A_Shadow_in_the_Ember_Amazon

by Armentrout, Jennifer L.

  Or what if I could? What if this ember of life had been placed in me for another reason? But what could it be? And what would happen to those who lived here until we figured it out? There’d be more attacks, and maybe, eventually, Kolis himself would arrive. The King of Gods would come after Nyktos. I had a sickening feeling that he already had in the past. And whether or not Nyktos believed me, I cared about what happened to him—what happened to the people here.

  What were my options? Find a way to turn myself over to Kolis? He would kill me, and that would possibly hasten the death of the mortal realm if what Aios said was true. It would only buy the Shadowlands extra time. Maybe. This wasn’t being stuck between a rock and a hard place. This was being crushed by both.

  But nothing would come from lying in a bed that wasn’t even mine.

  Head aching, I sat up and winced at the tenderness. It had been a while since I had engaged in such activities, and it had never been like that. I looked down, biting my lip at the puckered, puncture wounds on my breast as I gingerly prodded the skin at my throat. It too was tender but not painful. A fine shiver rolled through me as I started to rise, only then noticing the robe laid out at the foot of the bed. I stared at it in disbelief. Nyktos must’ve retrieved it. And I…

  I smacked my hands over my face. That hurt. But what hurt worse was his godsdamned thoughtfulness even now. And I had planned to take that kindness and twist it. I had planned to kill him. And it didn’t even seem to matter if I would’ve gone through with it or not. It was the intent that counted.

  Wetness gathered behind my tightly closed eyes as tears burned the back of my throat, a sob filling my chest. I will not cry, I told myself. I will not cry. Crying solved nothing. All it would do was make my headache worse. I needed to pull myself together and get up and figure out what the hell to do now. I focused on Sir Holland’s breathing instructions until the pressure behind my eyes lessened, and the burning, choking feeling receded. Then I got up and slipped on the robe. I forced one foot in front of the other, leaving behind Nyktos’ empty, cold chamber that had briefly been full and warm.

  I had just stepped out of my bathing chamber after making quick use of it when Paxton knocked on the door. The young man stood beside several pails of steaming water, his head bowed so his sheet of blond hair hid most of his face. “His Highness thought you might enjoy a warm bath,” he said, hands clasped together. “So, I brought up hot water.”

  Surprised by the gesture for a multitude of reasons, and unsure of how Nyktos had known that I’d returned to my chamber, I almost needed to smack my hands over my face again. I didn’t. Instead, I opened the door wider.

  “That was very kind of him—and you, to bring all of these up here.”

  “He carried most,” Paxton said, and my brows lifted as I popped my head out the door. The hall was empty. The young man peeked at me, and I caught a glimpse of deep brown eyes. “He had to go to court, Your Highness.”

  “You don’t have to call me that,” I replied before I could remember what Bele had instructed.

  “You will be his Consort. That is how I should refer to you.”

  My throat dried. Paxton obviously hadn’t heard. What would he tell the people here?

  Paxton’s chin went up a notch. “And you are a Princess, right? That’s what Aios told me.”

  “I am.” A wry grin tugged at my lips despite everything. “But only for one percent of my life.”

  That drew a quick, curious glance from Paxton as he picked up two pails. “You were born a Princess?”

  “Yes.” I reached for one of the pails.

  “Then you’re a Princess for a hundred percent of your life,” he said. “And I got the pails. You don’t have to carry them.”

  “I can carry them.”

  “I’ve got them.” He eased past me, carrying the pails to the bathing chamber. He was careful to keep the buckets level and unaffected by his limp.

  It was hard to just stand there and do nothing when I had two functioning arms. “How about I just pick up one, then?”

  “I’d rather you not.”

  I already had the pail in hand. His sigh when he looked up and spotted me was quite impressive. “How long have you lived here, Paxton?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “For the last ten years,” he answered, his grip on the pail quite steady for such small arms. “Since I was about five. Before that, I lived in Irelone.”

  So, he was fifteen. I turned as he hurried back into the hall to grab two more. “Is your family here?”

