by Eve Langlais
“I thought we disabled the statue. How were they able to use it?” the King asked.
Xaav spread his hands. “I don’t know. It appears to have been shoved off.”
Another impossibility, given he’d overseen the locks on the other side himself.
“I want to see.” He already had a bad feeling as he trampled down the stairs and made straight for the treasure room. The wall didn’t even quiver as he stepped through.
As he entered, his gaze roved around to the familiar displays before stopping on the empty pedestal.
Stolen!
A second later, he spotted the crown on the floor.
Lifting it, he could feel the emptiness of the stone. No more magic. That presented an impossibility in more than one way. He placed the crown back on the pedestal before rejoining Xaav, who’d been unable to follow.
“She was here,” he stated, taking long strides.
“You’re sure?” Xaav asked with a frown.
“The power is gone.”
Xaav gaped. “That’s impossible.”
“Apparently, not.”
“I’ll track her down and bring her back.”
“Hold off before you do that.” Because he was curious what would occur. A Blessed retaking their magic? It had never happened because it wasn’t supposed to be possible. So why not? They had nothing left to lose.
Especially since her actions had fulfilled a verse of a prophecy, a few extra lines direct from the prophet’s mouth that only the King ever knew about.
The entire poetic divination recited itself in his head:
Monsters, monsters sneak out to slay,
When night does fall and shadows day.
Close your doors and shutter your eaves,
For death in the mist does roam the streets.
The Goddess calls, and three will answer,
Soraers to mothers, for a purple-eyed disaster.
Monsters, monsters will come out and play,
When the fog does hide the bright rays.
The enemy comes for the orphan of night.
The hope of the Kingdom has a terrible plight.
One wrong choice and death will prevail,
And then what will happen to the humans so frail?
But where the public version went on to say,
Monsters, monsters, have one thing to say—
Crunch.
The original actually went like this:
Monsters, Monsters, come one, come all.
To feed the orphan and save us all.
She is the hope of a happily thereafter,
And upon giving her heirs, the King will rule
Now and forever.
Epilogue
I’d kill for a wagon ride. Agathe knew she shouldn’t complain, but why did serving her Goddess involve so much walking?
Without horses, it took them a while to make their way from the King’s City to the far rim. A hard march of days across the unknown land, but none of them complained. After all, freedom and sore feet beat being locked up.
It was also easier to be optimistic now that Agathe had gotten her magic back. Within moments of securing her ability, she’d siphoned away Belle’s. The irony of draining someone with her old name was not lost on her. Nor was the theft of that special power—something she’d never tried before on anything but a monster. But she was thirsty, and it’d worked. All too well, actually, and she took more than intended. All of Belle’s magic, as a matter of fact.
Hard to feel bad about it. If the girl was determined to give it away, then why not donate it to Agathe, who’d put up with too many tantrums to count? Too bad for the King. He owed it to her after what he’d done. First sending Baree to kill her beloved Agathe, which led to a teenage Belle killing her first man.
It wasn’t enough.
Grief-stricken, she’d tried to get close to the King. Handed herself over during the ceremony.
Then nothing.
Orphan Belle woke with no memories of her time in the Citadel. Her body aged, as if she’d lost a decade or more. But the most disturbing thing of all? Her magic was gone.
What had been done to her? The not knowing chilled her more than anything.
This time, she remembered the experiences and had to wonder, why? Why the difference? Later, though. Survival first.
They left the King’s sphere of influence and kept watch for the Elite. At least that was what Agathe told herself as she glanced behind more often than she should, looking for a man she had the strangest sense she’d not seen the last of.
Once they hit the rim where monsters were more plentiful, Agathe wasted no time and sought out the nearest one nestled in the bole of a dead tree by day, emerging only to hunt by night. She intentionally disturbed it. The thing hissed at her and flailed with four of its six furry paws. She ducked the swipes and grabbed hold.
For a second, she hesitated. It had been so long. A full decade since she’d used it. What if the magic didn’t work?
Only one way to find out. She fully opened herself to the power and gulped the monster’s essence. It rolled back some of the years. Her back stopped aching, her skin smoothed slightly. Some of her scars faded. The ache in her knee lessened. A few more monsters and she’d be good as new.
She’d also be sharing the benefits. She straightened and smiled at Hiix and Venna, who’d always been by her side.
“Your turn next.”
Over the next few days as Agathe—who’d been using the name too long to change now—sussed out more monsters, she healed her friends, too. They would need the vitality for the coming fight. A battle she had come to realize wasn’t with the King himself, despite everything he’d done to her, but with the mist and the Vhampirs who appeared to use it to attack.
Monsters. Monsters. Come and get me.
Because I am hungry.
She had been starved of her magic for much too long and was ready to turn the tide.
As for the King, she liked to imagine she heard his frustrated bellow.
And a whisper from her Goddess, Good job, daughter. But your biggest task is yet to come.
Part of the mystery has been revealed, but there is more to come as Agathe—the purple-eyed orphan, now a woman grown—embarks on a quest to discover not only the origin of the mist but also where she came from. And what of Maric? I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him. Be sure to grab the next book in the series, Lying Mirror, and then the stunning conclusion, Deadly Abyss.
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