Dark Harmony
Page 76
Bile rises up my throat as I stare at his dark features.
Don’t, I want to warn him. There are lines that are crossed, and then there are lines that are crossed. Parading around as my soulmate falls into the second category.
But, of course, I don’t say that because I have a deep-seated belief that the more I give away my fears, the likelier the Thief is to exploit them.
“Is that your real face?” I say instead.
“Who says I truly have a face?” he retorts.
A chill runs down my spine.
“This, enchantress, is the form I choose to take—for now,” the Thief says.
The sound of footsteps interrupt our conversation.
Galleghar enters the room, looking vaguely peeved. Or maybe that’s his normal expression.
It’s probably his normal expression.
First Galleghar sees his son lying on the stone altar, then he notices the Thief standing too close to me.
His eyes narrow on his partner. “How could you have left me to this human?” he accuses the fairy at my side.
The Thief of Souls steps away from me, appraising Galleghar. There’s nothing behind the Thief’s eyes, no camaraderie, no softness—nothing at all to indicate that these two have any sort of closeness.
“What, precisely, was I supposed to do?” the Thief asks. “The Night Queen has tamed my soldiers.”
“She is not a queen,” Galleghar says vehemently.
“She is,” the Thief insists.
Galleghar gives me a look that plainly says he still disagrees.
“You were supposed to kill her,” Des’s father says. “What the fuck happened to that plan?”
I can still remember the attack in Barbos; the Thief wouldn’t let me die there. Apparently I’m not the only one surprised by that.
Something in the air shifts, and the Thief’s magic churns. It feels violent.
“I did kill her. Back in Mara’s forest,” the Thief responds smoothly.
“And yet here she stands,” Galleghar says. “You had a perfectly good opportunity on Barbos, but you wouldn’t commit. Worse, you wouldn’t let me finish what you couldn’t.”
The two stare at each other for several seconds, and I’m oddly calm about the whole thing, considering they’re discussing killing me.
“You made a mistake coming here,” the Thief says.
“No,” Galleghar’s voice rises, “you made a godsdamned mistake, mooning over this mortal. You let your dick make decisions when we had a plan.”
The room practically crackles with power. I swear something is poised to happen.
“Kill her,” Galleghar says, striding towards us. “Or let me do it.”
The Thief gives him an indolent look.
“Kill her,” Des’s father repeats, insistent.
Magic floods the air. And still, the Thief makes no move.
It’s answer enough.
Galleghar’s upper lip curls. “You swore an oath. Uphold your end and kill—
“No.”
CRACK!
Magic splits the air, and Galleghar is blown back. His body slams into a wall of shelves, books and bones and jars all raining down from behind him. He crumples to the ground, moaning.
The Thief’s form ripples, like it’s a mirage, the magic so intense it bends the light. A darkness is gathering around the Thief, dimming the room.
I don’t know if this is the Thief’s borrowed power from Galleghar, or his own, but it’s uncannily like Des’s.
Des’s father looks shocked as he lays there. “Oathbreaker,” he whispers.
“I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” the Thief says, “I mean, you said it yourself—I didn’t kill her on Barbos when I could’ve.”
Galleghar’s voice begins to rise. “We had a deal!”
“You thought an oath would bind me?” The Thief walks forward, casually surveying Galleghar. “After all you learned of my nature, you thought that would be sufficient?”
“I freed you,” Des’s father says.
The Thief flicks his wrist and a bolt of magic slices open Galleghar’s chest, cutting him down to the bone.
I jerk at the sudden violence, even as Des father let’s out a shocked cry.
He turns to me. “Release me!” Galleghar begs.
“Release you?” I echo. From what?
“Your glamour still binds me,” he explains. “Release me from it.”
The Thief laughs. “You think being able to disappear will save you? I could follow you to the darkest corners of the universe. No place is safe from me.”
He punctuates his words with blow after magical blow. Galleghar’s body jolts at each one, the hits ripping open his flesh. The former king cries out, either in pain or anger.
He tries to get up. “Please,” he implores me again.
The Thief laughs. “You’re begging the slave now? How the tides have turned, my friend. And here I thought you wanted her dead.”