  “No, Your Highness.” He passed me, leaving two more buckets in the hall. I resisted the urge to grab both and only picked up one. “My ma and pa died when I was a babe.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I joined him in the bathing chamber, where he took the water from me and proceeded to pour it into the tub.

  “I don’t even remember them, but thank you anyway.” He disappeared back into the hall, returning quickly with the final bucket.

  “How did you end up here?” I asked.

  “My uncle wasn’t so keen on having another mouth to feed, so I was on the streets, lifting coins when I could.” Paxton poured the water into the tub. “I saw a man in a finely cut cloak and thought he’d be a good mark.” He straightened. “Turned out to be His Highness.”

  I blinked. “You…you pickpocketed the Primal of Death?”

  Paxton peeked through his hair. “I tried.”

  I stared at him. “I don’t know if I should laugh or applaud you.”

  A brief grin appeared as he began picking up the empty buckets. “His Highness had roughly the same reaction. In my defense, I didn’t realize who he was.”

  “So, he brought you back here?”

  “I think he took one look at me and felt sorry.” Paxton shrugged, empty pails swaying. “I’ve been living with the Karpovs ever since.”

  I had no idea who the Karpovs were, and I had a feeling there was a whole lot more to the adventure that’d led the orphan boy to the Shadowlands. I also thought about how the entirety of the mortal realm would be shocked to learn that the Primal of Death was far more generous and forgiving than the vast majority of humanity, who would’ve likely turned the young pickpocket over to the authorities.

  Which was as surprising as it was disheartening.

  “I heard about you, you know?” Paxton said, drawing me from my musings.

  Tension poured into my body, causing the pain in my head to flare. “About what?”

  “What you did last night—out on the Rise,” he said, and a tiny bit of relief seeped into me. “Everyone’s been talking about how the mortal Consort was up there, shooting arrows and killing those beasts.” Something akin to approval filled his wide eyes, but the relief was short-lived. “We will be proud to call you our Consort.”

  Paxton hastily bowed and left, closing the doors behind him as I stood there, hating myself a little more.

  “Ugh,” I muttered. “I’m the worst.”

  Tired, I wandered back into the bathing chamber and rummaged through the bottles and baskets on the shelves. I picked up a white compressed ball of salts that carried a citrusy scent that reminded me of Nyktos, inhaling the tarty notes of bergamot and mandarin. Lowering the ball into the water, I watched it immediately fizz, spreading foamy bubbles across the surface of the tub.

  Rising, I quickly glanced at the mirror. The bite on my neck wasn’t visible through the clumps of curls. I turned, shrugging off the robe and hanging it on the hook inside the wardrobe. I placed a fluffy towel on the stool and took a moment to twist the length of my hair up, shoving a half-dozen pins into it to keep it dry. There was no way I had the energy to deal with wet hair. Air hissed between my teeth as I stepped into the warm water and sank down. Muscles I didn’t even realize were tense and sore immediately loosened. Knees bent, breaking the surface of the water, I wiggled down and let my head rest on the rim of the tub. I was a lot more tired than I realized, and I didn’t know if it was because of Nykto
s’ feeding or everything else. Probably all of it.

  My eyes drifted shut, and I let my thoughts wander as the heat of the water, the comforting scent, and the silence eased the ache in my head, lulling me. I felt myself drifting to sleep.

  A distant, soft thud invaded the tranquility, pulling me from the blissful nothingness. I pushed against the foot of the tub, scooting up as I pried open my eyes—

  There was a flash of black. That was all. A glimpse of something thin and dark coming down in front of my face. I shoved my arm up out of reflex. The strip caught and jerked me back, my fingers snagging as he pulled the material tight around my throat.

  Chapter 40

  A wave of disbelief slammed into me—a moment of utter stillness where my brain and body hadn’t caught up to what was happening yet. Why this was happening.

