House of Blood and Bone
Page 51
A shock of familiarity coursed through Nessa. Relief bloomed in her broken heart.
“Shadow!” she cried, running to him.
He would help.
He’d know what to do.
He turned, and Nessa caught the faintest flicker of surprise in his dark eyes as her arms wound around him, as she buried her face against his chest, the velvet of his overcoat soft and warm beneath her cheek. His hands were quick to slip around her back, pulling her against him, holding her tight.
“Hello, little one,” he murmured, his voice low and silky soft. “And who might you be?”
Nessa frowned. Misgivings grew. She leaned back as much as she could, tilting her chin up, eyes taking in the familiar features until her gaze met his. The arms around her tightened.
Binding her.
Imprisoning her.
His eyes were impossibly black as they stared down at her. There was no hint of sapphire blue in them. There was nothing but darkness, a seething darkness that shot through Nessa like a lance, sharp and hard, painful and jolting.
They glimmered like diamonds, like back opal.
They were beautiful.
They were terrible.
They were the eyes of King Kaenar.
Epilogue
He stood in the shadows, where he was secret, where he was safe. The trees’ spectral limbs reached over him, blotting out the watery sunlight as much as possible in their leafless state, offering a soft sort of darkness. He wrapped it around himself, creating a blanket of cover that concealed him from prying eyes. The fine shadows were more than content to oblige his wants, curling around him like an old friend, like a long-lost lover.
They whispered a sweet promise in his ear.
It has begun.
The words were a faint song in the air, gentle and seductive.
He stood in the shadows. Where he watched. Where he waited with bated breath.
It has begun.
He had yearned to hear those words for centuries.
He had needed to hear them for the best part of two decades.
For so long, they were all he had wanted to hear.
Now. Now they offered nothing but dread.
How, he wondered. How had it changed? When had things changed? He had his orders. He had his vows.
He had for centuries. Ever since he was a foolish young man who thought that he could make a difference. A foolish young man who thought that he could put the Twelve Kingdoms back to rights.
How wrong he had been…
How sorry he was.
It had seemed so easy. So simple. So clean cut. One life in exchange for many. What was one soul versus the thousands that had suffered and that would suffer? For centuries, he had been patient. He had been biding his time.
He had chosen his path long ago.
Oh, how he regretted his choice.
It had seemed so clear. So effortless.
Especially before her.
Before Ysandre.
For almost five centuries, he knew what he’d have to do, what was expected of him. He had followed his orders. He’d had to for the sake of others, for those who had come before him and those who would come after. He had done what was needed, even if it had left a bitter taste in his mouth and his hands gloved in blood.
Then there was Ysandre.
Even now, his bones, his heart, throbbed with the echoes of the pain he had felt at her passing. Her death.
She had been the only one in his long life who had ever been able to paint the world in beautiful colour. She had been able to make him see something beyond his duty. She had been his sun and moon. His everything. She had made him forget all of the awful things he had done because of the vows he had taken when he had been young and foolish. She had made him feel. She had made him see. She had made the world bright and beautiful. She had been an artist, a creator.
She had been everything to him.
Ysandre.
The trees around him quivered.
The shadows that shrouded him shuddered.
Even now, the memory of her made him weak.
She still made him question everything.
Even with her gone, the memory of her lingered.
She had shown him that even in the darkest of places, a light could still shine.
She had been his light.
But she was gone.
Gone.
The world she had once envisioned, that she had once painted in splendid colour for him, was now faded, muted. No colour was left. It had died with her. There was nothing but the harshness of blood and fire, burning and destruction. Nothing but the bleak tones of despair and sorrow.
She had made her choice.
He had made his.
And he regretted it.
Oh, how he regretted it.
He wished he could go back in time and make a different choice. Take a different path.
But it was too late. Try as he had, there was little more he could do for Ysandre and her memory, her legacy.
Her child.
His wings, pressed tight against his back, twitching with misgivings, with the sense of wrongness that coursed through him. He longed to fly, to take to the sky and flee. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Ysandre may be long gone, but the memory of her was still alive. She lived on through him and her child.
