A Strange Hymn
Page 71
When I get within arm’s reach, I swipe out at the Thief, the dagger slashing him across the chest. I follow with my claws, slashing his cheek.
His blood looks striking against his pale green skin.
More. I want more.
I thirst to see him bleed. To see him die.
The sight of all that dark liquid sends me into a frenzy. I move with fluid grace, parrying the Thief’s blows with my blade, slashing and kicking with the rest of my body.
It takes minutes to cover the fairy in his own gore.
This is power.
Foolish of him to fight me.
“You’re going to have to fight a little harder if you really want to hurt me,” I goad the Thief.
He smiles. “That can be arranged.”
Moments later, Mara walks into our clearing, looking a little worse for the wear. The flowers in her hair are wilted, she has dirt smeared across her cheek, and her clothes are nearly as stained and ripped as mine.
It takes her all of two seconds to take in the scene. The Green Man—her mate—covered in blood, dueling the human woman who cut down her beloved trees.
“You,” she practically hisses at me.
Vines come at me from all sides, and it’s all I can do to shred through them with my claws and dagger. And still more come at me.
No longer am I fighting the Thief of Souls so much as I’m defending myself from Mara’s attacks. Right in the middle of the melee, he strides towards me.
The Thief runs his blade down my cheek, then my arm. “So bloodthirsty. I had no idea.”
I swipe out at him, which he easily dodges.
“Mate,” Mara calls out to the Thief, “what are you doing?”
“Exacting our revenge,” he says over his shoulder.
That seems to appease her. The plants around me continue to pin me in place, squeezing me slowly.
The Thief of Souls drags my blade down my other cheek, slicing open the flesh. I feel a brief sting, and then the warm sensation of blood slipping down my jaw. “The only problem is, the moment I truly hurt you, your mate will be on me.” He taps the blunt part of his blade against my nose. “But I think I’ve figured out a solution.”
I might as well be a fly caught in his web. The vines have completely overpowered me. My arms are pinned to my sides. I still hold my remaining blade, but I cannot move enough to saw my way out of my bindings.
He leans in close. “Why don’t I explain exactly what I plan for you?
“Right now, my magic is incompatible with yours, and that ruins all my fun. But it doesn’t have to be that way—not if you drink a certain something.
“Have you heard that lilac wine, the rarest of fairy elixirs, can not only bestow longevity to mortals, it can heal the wounded?”
I thin my gaze.
“It’s a cure all of sorts, and if you drink it, well then, you would be able to fall victim to my power, and your soul … your soul could be mine for the taking.”
This sicko.
“I could just give the wine to you here and now, but”—he seems far too giddy—“I have an even better idea.”
He lifts my blade to his eyes, inspecting it. His gaze flicks to mine.
“This might hurt.”
With one swift movement, he buries the knife in my gut.
Chapter 52
I choke, my skin flaring even brighter.
So much pain!
From behind us, Mara gasps, her vines loosening. “What are you doing?” she asks, aghast.
Rather than answering, the Thief yanks up on the hilt. My body jerks as he cuts through vines, flesh, and organs. I let out a scream, my glamour making the cry sound lyrical.
In the distance, Des roars, the sound eclipsing all others. In an instant he’s there in that forest with us, bloody and broken and angry.
He drags the Thief of Souls away from me, throwing him to the ground with an enraged cry.
I feel Mara’s vines release me, and I fall to my knees.
My surroundings are darkening, and I can’t tell if it’s the Bargainer’s doing, or if I’m just that close to blacking out.
Cannot black out.
Dimly, I’m aware that Mara is watching the scene unfold, and that Galleghar, wherever he is, has not joined the group of us. But more than anything, I’m aware of my mate and the Thief of Souls.
The Bargainer stomps on the Thief’s calve, snapping the bone.
“I could scalp you alive, or remove your entrails and make you eat them,” Des says as he breaks the Thief’s other calf. “Or perhaps I should start with your teeth and nails?”
Mara screams. “Please Des, no more!”
“He harmed my mate,” Des snarls. “By law I’m entitled to retribution—and I shall have it!” His battered wings flare out.
The Bargainer looks like some dark god; never has he seemed quite so Otherworldly. And I can barely see him through my dimming vision.
I clutch the gash on my stomach, blood pouring from it. I can feel myself weakening with each breath I take.