The Thief of Souls flicks his wrist back and forth, back and forth, cutting Galleghar apart inch by inch, a small smile on his face.
“Do you regret the price you’ve paid for power?” he asks.
But Galleghar is beyond words, his face a mass of wounds. Whatever regenerative powers he has, he either can’t or won’t use them.
At some point, I turn away. I’m as bloodthirsty as the next creature, but there’s vengeance and then there’s sadism. This is the latter.
I return to the stone slab, to Des, ignoring the choked sounds behind me.
Softly, I stroke his cheek. How am I going to get us out of here?
“Bargainer,” I whisper, “I’d like to make a deal.”
Nothing happens. I hadn’t expected that anything would, but it’s a letdown all the same.
My other hand drifts to Des’s upper arm, his three bronze war bands cool against my skin. His matching circlet sits perched on his brow. If ever he looked like a king, it would be now, laying here like the solemn dead.
Galleghar has stopped making noise, and the wet sound of skin ripping is gone. In the silence, the Thief’s footfalls echo like tolling bells.
He comes to my side and unceremoniously takes my hand, pulling me away from Des.
“Come,” the Thief says, “I have much to show you.”
I resist. “Wake him up.”
“Okay.”
I spin around to face him, shocked by his response.
The Thief steps in way too close, forcing me to lean back against the altar. His arms move to either side of the slab and cage me in.
“Tell me,” he says, “what would you do to wake your mate?”
Anything.
I don’t respond. I don’t need to. The Thief knows.
He leans in close. “Now, enchantress, you and your mate had a little game you used to play—Truth or Dare. Why don’t we have a go at it?”
My upper lip is curling.
This is our little game—and trust me, enchantress, it’s far from over.
“So, Truth … or Dare?” he asks, his strange, empty eyes glittering.
“Neither.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” he says. “Why don’t we start with a simple dare: touch me.”
“No.”
The Thief pauses, and then he smiles. It’s only then that I realize he wants my disobedience more than anything else.
He glances at Des. I follow his gaze, unease coiling low in my stomach.
Suddenly, the Night King’s back arches and he begins to shout.
Don’t, I want to warn him. There are lines that are crossed, and then there are lines that are crossed. Parading around as my soulmate falls into the second category.
But, of course, I don’t say that because I have a deep-seated belief that the more I give away my fears, the likelier the Thief is to exploit them.
“Is that your real face?” I say instead.
“Who says I truly have a face?” he retorts.
A chill runs down my spine.
“This, enchantress, is the form I choose to take—for now,” the Thief says.
The sound of footsteps interrupt our conversation.
Galleghar enters the room, looking vaguely peeved. Or maybe that’s his normal expression.
It’s probably his normal expression.
First Galleghar sees his son lying on the stone altar, then he notices the Thief standing too close to me.
His eyes narrow on his partner. “How could you have left me to this human?” he accuses the fairy at my side.
The Thief of Souls steps away from me, appraising Galleghar. There’s nothing behind the Thief’s eyes, no camaraderie, no softness—nothing at all to indicate that these two have any sort of closeness.
“What, precisely, was I supposed to do?” the Thief asks. “The Night Queen has tamed my soldiers.”
“She is not a queen,” Galleghar says vehemently.
“She is,” the Thief insists.
Galleghar gives me a look that plainly says he still disagrees.
“You were supposed to kill her,” Des’s father says. “What the fuck happened to that plan?”
I can still remember the attack in Barbos; the Thief wouldn’t let me die there. Apparently I’m not the only one surprised by that.
Something in the air shifts, and the Thief’s magic churns. It feels violent.
“I did kill her. Back in Mara’s forest,” the Thief responds smoothly.
“And yet here she stands,” Galleghar says. “You had a perfectly good opportunity on Barbos, but you wouldn’t commit. Worse, you wouldn’t let me finish what you couldn’t.”
The two stare at each other for several seconds, and I’m oddly calm about the whole thing, considering they’re discussing killing me.
“You made a mistake coming here,” the Thief says.
“No,” Galleghar’s voice rises, “you made a godsdamned mistake, mooning over this mortal. You let your dick make decisions when we had a plan.”
