Taste of Darkness
Page 110
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Time passed without another question. Perhaps he’d given up.
Harsh voices, boots scuffing the dirt, and a rattle of chain snapped me from my daze. The flaps of the tent snapped and then grunts followed a growl.
Belen.
I peeked through slitted eyelids, glancing over my shoulder. Sure enough, Belen stood in the middle of six guards—three on each side. His hands had been manacled behind his back.
“What the hell! Are you all right, Avry?” Belen asked.
“She’s fine,” the Skeleton King answered. “I just had a taste.”
I shuddered at his possessive tone.
“I wasn’t talking to you, you filthy cannibal.”
The king strode to Belen. “You have no right to judge. I’d like to see what you’d resort to to keep your family from starving to death.”
“Everyone was hungry after the plague and they all managed without becoming cannibals.”
So the Skeleton King was an actual cannibal. It explained...a lot.
“Managed? You call dying by the thousands managing?”
Belen just shook his head. “Avry, are you all right?”
“I’m—” what to say that wasn’t a lie? “—here.”
“What did you do to her?” Belen demanded.
“She did it to herself. She refused to answer a question. Maybe we’ll have better luck with you.”
I met Belen’s gaze. “Don’t.”
“Who is the death magician?” the Skeleton King asked Belen.
“Me,” Belen said without hesitation.
“Prove it.”
“Okay, take off these cuffs.”
The king’s cackle set my nerves on edge.
“I have a better idea.” He rummaged in a pack on the conference table and withdrew a syringe filled with a clear liquid.
I sagged against the post. He was going to threaten to infect Belen with the new plague and I’d have to decide between him and Flea.
Sure enough, the king held up the syringe in front of my face. “Sepp claimed he was immune. Do you want to test his theory?”
I tried delaying the inevitable. “Did you get that from Wynn?”
“Yes. Her sister was too squeamish to use it against her enemies. Wynn was smart to bring it to me.”
“And you’ve been busy using it to send a message to Prince Ryne.”
“Exactly. He needs to know who is going to be in charge. Plus it’s a good idea to mark the victims. I wouldn’t want my people to accidentally eat an infected person. That wouldn’t do.” He waggled the syringe. “Now, about that test—”
Belen roared. The guards shouted as Poppa Bear charged. The Skeleton King backed up, holding the needle out like a weapon. But the king wasn’t his target.
Instead, Belen dipped his head and rammed into the wooden post with his shoulder. The impact rattled my teeth. The post creaked and leaned. Belen grunted, digging into the dirt. With a crack, the post fell over, dragging me and the tent fabric with it. The material collapsed on top of everyone.
My manacles popped free of the hook when I slammed to the ground. Belen landed next to me. The rest of the occupants were obscured by the olive-green fabric, which muffled their shouts and curses.
“Don’t stand,” he said to me. “Roll until you’re clear.”
“And then what?”
“Run.”
At least the plan was easy to follow. I rolled to the right until I reached the conference table. It remained upright and underneath was the syringe. Unbroken. I palmed it, careful not to prick my skin even though I was immune.
A few guards regained their feet and yanked the fabric up, exposing my hiding place. Right as I resumed rolling, a pair of black boots with scapulas stitched on them blocked my path. I stopped and stared at the boots to keep from panicking. The flat triangular shoulder bones worked well as shin guards, reminding me of Tohon’s comment about using all your resources.
“Going somewhere?” the Skeleton King asked.
I glanced around. More pairs of boots surrounded the king. At least Belen had escaped for now.
“Not anymore.” I pressed my arms to my chest, covering my raw and bleeding flesh. The thought of being tortured again almost pushed me over the edge.
“Get up,” he ordered.
And then I remembered. “I need help.”
When he reached under to clasp my hand, I jabbed the syringe’s needle into his palm at the same time as I grabbed his wrist with my other hand. He tried to jerk back, but I held on tight and depressed the plunger, sending the plague into his body.
He screamed and dragged me out from under the table. I released him as the guards pulled their swords while still keeping the fabric off the Skeleton King’s head. Impressive.
The king yanked the needle from his hand and slammed his palm down on the conference table. “Cut my hand off at the wrist,” he ordered. “Now!”
Smart. Too bad his confused guards didn’t catch on. They hesitated over his alarming request, allowing the plague to spread up his right arm.
The Skeleton King snatched a sword from one of his men.
“Elbow by now,” I said.
The king swung the blade down on his elbow. With the awkward angle and limited range of motion, he didn’t have enough force to sever the arm. All he managed was a nasty gash.
Frantic, he pushed the sword back into the guard’s hands. “Cut my arm off at the shoulder or I’ll die.” He knelt next to the conference table and stretched his arm across the top.