Mortally wounded. I might have minutes left.
And the agony! I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow down my bile.
Des circles the fairy, staring down at the Thief. He lifts his hand, the land darkening.
I know what happens now. It’s the same thing that happened when Karnon faced down my mate.
Utter annihilation.
“Stop!” Mara cries.
She knows it too. She’s a far cry from the haughty queen I met a week ago, her clothes ruined, her face confused, her pride in tatters.
I pick myself up, holding my stomach. Each step is pure agony, but I force myself onwards. I wrap my hand around the hilt of the dagger buried inside me.
Don’t think about it.
Des’s eyes widen when he sees what I’m about to do. “Callypso, no—”
I yank the blade out, gagging on the pain, the nausea, and the screams that should be rising out of me. A torrent of blood gushes out of the wound, making me sway on my feet.
Some of the shadows—Des’s shadows—are receding, but a different sort of darkness tugs on the edges of my vision.
Death.
My mate is at my side in an instant, relinquishing his vengeance for love. He presses a hand to my stomach. Within seconds his fingers are coated with my blood.
“Cherub, what are you doing?” he asks, his voice torn up.
I meet his crushed gaze. He’s a man who’s watching everything he’s lived for slip through his grasp.
Even he fears I’m going to die.
I can see him desperately grasping at his anger, because if he lets it go … it’s a long way to fall, and the abyss that would swallow him up—it would be world-ruining.
“Let go of me, Des.” There’s steel in my words.
Wordlessly, reluctantly, he releases me.
I stagger forward, right up to where the Thief lays sprawled on the ground. He’s managed to flip himself over, onto his back. His eyes move to my wound.
I kneel next to him. “You robbed thousands of soldiers of their lives. You robbed them and their families and their friends.” All those soldiers who became victims just like me, their bodies buried in the hearts of trees or laid to rest inside glass coffins.
He swallows, a bit of blood leaking out the corner of his lips. “You’re not going to—”
In one swift motion, I draw my arm back and plunge my dagger deep into the Thief of Soul’s heart.
Mara shrieks somewhere behind me, sounding as though with that one blow, I stabbed her as well.
The Thief of Souls laughs, even as blood seeps out of his wound. “You can’t kill me,” he says.
His blood looks striking against his pale green skin.
More. I want more.
I thirst to see him bleed. To see him die.
The sight of all that dark liquid sends me into a frenzy. I move with fluid grace, parrying the Thief’s blows with my blade, slashing and kicking with the rest of my body.
It takes minutes to cover the fairy in his own gore.
This is power.
Foolish of him to fight me.
“You’re going to have to fight a little harder if you really want to hurt me,” I goad the Thief.
He smiles. “That can be arranged.”
Moments later, Mara walks into our clearing, looking a little worse for the wear. The flowers in her hair are wilted, she has dirt smeared across her cheek, and her clothes are nearly as stained and ripped as mine.
It takes her all of two seconds to take in the scene. The Green Man—her mate—covered in blood, dueling the human woman who cut down her beloved trees.
“You,” she practically hisses at me.
Vines come at me from all sides, and it’s all I can do to shred through them with my claws and dagger. And still more come at me.
No longer am I fighting the Thief of Souls so much as I’m defending myself from Mara’s attacks. Right in the middle of the melee, he strides towards me.
The Thief runs his blade down my cheek, then my arm. “So bloodthirsty. I had no idea.”
I swipe out at him, which he easily dodges.
“Mate,” Mara calls out to the Thief, “what are you doing?”
“Exacting our revenge,” he says over his shoulder.
That seems to appease her. The plants around me continue to pin me in place, squeezing me slowly.
The Thief of Souls drags my blade down my other cheek, slicing open the flesh. I feel a brief sting, and then the warm sensation of blood slipping down my jaw. “The only problem is, the moment I truly hurt you, your mate will be on me.” He taps the blunt part of his blade against my nose. “But I think I’ve figured out a solution.”
I might as well be a fly caught in his web. The vines have completely overpowered me. My arms are pinned to my sides. I still hold my remaining blade, but I cannot move enough to saw my way out of my bindings.
He leans in close. “Why don’t I explain exactly what I plan for you?
“Right now, my magic is incompatible with yours, and that ruins all my fun. But it doesn’t have to be that way—not if you drink a certain something.
