Queen of Myth and Monsters (Adrian X Isolde, #2)(15)

“H-how did you—”

“When I stand before them, I can control the mind of any vampire I’ve turned,” I said, gripping the hilt of my blade. “Pity you did not know.”

He cried out as I pulled my sword free and then shoved it into him again—and again and again, even as he lay facedown in the mud. Though I knew the wounds would heal soon after they were free of my blade, all that mattered was that he felt pain.

“My king,” said a voice, and I recognized it as Daroc.

I ignored him a second longer so that I could shove my blade once more into Gesalac’s back. Once it sunk to the hilt, I stepped back, coming face-to-face with my general.

“Restrain and mask him,” I said, breathless. “Tonight we will celebrate a traitor’s demise.”

I turned away and found the inhabitants of Volkair staring back. Their expressions were mixed. Some were angry, and some were afraid. Their thoughts screamed at me—monster, murderer, mongrel.

“And the village?” Daroc asked.

“What?” I looked at him, now aware that all my noblesse had returned, mounted on their horses, even Sorin, who held Shadow’s reins in hand.

“The village, my king,” Daroc said again.

I looked at the villagers and knew their loyalty had shifted. It was in their movements and their expressions, their thoughts and their actions. They had harbored a man who attempted to kill my queen, and they had allowed a mortal who also threatened her to speak for them.

More importantly, they were witnesses to my abilities.

I met Daroc’s gaze again.

“Burn it,” I said.

***

Thick smoke billowed above the trees, smelling of pine and flesh. We waited just outside the borders of Volkair for Sorin’s return as he scouted the woods for survivors.

I stood apart from my noblesse, staring into the forest, listening. The dead still spoke, quieter now than before, and as I listened, it wasn’t Gesalac’s voice that rang in my ears but the farmer’s.

The light is coming, and she will cast out your darkness.

The words did not bother me as much as the way he spoke them—with the conviction of a follower who had been shown a glimpse of the future. What had he seen or heard that had given him such hope? And how would I destroy it?

“Are you all right?” Daroc asked, coming to stand beside me. I did not look at him as I answered.

“No.”

I had yet to feel calm since the betrayal of my noblesse, and I would likely rage until I returned to the Red Palace. I wanted to see Gesalac suffer at the end of a metal spear. I wanted Isolde to watch him die beside me, and after, I wanted to take her to bed.

I wondered if she had rested today. Would I be able to drink her blood?

My hunger for her made my stomach hollow.

“Gesalac knew of my childhood,” I said, and when I looked at Daroc, he stared back, surprised, and then his brows lowered.

“Who told him?”

“Only three of you know,” I said and turned my head to meet his gaze. “You, Tanaka…and Ana Maria.”

Overhead, the dark outline of a falcon flew into view, and we turned as Sorin shifted, landing in the clearing before us.

“My king, you have to see this.”

Daroc stiffened beside me, and I knew it was because of his lover’s expression. His eyes were wide, his breathing heavy, as if he had fled wherever he’d been.

Daroc took a step toward him but halted.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I…don’t have words,” Sorin said.

I frowned and thought only of the crimson mist, though that would hardly shock him. I exchanged a look with Daroc.

“Stay,” I said.

“My king—”

“Watch Gesalac,” I said, each word slipping between my teeth. It was as much a show of trust as it was a command. I trusted Daroc with my fugitive.

It took Daroc a moment, but he soon relaxed, nodding once.

As I mounted Shadow, Sorin shifted and flew north. I followed, watching as the falcon cut across the sky. It did not take me long to recognize this path—memories were attached to it, and they smelled like burning flesh and tasted of ash. Suddenly, I had no strength. A cold weakness consumed my entire body.

I knew where Sorin was leading me.

When he dove out of sight, I slowed and entered a clearing, bringing Shadow to a stop. I slid off my horse and took a few steps toward an ancient tree. It had a wide trunk and many branches and twisted roots that jutted in and out of the ground like serpents.

At the base of the tree was a large stone wrapped in dead vines, and at the base of that stone was an empty hole.

This was the gravesite of High Coven, and it was empty.

We will not leave ash and bone behind, the old man had said, and I wondered what had the people of Volkair done.





Five





Isolde

In the aftermath of the battle, I walked through the streets of Cel Ceredi as survivors emerged from their homes and a new kind of horror took place as they ran to their dead, wailing over still and bleeding corpses. The deceased were only part of the destruction—pyres had collapsed, and embers were scattered across the snow. The aufhockers had torn into homes with their lethal claws. They had not only killed people, but animals, and their remains were among the dead.