Harsh voices, boots scuffing the dirt, and a rattle of chain snapped me from my daze. The flaps of the tent snapped and then grunts followed a growl.
Belen.
I peeked through slitted eyelids, glancing over my shoulder. Sure enough, Belen stood in the middle of six guards—three on each side. His hands had been manacled behind his back.
“What the hell! Are you all right, Avry?” Belen asked.
“She’s fine,” the Skeleton King answered. “I just had a taste.”
I shuddered at his possessive tone.
“I wasn’t talking to you, you filthy cannibal.”
The king strode to Belen. “You have no right to judge. I’d like to see what you’d resort to to keep your family from starving to death.”
“Everyone was hungry after the plague and they all managed without becoming cannibals.”
So the Skeleton King was an actual cannibal. It explained...a lot.
“Managed? You call dying by the thousands managing?”
Belen just shook his head. “Avry, are you all right?”
“I’m—” what to say that wasn’t a lie? “—here.”
“What did you do to her?” Belen demanded.
“She did it to herself. She refused to answer a question. Maybe we’ll have better luck with you.”
I met Belen’s gaze. “Don’t.”
“Who is the death magician?” the Skeleton King asked Belen.
“Me,” Belen said without hesitation.
“Prove it.”
“Okay, take off these cuffs.”
The king’s cackle set my nerves on edge.
“I have a better idea.” He rummaged in a pack on the conference table and withdrew a syringe filled with a clear liquid.
I sagged against the post. He was going to threaten to infect Belen with the new plague and I’d have to decide between him and Flea.
Sure enough, the king held up the syringe in front of my face. “Sepp claimed he was immune. Do you want to test his theory?”
I tried delaying the inevitable. “Did you get that from Wynn?”
“Yes. Her sister was too squeamish to use it against her enemies. Wynn was smart to bring it to me.”
“And you’ve been busy using it to send a message to Prince Ryne.”
“Exactly. He needs to know who is going to be in charge. Plus it’s a good idea to mark the victims. I wouldn’t want my people to accidentally eat an infected person. That wouldn’t do.” He waggled the syringe. “Now, about that test—”
Belen roared. The guards shouted as Poppa Bear charged. The Skeleton King backed up, holding the needle out like a weapon. But the king wasn’t his target.
Instead, Belen dipped his head and rammed into the wooden post with his shoulder. The impact rattled my teeth. The post creaked and leaned. Belen grunted, digging into the dirt. With a crack, the post fell over, dragging me and the tent fabric with it. The material collapsed on top of everyone.
My manacles popped free of the hook when I slammed to the ground. Belen landed next to me. The rest of the occupants were obscured by the olive-green fabric, which muffled their shouts and curses.
“Don’t stand,” he said to me. “Roll until you’re clear.”
“And then what?”
“Run.”
At least the plan was easy to follow. I rolled to the right until I reached the conference table. It remained upright and underneath was the syringe. Unbroken. I palmed it, careful not to prick my skin even though I was immune.
A few guards regained their feet and yanked the fabric up, exposing my hiding place. Right as I resumed rolling, a pair of black boots with scapulas stitched on them blocked my path. I stopped and stared at the boots to keep from panicking. The flat triangular shoulder bones worked well as shin guards, reminding me of Tohon’s comment about using all your resources.
“Going somewhere?” the Skeleton King asked.
I glanced around. More pairs of boots surrounded the king. At least Belen had escaped for now.
“Not anymore.” I pressed my arms to my chest, covering my raw and bleeding flesh. The thought of being tortured again almost pushed me over the edge.
“Get up,” he ordered.
And then I remembered. “I need help.”
When he reached under to clasp my hand, I jabbed the syringe’s needle into his palm at the same time as I grabbed his wrist with my other hand. He tried to jerk back, but I held on tight and depressed the plunger, sending the plague into his body.
He screamed and dragged me out from under the table. I released him as the guards pulled their swords while still keeping the fabric off the Skeleton King’s head. Impressive.
The king yanked the needle from his hand and slammed his palm down on the conference table. “Cut my hand off at the wrist,” he ordered. “Now!”
Smart. Too bad his confused guards didn’t catch on. They hesitated over his alarming request, allowing the plague to spread up his right arm.
The Skeleton King snatched a sword from one of his men.
“Elbow by now,” I said.
The king swung the blade down on his elbow. With the awkward angle and limited range of motion, he didn’t have enough force to sever the arm. All he managed was a nasty gash.
Frantic, he pushed the sword back into the guard’s hands. “Cut my arm off at the shoulder or I’ll die.” He knelt next to the conference table and stretched his arm across the top.
