Key of Valor
Page 78
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“Why do you hate us?”
“Hate indicates feeling. Do you feel anything for the bug you crush beneath your boot? You are less to me than that.”
“I don’t have conversations with the bug, either. But here you are.”
Irritation rippled over his face, and steadied her.
“As I said, you amuse me. You, particularly, of the three Rowena and Pitte set on this doomed quest. The first . . . she had style and a clever mind. The second, there was fire there and intelligence.”
“They beat you.”
“Did they?” He laughed, a soft, derisive sound as he swung the pendant. “Do you not consider that after so long I might wish some entertainment? To have ended it quickly would have been to deny myself the amusement of watching you, all of you, plot and plan and congratulate yourselves. To have ended it would have meant denying myself the pleasure of seeing you squirm, as you are now. You interested me simply because you lack the wit and style of your companions. Badly educated, poorly bred.”
He shifted, lifting the pendant an inch higher. “Tell me, where would you be if not for that invitation to Warrior’s Peak? Certainly not here in this house, with this man. A man who will, when the . . . sparkle of this mutual goal has dulled, see you for what you are. He’ll cast you off, as the other did. But you already know that.”
The silver pendant’s slow, steady movement made her head feel light. “You don’t know anything about me. Or him.”
“I know you’re a failure. And when you fail in your quest, the others will know it as well. It was cruel of Rowena and Pitte to involve you in this, to expect so much of you. To toss you in with these people,” he continued as mists began to scud—thin blue clouds—along the boards of the deck. “People who have so much more to offer than you. Cruel to give you a taste of what life might be so you’ll spend the rest of your days thirsting for it.”
“My friends—”
“Friendship? Another mortal delusion, and as false as luck. They’ll desert you when you fail, and fail you will. A hand such as yours was never meant to turn the key.”
His voice was soothing now as he straightened, as he stepped closer with the amulet swinging, swinging, a glittering pendulum. “I feel some sympathy for you. Enough to offer you some compensation. What, of the things Rowena and Pitte have so carelessly pushed into your life, would you like to keep? Your little business, this house, the man? Choose one, and I’ll grant it to you.”
He was hypnotizing her. She could feel herself drifting under, feel the mists crawling over her skin. So very, very cold. It would be so easy to slide down into those crooning promises, to take something. Her hands felt stiff and icy and useless, but she balled them into fists until she felt the prick of her nails biting into her palms.
With one vicious effort she tore her gaze from the pendant and looked into his face. “You’re a liar.” Her breath heaved out, ripped painfully from her lungs as she staggered to her feet. “You’re a liar and a cheat.”
He knocked her back. Though she didn’t see the blow, she felt it like a strike of jagged ice across her face. Without thought, riding on temper, she leaped forward and raked her nails down his.
She saw the shock—one instant of utter disbelief that flashed into his eyes. She saw blood bloom in the grooves she’d sliced in his skin.
Then she was slammed back against the wall of the house, pinned there by a wild surge of wind so cold she saw crystals of ice, black as onyx, swirling through it.
And he stood, huge in his billowing black robes, with blood on his face. “I could kill you with a thought.”
No, he can’t, he can’t. Or he would have. He’s a liar, she reminded herself frantically. And a bully. But he could hurt her, God, he could hurt her. And she felt the pain, tearing and bright, in her chest.
“Go back to hell!” she shouted at him. “You’re not welcome here.”
“When this is done, you will lose all. And I’ll add your soul to my winnings.”
As if a switch had been flipped, the wind died. Zoe fell forward on her hands and knees, gasping for breath, shuddering in shock.
She stared, baffled, at the wood of the deck and struggled to clear her mind. When she lifted her head she saw the night had turned into soft, misty morning. Through the dawn haze, at the verge of the trees, stood a buck with a coat that seemed to gleam gold. The jeweled collar around his neck shot fire through the mist, and his eyes burned green fire.
Those mists drew together, like a curtain, and when they parted again, he was gone.
“I’m not done.” She spoke aloud for the comfort of her own voice. Kane had tricked her out of time, hours of precious time, but she wasn’t done.
And when she got to her feet, she looked down at her hands, saw there was blood on them.
His blood.
“I hurt him. I hurt the son of a bitch.”
Tears tracked down her cheeks as she stumbled toward the house. Her vision wavered. She thought she heard someone shouting, a threatening growl, a slam. Shapes and sounds melted together into one dark void.
WHILE the mist smoked across the deck, it slithered over the bed where Brad slept. Chilled him. Trapped him. He turned in his sleep, reached out for warmth and comfort. Reached for Zoe.
But he was alone.
In the dark. The forest was dank with rot and alive with a bitter wind. He couldn’t see the path, only the monstrous shapes of the trees, gnarled and twisted into nightmares. The thorns from wild briars ripped at his flesh, bit into his hands like greedy teeth.
He could smell his own blood, his own panic sweat. And something wilder.
He was being hunted.
There was sly movement in the brush, shadows. Not just hunted, he thought as he fought his way clear of the briars. Taunted. Whatever it was wanted his fear as much as it wanted his death.
He had to get out, get away, before what stalked him tired of the game. When it did, it would leap out and tear him to pieces.
Save yourself. There was a whisper in his brain, soft, soothing, as he stumbled into a clearing. This is not your fight. Go home.
Of course. That was it. He should go home. Dazed, disoriented, he stumbled toward a faint glow of light. Began to run toward it as he heard the howl of the predator behind him.
The glow was a door, and Brad’s breath shuddered out in relief as he sprinted toward it. He would make it. He had to make it. He wrenched the door open even as he felt the hot breath of what pursued him at the back of his neck.