The room practically crackles with power. I swear something is poised to happen.
“Kill her,” Galleghar says, striding towards us. “Or let me do it.”
The Thief gives him an indolent look.
“Kill her,” Des’s father repeats, insistent.
Magic floods the air. And still, the Thief makes no move.
It’s answer enough.
Galleghar’s upper lip curls. “You swore an oath. Uphold your end and kill—
“No.”
CRACK!
Magic splits the air, and Galleghar is blown back. His body slams into a wall of shelves, books and bones and jars all raining down from behind him. He crumples to the ground, moaning.
The Thief’s form ripples, like it’s a mirage, the magic so intense it bends the light. A darkness is gathering around the Thief, dimming the room.
I don’t know if this is the Thief’s borrowed power from Galleghar, or his own, but it’s uncannily like Des’s.
Des’s father looks shocked as he lays there. “Oathbreaker,” he whispers.
“I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” the Thief says, “I mean, you said it yourself—I didn’t kill her on Barbos when I could’ve.”
Galleghar’s voice begins to rise. “We had a deal!”
“You thought an oath would bind me?” The Thief walks forward, casually surveying Galleghar. “After all you learned of my nature, you thought that would be sufficient?”
“I freed you,” Des’s father says.
The Thief flicks his wrist and a bolt of magic slices open Galleghar’s chest, cutting him down to the bone.
I jerk at the sudden violence, even as Des father let’s out a shocked cry.
He turns to me. “Release me!” Galleghar begs.
“Release you?” I echo. From what?
“Your glamour still binds me,” he explains. “Release me from it.”
The Thief laughs. “You think being able to disappear will save you? I could follow you to the darkest corners of the universe. No place is safe from me.”
He punctuates his words with blow after magical blow. Galleghar’s body jolts at each one, the hits ripping open his flesh. The former king cries out, either in pain or anger.
He tries to get up. “Please,” he implores me again.
The Thief laughs. “You’re begging the slave now? How the tides have turned, my friend. And here I thought you wanted her dead.”
The Thief of Souls flicks his wrist back and forth, back and forth, cutting Galleghar apart inch by inch, a small smile on his face.
“Do you regret the price you’ve paid for power?” he asks.
But Galleghar is beyond words, his face a mass of wounds. Whatever regenerative powers he has, he either can’t or won’t use them.
At some point, I turn away. I’m as bloodthirsty as the next creature, but there’s vengeance and then there’s sadism. This is the latter.
I return to the stone slab, to Des, ignoring the choked sounds behind me.
Softly, I stroke his cheek. How am I going to get us out of here?
“Bargainer,” I whisper, “I’d like to make a deal.”
Nothing happens. I hadn’t expected that anything would, but it’s a letdown all the same.
My other hand drifts to Des’s upper arm, his three bronze war bands cool against my skin. His matching circlet sits perched on his brow. If ever he looked like a king, it would be now, laying here like the solemn dead.
Galleghar has stopped making noise, and the wet sound of skin ripping is gone. In the silence, the Thief’s footfalls echo like tolling bells.
He comes to my side and unceremoniously takes my hand, pulling me away from Des.
“Come,” the Thief says, “I have much to show you.”
I resist. “Wake him up.”
“Okay.”
I spin around to face him, shocked by his response.
The Thief steps in way too close, forcing me to lean back against the altar. His arms move to either side of the slab and cage me in.
“Tell me,” he says, “what would you do to wake your mate?”
Anything.
I don’t respond. I don’t need to. The Thief knows.
He leans in close. “Now, enchantress, you and your mate had a little game you used to play—Truth or Dare. Why don’t we have a go at it?”
My upper lip is curling.
This is our little game—and trust me, enchantress, it’s far from over.
“So, Truth … or Dare?” he asks, his strange, empty eyes glittering.
“Neither.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” he says. “Why don’t we start with a simple dare: touch me.”
“No.”
The Thief pauses, and then he smiles. It’s only then that I realize he wants my disobedience more than anything else.
He glances at Des. I follow his gaze, unease coiling low in my stomach.
Suddenly, the Night King’s back arches and he begins to shout.
