Queen of Myth and Monsters (Adrian X Isolde, #2)(13)

She would have to be burned.

I used the woman’s cloak to clean my blade and, once sheathed, leaned down to pick up her head by her dark, silken hair when I caught movement in the tree line.

A young boy stared back at me, wide-eyed and shaken. I wondered if he was this woman’s son, maybe her brother. I did not ask, couldn’t, even if I had wanted to, because as soon as I noticed him, he turned and fled in the direction of the village of Volkair.

I followed, head in hand, knowing they would have fire to burn it.

The trek through the surrounding woods was short, though the voices of the dead grew incessant. I did not understand their language, but their words prodded my mind and warped my reality, and in an instant, I was no longer trudging over the rugged floor of the Starless Forest but sinking into a soft bed, my hands and knees framing Yesenia’s body. She stared back at me, eyes hooded, hair spilling over her pillow. I had little hope that we would be together beyond this day, and even as I moved inside her, I could not fully commit to this moment, too desperate and anxious to give her every part of me as she deserved.

Had Isolde recalled our time together in the hours before Yesenia’s death? I would never ask for fear of causing her pain, and in the end, it did not really matter. She did not need these memories to fuel her vengeance.

I stepped out of the tree line, shaking off the memories clinging to me, once more fully present in the reality of my bloodied world.

Goddamn witches. Even from their high graves, they still cast spells.

My teeth were set, my fist wrapped tight in the girl’s hair, her head hanging at my side as I entered Volkair. A main road snaked through a ragged village, flanked by worn homes and shops, their thatched roofs dusted with snow. A few farm animals ran loose, prey for the monsters that lurked in the nearby forest.

I headed toward a fire blazing in the center of the road. My boots became heavy, caked with mud, and as I threw the girl’s head into the fire, I looked to find the townspeople had come out of their homes, gathering beneath what little outdoor shelter they had.

The boy had likely alerted them to my presence—and the death of the nameless girl. I could not be certain what he had said or if they believed him, since it was unusual for monsters to venture out in the daylight.

All monsters except for me.

I turned fully toward them.

None of them bowed; none of them so much as nodded. They stood, solemn and staring.

“Have you forgotten your king?” I called, a warning and a chance to show respect, but the only movement came from one man who stepped apart from those who cowered.

To my disappointment, it was not Gesalac. This man was mortal.

He was thin, and age had bent his tall frame so that he stood almost like a crumbling oak—hunched at the shoulders, skin perpetually weathered by the red sun.

The land and this village had nursed this man as it had me, and he faced me, unafraid.

“Or have you found a new one?” I muttered, narrowing my eyes.

“Our king left us to die on the edge of his kingdom,” the man said, his voice just as scarred as his body. “If that is the title you claim, then you may have it, along with the souls of our dead.”

I tilted my head to the side. “The dead have always burdened me. What are a few more?”

The mortal stared and then spoke quietly to the others. “The Blood King mocks our grief.”

I straightened my neck, the corner of my mouth lifting.

I knew this game. This brave, stupid mortal wanted to be a martyr. I wondered what spurred his sacrifice. Who had offered something more to believe in than the safety of my rule?

“If you wanted your death to mean something, you should have chosen to fight the monsters in your woods.”

“They only exist because of you,” he said. “Perhaps if you die, they would too.”

I chuckled at his ignorant response. It was a common belief among the people of Cordova, and many had attempted to assassinate me, believing that if I died, other monsters would follow, but I was a creation of Dis, and the monsters were creations of Asha. We were not the same, though we were all eager for the blood of mortals.

“I cannot die,” I said.

This time, the man smirked. “We do not need to take your life to end you.”

This response tightened every muscle in my body. Until this moment, I admired this man’s courage, but his words were dangerous and a direct threat to my queen. Despite this, I did not think he knew about my weakness; rather, he threatened Isolde because he knew I loved her.

“Is that a thread of humanity I see in your eyes?” the man asked, offering a raspy chuckle.

I moved at an imperceptible speed, appearing behind the martyr, striking his ankles. He cried out and collapsed to the muddy ground as I placed my palm against his forehead and jerked his head back.

“I am certain you wished to die quickly,” I said near his ear. “But threats against my queen deserve an agonizing end.”

Once more, he laughed. “I do not care how I die. I shall join my goddess in the sky.”

“Your goddess?” I seethed, truly mocking him. Asha did not protect her mortals in life, so why would she protect them in death? “Have you forgotten that all the dead belong to Dis?”

“Not anymore,” he said. “The light is coming, and she will cast out your darkness. It happened once before and it will happen again. Only we will not leave ash and bone behind.”