“Have you heard that lilac wine, the rarest of fairy elixirs, can not only bestow longevity to mortals, it can heal the wounded?”
I thin my gaze.
“It’s a cure all of sorts, and if you drink it, well then, you would be able to fall victim to my power, and your soul … your soul could be mine for the taking.”
This sicko.
“I could just give the wine to you here and now, but”—he seems far too giddy—“I have an even better idea.”
He lifts my blade to his eyes, inspecting it. His gaze flicks to mine.
“This might hurt.”
With one swift movement, he buries the knife in my gut.
Chapter 52
I choke, my skin flaring even brighter.
So much pain!
From behind us, Mara gasps, her vines loosening. “What are you doing?” she asks, aghast.
Rather than answering, the Thief yanks up on the hilt. My body jerks as he cuts through vines, flesh, and organs. I let out a scream, my glamour making the cry sound lyrical.
In the distance, Des roars, the sound eclipsing all others. In an instant he’s there in that forest with us, bloody and broken and angry.
He drags the Thief of Souls away from me, throwing him to the ground with an enraged cry.
I feel Mara’s vines release me, and I fall to my knees.
My surroundings are darkening, and I can’t tell if it’s the Bargainer’s doing, or if I’m just that close to blacking out.
Cannot black out.
Dimly, I’m aware that Mara is watching the scene unfold, and that Galleghar, wherever he is, has not joined the group of us. But more than anything, I’m aware of my mate and the Thief of Souls.
The Bargainer stomps on the Thief’s calve, snapping the bone.
“I could scalp you alive, or remove your entrails and make you eat them,” Des says as he breaks the Thief’s other calf. “Or perhaps I should start with your teeth and nails?”
Mara screams. “Please Des, no more!”
“He harmed my mate,” Des snarls. “By law I’m entitled to retribution—and I shall have it!” His battered wings flare out.
The Bargainer looks like some dark god; never has he seemed quite so Otherworldly. And I can barely see him through my dimming vision.
I clutch the gash on my stomach, blood pouring from it. I can feel myself weakening with each breath I take.
Mortally wounded. I might have minutes left.
And the agony! I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow down my bile.
Des circles the fairy, staring down at the Thief. He lifts his hand, the land darkening.
I know what happens now. It’s the same thing that happened when Karnon faced down my mate.
Utter annihilation.
“Stop!” Mara cries.
She knows it too. She’s a far cry from the haughty queen I met a week ago, her clothes ruined, her face confused, her pride in tatters.
I pick myself up, holding my stomach. Each step is pure agony, but I force myself onwards. I wrap my hand around the hilt of the dagger buried inside me.
Don’t think about it.
Des’s eyes widen when he sees what I’m about to do. “Callypso, no—”
I yank the blade out, gagging on the pain, the nausea, and the screams that should be rising out of me. A torrent of blood gushes out of the wound, making me sway on my feet.
Some of the shadows—Des’s shadows—are receding, but a different sort of darkness tugs on the edges of my vision.
Death.
My mate is at my side in an instant, relinquishing his vengeance for love. He presses a hand to my stomach. Within seconds his fingers are coated with my blood.
“Cherub, what are you doing?” he asks, his voice torn up.
I meet his crushed gaze. He’s a man who’s watching everything he’s lived for slip through his grasp.
Even he fears I’m going to die.
I can see him desperately grasping at his anger, because if he lets it go … it’s a long way to fall, and the abyss that would swallow him up—it would be world-ruining.
“Let go of me, Des.” There’s steel in my words.
Wordlessly, reluctantly, he releases me.
I stagger forward, right up to where the Thief lays sprawled on the ground. He’s managed to flip himself over, onto his back. His eyes move to my wound.
I kneel next to him. “You robbed thousands of soldiers of their lives. You robbed them and their families and their friends.” All those soldiers who became victims just like me, their bodies buried in the hearts of trees or laid to rest inside glass coffins.
He swallows, a bit of blood leaking out the corner of his lips. “You’re not going to—”
In one swift motion, I draw my arm back and plunge my dagger deep into the Thief of Soul’s heart.
Mara shrieks somewhere behind me, sounding as though with that one blow, I stabbed her as well.
The Thief of Souls laughs, even as blood seeps out of his wound. “You can’t kill me,” he says.
