Страница 46 из 75
It’s too dark to see Niklaas’s broad back when he moves ahead to lead the way, or judge his expression when a fever begins to burn beneath my skin and I grow too dizzy to walk, necessitating being thrown over his shoulder. Too dark to see my hands gripping Feeding Tree bark when the ogre blood reaches my belly or to see if there is worry in Niklaas’s eyes when he asks if I am strong enough to hold on to him as he climbs down from the trees.
Once on the ground, I stumble on for another hour or more, leaning heavily on Niklaas, keeping my leaden feet moving through force of pure stubbor
I slide into a sleep like a shallow grave, my rest all too easily disturbed by the world above. Time passes in a blur of heat and pain and nightmares of the ogre queen leaning over my sickbed, spilling horrors into my sheets from her open mouth.
I wake to Niklaas dribbling water between my lips and force myself to swallow before the fever pulls me under again. My eyes close on the needle-carpeted forest floor and open on a sky filled with vultures. They dive down to bite and claw at Niklaas’s back as he holds me on the saddle in front of him. He shouts for the horse beneath us to run faster, urging it on with heels digging into its sides.
I struggle to keep my eyes open, determined to find my staff and help him, only to find I can’t move my hands. They have drawn into claws against my chest, the bones and muscles petrifying as the ogre venom continues to work its evil upon my body.
“Nik … ,” I murmur, wanting to thank him for trying so hard to save me. To tell him I’m thankful and sorry and that he is a good friend, no matter what happens, but I can’t get enough breath inside of me to make the words I need.
He glances down, seemingly relieved to see my eyes open. “We’re nearly to Frysk. Don’t you die before we get there. Don’t you dare.” His arm tightens around me, pressing me closer to a rough gray shirt he must have purchased with our horse.
I am momentarily frightened by the knowledge that I have missed days of my life and further terrified by the worry in Niklaas’s shadowed eyes, but soon oblivion comes calling and I can’t resist taking his hand as I tumble into the dark.
This time, there is no ogre queen waiting behind my closed eyes, only a tall, faceless man dressed in shadows who dances me across a field of stars, spi
I look up and the shadows covering his face part, revealing gently wrinkled skin, a golden beard, and kind brown eyes. Three kind brown eyes, two in the usual places and one blinking in the center of his forehead.
The golden god.
I realize who he is and my heart jerks. “I can’t die,” I whisper, not knowing if this is a dream or something more, something real, a dance to a place from which I might never return.
“You can, and you will. Everything does. Even gods.” The man smiles. “But you are young. There are adventures to be had beyond this pain. If you’re willing.”
“I have to save my brother,” I say.
“You have to save yourself,” the man corrects, swinging me in a circle.
“No.” I strain to focus on his face. “Jor is in Ekeeta’s dungeon. I have to—”
“Trust your gifts,” he says, spi
“I don’t understand.” I squeeze my eyes shut, finding it makes the dizziness easier to bear. “What do you mean? I don’t—”
Before I can finish, he releases me and I go flying, spi
In the Castle at Mercar The Ogre Queen
The souls within rage like a tempest that will shatter us from the inside out. Our mind reels, our heart burns with a cold fire that leaves us trembling on the floor of our chambers, shivering as Illestros covers us with a blanket, but the blanket will not warm us. We are lost, staggering in the blinding light of an eternal dawn, alone with our failure and our shame.
The girl has vanished from our sight, ventured into some bewitched country to which our creatures ca
“If the fools were not dead already, we would kill them!” We shout, moaning as our souls churn within us. They will not remain settled when we are like this, but how can we cultivate peace when we have lost her, the prize so great there is no price we wouldn’t pay to have her safe within our walls?
“They suffer a far worse fate,” Illestros says, stroking our bare head.
We tore our wig off and threw it to the ground long ago, that first night, when through our wolves’ eyes we saw Aurora shot and realized one of our soldiers had forgotten to replace his bloodied arrows with bare ones.
Fool, wretched fool!
We should never have given the order to wound the princess. We were infected with Keetan’s desperation, tormented by doubt, and fearful of sending our cousins into the domain of the Feeding Trees. We lost faith and now redemption is lost to us.
Goddess, please forgive us! we beg, but the goddess is as silent as ever.
“This isn’t your failure, my queen,” Illestros says.
“It is. We are afraid,” we confess, shoulders shaking as Illestros pulls our body into his lap. “We are afraid. Secretly. When we are alone. There are nights when we wish for this burden to be lifted, when we beg the goddess to spare our life.”
“I know, my love.” Illestros kisses my cheek. “She doesn’t think less of you for it”
“But we—”
“Bravery isn’t the absence of fear but the willingness to stay the course in spite of it.” He shifts our body until we can look into amber eyes, so wise and filled with love. “You will have the chance to be brave. The princess is still alive.”
“She is?” Our lungs draw a deep breath, but the souls within us refuse to settle.
“She is. You are the goddess’s chosen daughter, and you may still prove you are worthy to sit at her right hand in the kingdom beneath.”
We clutch our brother’s hand, wanting to believe and not to believe at the same time. “We will capture Aurora?”
“We will,” he says. “Do not doubt. You must stay strong in your faith.”
We nod. The words are meant to warn as well as comfort. “Bless you, brother.” We kiss the thin skin at the back of his hand, fighting to keep the dark whispers within our mind from solidifying into thought.
“Bless you, sister.” He rises from the floor, pulling us with him. “Now, let us go to the boy and make good use of the time that remains.”
We falter, hesitating. We do not wish to hurt the boy again, not when there is nothing to be gained from it.
“We must ensure his terror is real,” Illestros says. “The prince’s fear is the key to ensuring Aurora plays her part in the ritual. We must be ready as soon as she is in our hands. There was frost on the roses this morning. Summer will not hold much longer.”
Then it’s truly almost over. For better or worse.
“For worse?” Illestros stills, his body going motionless except for his eyes, which slide back and forth as he searches our face. We swallow and think of what gown to wear to the prince’s chambers, how best to wring screams from his throat, but we know our brother isn’t fooled.