Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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I'd never really considered the world of servants, those who served us, and what their lives were like. "Wouldn't that raise suspicion, servants mysteriously disappearing?"
"I'm sure it's easily done—a trade between Houses, an accusation that they'd run and been caught and paid the ultimate price," Sirro replied. I caught the tension entering his free hand hanging by his side—how it fisted, and how he ran his thumb back and forth over the curved knuckles. "Some in desperation come out here to find one of Jurgana's sisters—Sigrune—to raise the dead. Some even come in here to try and find creatures that will bargain with them."
"For what?"
"Spells. Or curses."
Lower House Simonis dealt in dark spells and curses to enhance our weapons, as well as lacing the products we sold to the mortals to addict them for further gain. But what did one seek from a lesser creature or even a Horned God?
"It's rather rare to find a Horned God who will trade with anyone," Sirro said, adjusting his posture to cross one arm over his chest, using it to prop the other arm's elbow so he could drum his fingers across his mouth. "But there are lesser creatures that will barter on one's behalf...that is if they don't eat you first."
"Can she?" I asked, curious about Sigrune.
He raised his eyebrows in question, not understanding.
"Sigrune. Can she raise the dead?" I elaborated.
"I don't know," he said, dropping his arms. "There hasn't been anyone I ever wanted returned from death." His golden eyes slid away, and there was a moment where a strange expression crossed his features—dark and regretful. Perhaps what he'd just shared wasn't completely true. Maybe there had been someone he had lost...someone he wished he could have saved. "Perhaps she can," he continued, this time his voice pitched lighter. "A few dabble with necromancy, but those they bring back from Hazus never return right."
Sirro glanced over his shoulder, toward the festival. A melancholy song played by the servants' band rolled across the lawns. His Familiar stood behind him, a mindless smile on her full red lips as the thin, threadlike strands connecting them leeched her lifeforce into the Horned God.
Sirro pivoted in a smooth move to face me fully. His tone was all business. "I am working with the Wychthorns at expanding the Houses. Creating new hunting houses, but I'm sure your father would already know that."
"Nothing gets past Jeroen," I replied, unable to keep the bitterness out of my tone. I brushed my messy hair from my face with the back of an arm, wondering where the Horned God was going with this new stream of conversation.
"New Heads will be needed. You're heir to Lower House Crowther. An enforcer, death-dealer, soul stealer, but most importantly a hunter of great skill."
That was a guilt-tipped lance sliding through my heart.