  The shock of the material digging into my windpipe despite my fingers being in the way threw me out of the frozen state. There was a rough curse above as the sash twisted. My heart lurched in my chest as my shoulders were jammed against the back of the tub. Eyes wide, I tried to drag in air, but only a thin stream worked its way into my throat. I turned, reaching back and grasping an arm—a warm, hard wrist. Out of instinct, I dug my fingers in. The man cursed again, a deep and guttural sound as my eyes darted wildly over the black walls of the bathing chamber. His grip loosened a fraction, allowing a larger burst of air into my lungs and I gripped the binding, keeping it from completely sealing around my throat.

  “Don’t fight,” the man rasped, slamming a hand down on the top of my head. “It will be easier if you don’t fight.”

  Don’t fight? My heart slammed erratically as my shoulders slid down in the tub. If he got me underwater, I was done. I knew that. My chin went under, and panic crowded my thoughts. Think, Sera. Think. I planted my feet against the tub, bracing myself. Think, Sera— My gaze landed on the stool. Wood. If I could break it, it could be a weapon.

  “I’m sorry,” the attacker ground out. “It has to be done. I’m sorry—”

  Letting go of the attacker’s arm, I threw myself against the side of the tub. Water sloshed over the rim as I stretched, fingers brushing the towel—

  The attacker jerked sideways, causing my feet to slide along the tub. The damn towel snagged on something, causing the stool to topple. Wood clattered off stone, and he shoved me down harder. I went under, sputtering a mouthful of sudsy, warm water. Panic and fear careened into anger—pulsing, pounding, red-hot fury, and that rage burned through the burst of terror and cleared my thoughts. I pushed as hard as I could off the foot of the tub with everything in me.

  The hold on me shook under the burst of strength. I broke the surface, water and hair streaming down my face. Coughing, I threw my head back, connecting with a chin.

  “Fuck,” the man grunted, slipping backward.

  Ignoring the sharp pain shooting down my spine, I kept moving as the attacker tried to regain his footing in the water pooling around the tub. I twisted sideways, throwing an arm over the side of the tub. The porcelain pressed against my bare skin as I shoved my head under the sudden gap between the sash and my throat. I clamored over the side of the tub, following it onto the wet floor. Gasping for air, I spun around on my knees, but I didn’t make it very far.

  A body crashed into mine, pushing me to the floor, a knee digging into the center of my back.

  “Get off me!” I shouted. And for a brief, terrible moment, I was thrust back to that morning with Tavius, when he’d held me down just like this. The bitter taste of panic threatened to return, to overwhelm me.

  No. No. No—

  The man’s weight suddenly left me as he cursed. I didn’t know if he’d slipped in the water or not, but with my arms free, I grabbed hold of the leg of the stool. The reprieve was too brief. Hands clamped around my neck as I swung the stool around, welcoming the savage rush of satisfaction I felt when the edge of the stool connected with what sounded like the side of his head. The grip on my neck fell away, and I heard a shout. Scrambling forward, I rose to my knees and slammed the stool down hard on the edge of the tub. The impact cracked it in two, leaving me holding a leg with a jagged end.

  The man grabbed me, but I was wet and slippery, and he couldn’t keep hold. With a scream, I twisted at the waist, slamming the broken wood into flesh—whatever part of him I could reach. It was his stomach—the side. The man howled, stumbling backward and slipping in the pools of water. He went down hard, the side of his head cracking off the bathtub. He fell to the floor, unmoving, and I saw him for the first time. Dark, curly hair. Pink skin. Middle-aged. I thought he looked vaguely familiar as a burst of icy wind whipped through the bathing chamber, charging the air. I yanked the wood from the man’s side and rose into a crouch, looking up just as shadows peeled off the shadowstone walls and raced out from the corners of the chamber, seemingly called forth as the doors flew open.

  “Nyktos,” I whispered, sinking onto my knees.

  The Primal was in front of me within a breath, barely sparing the man by the tub a look. Shadows pulsed under his thinning skin. Bright streaks of eather churned through his eyes. “Sera.”