“Hate indicates feeling. Do you feel anything for the bug you crush beneath your boot? You are less to me than that.”
“I don’t have conversations with the bug, either. But here you are.”
Irritation rippled over his face, and steadied her.
“As I said, you amuse me. You, particularly, of the three Rowena and Pitte set on this doomed quest. The first . . . she had style and a clever mind. The second, there was fire there and intelligence.”
“They beat you.”
“Did they?” He laughed, a soft, derisive sound as he swung the pendant. “Do you not consider that after so long I might wish some entertainment? To have ended it quickly would have been to deny myself the amusement of watching you, all of you, plot and plan and congratulate yourselves. To have ended it would have meant denying myself the pleasure of seeing you squirm, as you are now. You interested me simply because you lack the wit and style of your companions. Badly educated, poorly bred.”
He shifted, lifting the pendant an inch higher. “Tell me, where would you be if not for that invitation to Warrior’s Peak? Certainly not here in this house, with this man. A man who will, when the . . . sparkle of this mutual goal has dulled, see you for what you are. He’ll cast you off, as the other did. But you already know that.”
The silver pendant’s slow, steady movement made her head feel light. “You don’t know anything about me. Or him.”
“I know you’re a failure. And when you fail in your quest, the others will know it as well. It was cruel of Rowena and Pitte to involve you in this, to expect so much of you. To toss you in with these people,” he continued as mists began to scud—thin blue clouds—along the boards of the deck. “People who have so much more to offer than you. Cruel to give you a taste of what life might be so you’ll spend the rest of your days thirsting for it.”
“My friends—”
“Friendship? Another mortal delusion, and as false as luck. They’ll desert you when you fail, and fail you will. A hand such as yours was never meant to turn the key.”
His voice was soothing now as he straightened, as he stepped closer with the amulet swinging, swinging, a glittering pendulum. “I feel some sympathy for you. Enough to offer you some compensation. What, of the things Rowena and Pitte have so carelessly pushed into your life, would you like to keep? Your little business, this house, the man? Choose one, and I’ll grant it to you.”
He was hypnotizing her. She could feel herself drifting under, feel the mists crawling over her skin. So very, very cold. It would be so easy to slide down into those crooning promises, to take something. Her hands felt stiff and icy and useless, but she balled them into fists until she felt the prick of her nails biting into her palms.
With one vicious effort she tore her gaze from the pendant and looked into his face. “You’re a liar.” Her breath heaved out, ripped painfully from her lungs as she staggered to her feet. “You’re a liar and a cheat.”
He knocked her back. Though she didn’t see the blow, she felt it like a strike of jagged ice across her face. Without thought, riding on temper, she leaped forward and raked her nails down his.
She saw the shock—one instant of utter disbelief that flashed into his eyes. She saw blood bloom in the grooves she’d sliced in his skin.
Then she was slammed back against the wall of the house, pinned there by a wild surge of wind so cold she saw crystals of ice, black as onyx, swirling through it.
And he stood, huge in his billowing black robes, with blood on his face. “I could kill you with a thought.”
No, he can’t, he can’t. Or he would have. He’s a liar, she reminded herself frantically. And a bully. But he could hurt her, God, he could hurt her. And she felt the pain, tearing and bright, in her chest.
“Go back to hell!” she shouted at him. “You’re not welcome here.”
“When this is done, you will lose all. And I’ll add your soul to my winnings.”
As if a switch had been flipped, the wind died. Zoe fell forward on her hands and knees, gasping for breath, shuddering in shock.
She stared, baffled, at the wood of the deck and struggled to clear her mind. When she lifted her head she saw the night had turned into soft, misty morning. Through the dawn haze, at the verge of the trees, stood a buck with a coat that seemed to gleam gold. The jeweled collar around his neck shot fire through the mist, and his eyes burned green fire.
Those mists drew together, like a curtain, and when they parted again, he was gone.
“I’m not done.” She spoke aloud for the comfort of her own voice. Kane had tricked her out of time, hours of precious time, but she wasn’t done.
And when she got to her feet, she looked down at her hands, saw there was blood on them.
His blood.
“I hurt him. I hurt the son of a bitch.”
Tears tracked down her cheeks as she stumbled toward the house. Her vision wavered. She thought she heard someone shouting, a threatening growl, a slam. Shapes and sounds melted together into one dark void.
WHILE the mist smoked across the deck, it slithered over the bed where Brad slept. Chilled him. Trapped him. He turned in his sleep, reached out for warmth and comfort. Reached for Zoe.
But he was alone.
In the dark. The forest was dank with rot and alive with a bitter wind. He couldn’t see the path, only the monstrous shapes of the trees, gnarled and twisted into nightmares. The thorns from wild briars ripped at his flesh, bit into his hands like greedy teeth.
He could smell his own blood, his own panic sweat. And something wilder.
He was being hunted.
There was sly movement in the brush, shadows. Not just hunted, he thought as he fought his way clear of the briars. Taunted. Whatever it was wanted his fear as much as it wanted his death.
He had to get out, get away, before what stalked him tired of the game. When it did, it would leap out and tear him to pieces.
Save yourself. There was a whisper in his brain, soft, soothing, as he stumbled into a clearing. This is not your fight. Go home.
Of course. That was it. He should go home. Dazed, disoriented, he stumbled toward a faint glow of light. Began to run toward it as he heard the howl of the predator behind him.
The glow was a door, and Brad’s breath shuddered out in relief as he sprinted toward it. He would make it. He had to make it. He wrenched the door open even as he felt the hot breath of what pursued him at the back of his neck.
