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 ran back toward the pool of murky water where I'd almost drowned beneath the sludge. I searched until I found it. Snatching up the hunting knife, I discovered a discarded scarf and cut the end off to wrap around the ancient relic, using the longer length of the scarf to tie around my waist. No one would believe a servant owned a blade forged by Zrenyth himself, so I had to keep it hidden. I tucked the misty blade into my makeshift belt and headed off.
Burnt grass crunched beneath my bare feet as I sloshed through mud and pools of tacky sludge. Everywhere was cinder and ash, as if a gigantic hearth had been cleaned out from the heavens.
Crows.
These were the remains of Jurgana's crows that had met their end, purged by lightning.
The wounded lay where they'd fallen, with family or friends tending to their wounds or simply holding their hands to comfort them. Physicians had arisen from the panicked mob and aided the injured with potions and poultices which they had gathered, I assumed, from our infirmary. They quickly inspected wounds and rattled out instructions before moving onward. Some were lifted and draped like ragdolls in the arms of those who carried them to the Banquet Hall where I could see the beginning of a make-shift infirmary taking shape.
I picked my way through those I could no longer help. Their corpses littered the blackened grass. Most of the dead were from our House, but no House it seemed had been untouched by Jurgana's beasts.
As my gaze roamed around, my breath left me with a whoosh. Above a throat gouged out, ribboned flesh a stark burgundy against gray skin, were eyes wide with terror, glassy and lifeless, staring blankly upward. Hilda. A man knelt beside her, gently ran his fingertips against her eyelids, and closed them one last time. Young, she'd been so young, and full of excitement to enter her new life as a cadet for the Deniauds.
Grief carved a hollow inside my chest. Black despair rattled inside the void, and the emptiness inside was cold, so icy-cold and fathomless. I wanted to fill it with life. Pretend, at least, that there could be good once more. But, I wasn't sure if we could move past this and learn to live again.
My thoughts spiraled to Mr. Whiskers.
And a sudden overwhelming urge to find him overtook me.
He'd dragged me out from beneath muddied waters and saved my life. If anything, as selfish as it was, I needed life. We'd known one another only very briefly, but in that reckless moment, I didn't care. I wanted the warmth of the living, to grab hold of it, taste it, and I wanted to take whatever I could steal from him.
I waved a hand in front of my face to disperse the smoke, a cough racking my body as I squinted, furtively searching for him, terrified I'd find his broken body amongst the dead. My gaze snagged on two figures sagging against one another and leaning against the makeshift stage, strewn with broken musical instruments and half-torn netting. Crossbows were discarded on black-oozing grass and bamboo torches were jammed into the earth and half-tilting over.
