other businesses ringed the outside of the building as Finley had said, but there was also a segment of windows that had allowed light to pour inside to add to the bright artificial lights that had lit up the space. Now there were no electric lights and the afternoon was far advanced. The interior was draped in a dusty twilight.
Vines crawled up the giant elevator banks that were exposed so that, in the past, people could ride up and down while seeing out. The red metal cross beams that had given the building its unique look were dull and looked like ancient blood where they weren’t obscured by more vines.
Declan silently crossed to the balcony railing that overlooked the food court that comprised the lowest level of the building. It, too, was open to the air. The plastic tables and chairs were still there, never going to rot, but they were festooned with greenery and dust. Many of the seating areas looked to have been turned over as if a giant had walked through in a rage and upended tables and sent chairs flying. Again, like the doors out of the building, Declan wondered if the humans had done this in a desperate attempt to get away from the killer shadows.
If he’d had any doubt that the Leviathan were still here, he was soon disabused of that notion for there were cleared pathways between the stairs up to the first floor and the food court where the plants were blackened and shriveled. Drained of life. These paths led through arched hallways that went deeper underground.
