Endless Knight (The Arcana Chronicles #2)(43)

Tears welled as my glyphs began to brighten and swirl, my emotions fueling my arsenal. Others in the cell gasped in shock, but Tad gazed up at me with a dazed stare, as if I were a savior.

Just before I leaned down, I murmured, “A kiss good-bye, then?”

“B-bless you,” the man whispered, closing his eyes. “Angel.”

My tears hit his face as our lips met. My poison seeped into him.

Without even a twitch, he stopped breathing forever. Awash with grief, I straightened, a nebulous idea forming.

Jack’s brows were drawn. “Get back, now!”

I nodded, yet that idea kept insisting I acknowledge it. What an evil plan, I thought, embarrassed even to consider it.

But how better to deal with evil people?

“I have an idea.” My hair was changing colors, my claws sharpening. The prisoners fell into stunned silence.

Matthew finally spoke. “Arsenal.” He was telling me to use it.

Jack looked alarmed. “What are you thinking? Talk to me!”

I raised my dripping claws.

Lark’s expression flashed with comprehension. “Poison.”

Selena nodded slowly, admiration in her gaze. “Fuckin’ A. Do it!”

Jack repeated, “Hurry!”

“I’m so sorry,” I said as I sank my claws into Tad’s side. Like a snake, I injected my venom into his chest muscles, his neck, what was left of his shoulders. To disguise the marks, I connected them until they looked like solid gashes.

Silence fell over the cell. No one dared speak. The prisoners were terrified of me. Nothing new there.

Lark said, “And now?”

I’d injected so much, I was weakened to the point of exhaustion. My fingers felt like they’d been asleep for years. Vision blurring, I whispered, “Now we wait.” I’d desecrated a body and couldn’t tell if I was ashamed. Or proud.

Standing up was beyond me, so I began crawling back to my chain.

“They’re coming, Evie!” Lark hissed. “And they’re bringing him. . . .”





18

—WE GO NOW TO OUR BLOODY BUSINESS.—

I’d just clasped my ankle cuff back together, pressing the seam against the ground, when the gate groaned open.

They did bring back a dozen guards—and also the Hierophant.

He stood silhouetted in torchlight. He had thick gold rings on each of his fingers but no icons on his hands. He wore a black rain poncho. With the hood down, it resembled a robe. Looking to be no more than eighteen or nineteen, he was dark-haired with a bloated face, eyes like beads, and red, feverish cheeks.

His tableau flashed over him, an image of a robed male holding his right hand high, two fingers raised, blessing his followers.

The Hierophant cast the older prisoners a grandfatherly smile—with hideous jagged teeth—then did a double take at me.

At my tableau. His eyes met mine. “What a little beauty.” His voice was even-toned, pleasant. Unlike his men, he had no discernible accent. “I can see that the spirits surround you too.”

Don’t look at him, don’t look at him. “You’re sick. All of this is sick.”

“I’m quite hale, thank you,” he said, purposely misunderstanding me.

Don’t look. But whenever he spoke, he compelled my gaze toward him, no matter how hard I resisted. I peeked up, saw he’d started perspiring. He was trying to mesmerize me, and as with most Arcana, using his power was taxing.

“My name is Guthrie, and these are my people. You and I must’ve been destined to meet, for I’ve heard your voice in my visions.”

My Arcana call.

“Would you like to break bread with us, child? Commune with us?”

I had to think about his question before I could sputter, “N-never!”

If I mesmerized someone, it might buy me a second to use some element of my arsenal. Yet this man’s spellbinding gaze would take hold like a disease, never ending until his death.

Unless he made me eat.

If I “broke bread” with him, if I committed that monstrous act, then I’d be doomed forever. His control would last even after he died—

“What’s your name?”

Say nothing! “Evie,” I answered, frowning at myself. He was so much stronger than me! Even as I ordered myself not to look, even as I heard Selena and Jack urging me not to, I glanced up again.

Guthrie’s beady eyes had turned a filmy white. Because he was using his power?

Such intriguing eyes. I couldn’t seem to break his stare.

“I sense strength in you,” he told me. “And uniqueness. Yet there’s no need for individuality here. In our commune, we’re all the same.”

“Individuality isn’t bad,” I said, but it sounded like a question.

He smiled. “It’s unnecessary. But we’ll take care of that for you, little one. When you get hungry, I want you to call for my guards.” Maybe I should call for them when I got hungry. “They’ll bring you to my table, to sit at my right hand.” At Guthrie’s right hand. “We have quail, pork, and beef—more food than you’ve seen in days, by the look of you. It’s a fine setting, like a mead hall of old, full of good cheer. All you have to do is make the choice to come to me. And then choose to eat.”