  For a moment, I thought I heard genuine concern in his voice, saw real fear in his stare, but that had to be a byproduct of my fright.

  “Are you all right?” His hands folded over my upper arms.

  Swallowing hard, I nodded. “How did you know?” The moment I asked the question, I remembered. “My blood.”

  “I felt it.” He leaned in and swept back the hair plastered to my face. His features sharpened even more. “Your…fear. I tasted it.”

  Booted steps drew to a halt outside the bathing chamber, and I heard Saion growl, “Fates.”

  I glanced over Nyktos’ shoulder to see Ector in the doorway beside Saion. His face paled as he took in the scene before him.

  “Having your blood in me has come in handy.” Nyktos’ gaze lowered, halting on my throat. His jaw hardened.

  “Exactly how much does my blood let you feel of my emotions when I’m not around you?”

  “Only if what you’re feeling is extreme.”

  “Feels a bit intrusive,” I muttered.

  Silvery, swirling eyes met mine. “Part of me is astonished and somewhat bemused that you could even feel anger about that right now.” A pause as his stare returned to my throat. “The other half is…” He didn’t finish, but thick tendrils of shadow spilled across the floor, forcing Ector to take a step back. The god’s head snapped in the Primal’s direction.

  His reaction… Was he truly concerned? Did it matter if he was? Because I…I was valuable to him right now. No, not me. What I carried inside me was important. Of course, he would be concerned about losing the ember of life and whatever else his father may have done.

  “Get me a towel.” Nyktos shifted, shielding my body with his, but there was so much hazy darkness gathering around him that I doubted either god could see much of anything. “Not that one,” he said as Saion neared, reaching for the one that had been on the stool. “One that hasn’t been touched.”

  “Of course.” A moment later, Saion handed a towel over.

  Nyktos whipped it around my shoulders, but he didn’t let go. He held the edges closed and brushed aside several more soaked strands of hair. The eather was all too bright in his eyes and in the streaks cutting through the shadows churning around him.

  “He tried to strangle you?” Nyktos’ voice was soft—too soft.

  “He tried,” I said, suppressing a shudder. “He failed, as you can see.”

  That didn’t seem to ease the Primal as his fingers grazed my throat, the touch tender. “Your skin had better not bruise.”

  My eyes shot to his. He’d said that as if he could somehow will it into reality, and I wasn’t sure why he cared.

  “I’m okay,” I repeated, clasping the towel just below his hands. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ll never take another bath again in my life, but I’m okay.”

  Nyktos stared at me,
brows slightly pinched.

  “That’s…that’s Hamid,” murmured Saion, and I caught a glimpse of him turning to where the man lay. “What the fuck?”

  The name was familiar. It took a moment. “The…man who came to court to report Gemma missing?”

  The man groaned, jerking my attention over Nyktos’ shoulder.

  “He’s still alive,” Saion said at the same time Ector stepped forward.

  Nyktos twisted away from me. “Don’t—”

  It happened so fast…a bolt of silvery-white energy arcing across the bathing chamber to slam into Hamid. I sucked in a startled breath, jerking back. Nyktos folded an arm around my waist, catching me before I toppled over. He gathered me against his chest and stood, bringing me along with him. The aura of eather swallowed the man, crackling and spitting, and then there was nothing left but a fine dusting of ash.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to use this bathing chamber again,” I murmured, and Saion’s brows kicked up as he looked over at me.

  Nyktos drew in a deep, forced breath as the shadows scattered away from him, retreating to the walls and corners. “You killed him.”

  “Was I not supposed to?” Ector lowered his hand. “He tried to kill her, and for reasons, you are not too keen on that idea.”

  “I would’ve thoroughly enjoyed his death after I spoke with him.” Nyktos pinned a glare on the god, and it was then that I realized the man hadn’t just been killed. His soul had been destroyed. “There will be no questioning him now.”

  “Shit.” Ector apparently realized the same thing. He dragged a hand through his hair. “I might need to think before I act.”

  “You think?” Nyktos snapped.

  Ector cringed. “Sorry?”