Her child.
He refused to say the girl’s name. Refused to even think it. The girl was too much like Ysandre. She rekindled too many memories, too many regrets. She reminded him of her mother and of the choice she had made. Ysandre had chosen everything but him. She had chosen her path, and he had chosen his.
His path was clear.
It had been for centuries.
But the memory of Ysandre haunted him. She haunted him.
Even now, after everything, she made him question. She made him weak.
Was that why he had tried to go against those binding vows he had once taken? Was that why he had tried to do everything in his powers to aid the girl? He had gifted the book to her. He had gifted Ysandre’s grimoire to her. He had armed her as best he could. As best as he was able with those vows binding him. Yes, he may have caused strife between her and the others, her friends. He may have slipped into her mind and created doubts and unease, discord and conflict. But it would strengthen her. It would make her grow into the woman she was meant to be, into the weapon that was promised to the Twelve Kingdoms five centuries ago.
Maybe then, all the sacrifices he had made wouldn’t be for nothing. Maybe then, all of Ysandre’s sacrifices wouldn’t be for nothing.
It has begun.
Change was coming to the Twelve Kingdoms. Whether it was for better or for worse, he did not yet know.
His glacial eyes latched onto the girl as she flew up the stairs, dark hair loose and wild around her shoulders, trailing down her back in disarray. He spied the silvery streaks of tears on her cheeks and the hopeless expression on her fine-featured face. He watched, hidden in shadows and secrecy, as she paused in the winter garden, listening to the soothing voice that was destiny.
He watched as she allowed herself to be drawn forwards towards her fate.
He watched, his heart breaking, as she walked past trees and through flowerbeds, pulled towards a man who stood at the edge of a viewpoint, looking over the city of Ellor, looking over his domain.
He watched, his soul splintering in two, as the girl rushed forwards, crying out a name that did not belong to the man she embraced so earnestly, so needily.
He watched, a terrible numbness creeping through his veins, as the man, as King Kaenar, wrapped his arms tight around the girl and looked up, seeing through shadows and secrets.
The King nodded to him, a satisfied smile curling his lips.
The deed was done.
His task was complete.
His vows were fulfilled.
He had, after five centuries, delivered his promise and was free.
It has begun.
But he wished
that it was the end.
Oh, Ysandre, what can I do to make this right?
The answer came as a whisper on the wind, a murmur in his ear. The trees sighed, and the phantom hand of a girl he once loved touched his shoulder.
He knew.
He knew what had to be done.
It has begun…
Forword
Enjoyed HOUSE OF BLOOD AND BONE?
Then find out what happens next in HOUSE OF GORE AND GOLD
COMING SOON(ISH)
Looking for something else to read while you eagerly await Book 3 of The Wyrd Sequence? Then why not try THERE IS ONLY DARKNESS?
Death is meant to be the end. For Alfie, it was only the beginning.
Her murder and resurrection forced her into a world invisible to humans: the Underworld, where grim things from folklore skulk in gloomy doorways and hidden corners, waiting for the perfect prey to stumble past, and where things are never what they seem.
As Alfie is pulled deeper into this sinister world, she discovers that its shadowy history is starting to repeat itself. A war is brewing; a war in which Alfie and the dark power she unwillingly possesses may have an unfortunate role to play.
Where can Alfie run to when the man who killed her reappears, leaving a trail of bodies and chaos in his wake?
Who can Alfie trust in a world built from secrets and lies?
What can Alfie do when those she cares about most become entangled in a wicked web of deception and ruin?
Available now in Kindle and Paperback versions.
About the Author
Kimberley J. Ward, aka The Creator of Curiosities, is a dyslexic introvert who grew up in rural Dorset. She loves a good ale and a decent night’s sleep. When she isn’t looking after her ever-growing menagerie of animals and avoiding social interaction as much as politely possible, she is either writing or making something arty or jewellery related, or having a nap.
You can find her curious creations at:
www.kimberleyjward.co.uk
&
wardswhimsicalworks.etsy.com
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