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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Unfathomable darkness embraced me and time lost all meaning. I drifted in thought with only the burning muscles in my body reminding me that I was alive, or—
In the absence of light, my mind was playing tricks on me...
If indeed I had a mind...
Perhaps I was no longer alive...
Perhaps this was the afterlife and this was my dark, lonely journey to greet Hazus, God of Nine Hells, the Collector of Souls.
A voice that sounded like it came from underwater, distorted and stretched out, echoed softly in the inky emptiness. It could have been my brave sister. Or even my brother Gratian calling me to join him. "Varen, Varen... V-Varen..."
Guilt pumped steadily through my heart to poison it black with my treachery, and I fell deeper and deeper into anguish.
I had done a terrible thing.
My brother was gone.
If only I had headed straight home after returning from Colombia and not gone to the Szarvas estate, wishing to set things right with Irma. If only I hadn't followed Gratian's scent and entered that stone gazebo and come upon my brother bent over my girlfriend. If I'd not given into fury and the sting of heartache and betrayal, and just used my fucking head and not stumbled thoughtlessly into the Hemmlok Forest. Nor run deeper and deeper until I'd reached its wild, ancient depth, a place no one, not even a child of the Houses should be—Gratian would be alive today.
"Varen, please... you n-need to keep climbing..."
My heartbeat pulsed in my ears, sharp-edged and fervent, a hypnotizing cadence calling me onward, beckoning me to stalk through the Heart of the Hemmlok Forest. To stride through the thick, moist fog, its wisps of wetness brushing against my skin while my footing was softened by spongy moss, and the warmth of knotted wyrmbone heated my palms, the blades spinning.
Vengeance whet my tongue. I hungered to soak my fingers in blood or to gift my blood to another. And white-hot flames began to burn my blood in a feverish desire to end the creature who had taken my brother, or—
I could bring him back.
I could...
The thought took root like a latticework of rot spreading outward from a septic wound.
I could find Jurgana's sister, Sigrune, a witch who, according to Sirro, dabbled with necromancy. I could beg her, bargain with her to bring my brother back from the dead. A gift was always needed to tempt the witches. Perhaps I could give myself up to Sigrune to right the wrong and trade places with my brother. Give my life so Gratian could return from Nine Hells.
They never come back right—Sirro had warned.
And if I couldn't, if Sigrune wasn't able to bring my brother back, then all there was left for me to do was to find the beast who had taken his life and slaughter it...
