Page 15 of Tomb of Ancients
Khent leaned back again on the bunk, taking a blanket andballing it up to use as a pillow. “You face the nightmare,eyteht. You kick it in the teeth.”
I smiled at that and shook my head. For a brief while, I had thought perhaps my heart belonged to shy yet thoughtful Lee. Our fracturing had left me feeling raw, confused, but now I found comfort in Khent’s forthrightness, even if it felt scary. And risky. Too risky, too vulnerable a thing for someone in my position.
“These pet names are becoming irksome.”
He yawned. “I am never irksome.”
“Indeed, if you would face your nightmares so boldly, you are not irksome, butbrave. If only I had that courage. Instead I’m filled with trepidation.”
His thumb poked into my back, just between my shoulders.
“Eyem.”There. “Now you may sleep. I’ve given you all my courage.”
Somehow it worked, or else I could no longer stave off the impact of the day. Of the battle. I curled up on the cot and placed the diary under my pillow, blinking my last for the evening while Mab the spider danced in the candlelight.
It was not long before I woke into my dreams. ’Twas no mystery why I rarely felt fully awake—I lived one life during the day and another at night, leaving one world for another. There was no rest for me, not even at night. And now I found myselfwandering the hall of stars again, this time surrounded by them completely, as if I walked through a tunnel made of sky.
The usual dread did not rise to meet me, though a dark mass like a tangle of shadow waited for me at the end of the hall. Above and around me, the stars shifted into their shapes, constellations forming and spinning slowly, a dazzling dance of twinkling lights. The shadow mass grew and grew, its core radiating with evil.Therewas the dread I had anticipated and feared;therewas the nightmare reaching out toward me.
First blood, it whispered.First blood.
It was Father’s voice, of course, the familiar dark thrum of it coiling around me like a rope. Suddenly it felt airless in the tunnel, and I gasped, reaching for my throat. My chest felt as if it might collapse from the pressure.
We have tasted blood now,theirblood. How does it feel?
He had no form but the shadows, yet I felt him all around me, that cold, squeezing rope freezing me into place. My vision went red, and all I could see was Sparrow’s limp body, her blood seeping out onto the shattered parquet floor. I had tried my best not to look at her in death, but Father had seen. Father had looked. Now I was forced to confront what I had done. No, no, what she had done. What we had all done.
“I didn’t want to hurt her,” I croaked.
Yes, you did. The first blood has been spilled, but now it will run free as a river.
I could see her vacant, icy eyes, a single bead of blood racingbetween them. They were staring into mine. Her mouth was open, a shard of chandelier crystal sticking through it, as glittering and sharp as her golden spear. The body beneath the glass and metal that had pierced it was twisted and odd, one open hand reaching toward me, the fingers at wrong angles.Help me, her permanent scream seemed to say,help me.
Regret is useless in war.Father’s voice strangled me now, and no matter how hard I tried I could not tear my gaze away from Sparrow’s dead eyes.No more regret. Tear it out by the root.First blood,moreblood. For what they did to our people:More blood.
“I think not.”
The shadows gripping me eased, and I heard a low, ancient gasp. Father had been taken by surprise. My vision was my own again, my breath, too, and I struggled to see who had come. It was a woman’s voice that floated toward me, breaking up the shadows like a softly suffusing dawn.
I tumbled to the ground, released, then watched the mass of writhing black shadows coalesce into a form. Father. He towered over me in his shredded robes and with his skull-like face, his eyes glowing red and his antlers rising almost to the ceiling of stars.
“You have tormented this child long enough. She is not lost. Her feet have been on the path all along, only you seek to lead her astray.” Twisting, I watched a tall, graceful figure glide toward us. She was dressed in magnificent magenta feathers, her skin dark, dark purple. Eight pink eyes blinked at me inunison, their lashes long and as fine as her bright gown with its countless feathers.
I knew her, yet my head burned when I looked at her.
Father’s roar filled the space around us, the constellations vanishing for an instant as if frightened, but gradually they returned, and I felt the woman come close to me, the soft fringe of her dress brushing my hands. At once, I felt safer. Braver.
“I will protect her from you however I can, and so will my children. She is yours only by blood, but her heart is good. You bound me with spell and sage, blood and ink, wine and water, but cruelty can be undone by a willing one, and a willing one I have found.”
“She will never be your servant.” Father’s words were almost lost among his snarls.
“No servant of mine, but afriend.”
She stood in front of me, guarding me from Father, and while he thundered his protests and shook the stars, I could sense that his power was threatened by her presence. I scuttled toward her on my knees, taking hold of her skirt with both hands. She grinned down at me, beautiful and serene.
“I wish you would let me protect you in earnest, child,” she murmured.
Father and his cloak of shadows were disappearing down the tunnel, though the glow of his red eyes could be seen for a long, long time. I shuddered.
