The Ghost Princess (Graylands Book 1)

by M. Walsh

  Before he could gather himself, Lily jumped into the air—reaching almost ten feet, straight up—and came down on his stomach. He bellowed in pain, blood vomiting from his mouth, and she heard the crunch of his ribs beneath her feet. She plunged her claws into his chest and twisted, tearing flesh and leaving ragged circles below his collarbones.

  His howling and screaming came as music to her ears. She licked her lips and clamped her fangs over his mouth. Carlyle moaned and struggled beneath her, but what strength he had drained away with his life.

  When it was done, and there was nothing left of him but a shriveled up corpse, Lily threw her head back and let rip a savage and piercing roar. She felt like she was sinking in a thick pool of dark, black ink and welcomed it. She let the cold and dark and hate engulf her. The darkness, after all, was so inviting and so very easy ...

  She gasped and snapped back to reality. She threw herself away from Carlyle’s body and writhed on the ground, trying to regain herself. It was much more painful than usual. Not just because she lost control, but from absorbing Carlyle’s evil essence and tasting his dark power. She resisted and pushed the Black away, hissing and growling in pain.

  When it subsided, and she felt like herself again, she sat crouched in a darkened and narrow alley not far from the square. She hugged her knees, repeating to herself, “I’m okay ... I’m okay ... I’m not like that ... I’m free ...”

  Sometimes she tapped into the Black and let her demonic side take over for the sake of survival. Other times it was beyond her control—losing her temper or being pushed too far. But every time was dangerous. It was easy to lose herself in the darkness and never come back. And every time made her feel very sick and afraid.

  When she stopped trembling and felt sure enough to walk, she started back to the center of the ruins to pick up Krutch. Taking Carlyle Hawke’s essence did have some benefits. She hadn’t fed since Maddox, and if she went too long without feeding again, her human form would devolve and her natural demonic instincts would get harder to control. Now she wouldn’t need to feed again for at least another week and felt stronger, more energized, and even the spider bite she suffered in the swamp was already healed.

  But more importantly, she was able to see his memories. Confirming what Frost told her and Krutch in the forest, Jacob Daredin was the one behind it all, and based on Carlyle’s thoughts, it seemed unlikely Katrina was able to escape. Fortunately, they wouldn’t kill her until tomorrow, and most important, Lily now knew where she was being taken.

  Hope Krutch can manage a walk to the Blind Cliffs, she thought as she turned the corner.

  She came to the center circle of the ruins and stopped dead in her tracks. Standing over Krutch were four Sentries and Benedict Vogel. She gasped and ducked back behind the building. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Vogel and the leader—Drake Garrison, she recalled Krutch saying—were talking to each other and looking around. The remaining Sentries bound Krutch’s wrists, and it looked like he was being arrested.

  “Oh, no ... no, no, no,” she said to herself as she watched them pick up Krutch’s unconscious body and carry him off. They propped him on one of their horses, mounted, and rode eastward.

  When they were out of sight, she moaned and slammed her fist into a wall. Katrina was in Daredin’s hands and being taken to her death in the west—Krutch, in the custody of the Sentry Elite, being taken to jail, if not his own death, in the east.

  Lily Blackthorn stood there in the rain, now all alone in the ancient city.

  “Oh, shit.”

  23

  Katrina Lamont remembered falling and something hitting her, then darkness. When she opened her eyes, there was a rock ceiling above her, and she was lying on a dank, stone floor. It was dark and musty, and she could hear the sound of waves crashing nearby. Looking around, she found she was locked in a small, dismal dungeon.

  For a moment, she thought she was dead and this was the afterlife. Considering her luck and feelings regarding the spiritual, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

  When she turned over, she was greeted with severe pain that ran down her right side. She sat upright, rubbing her neck, and guessed one of Daredin’s gargoyles must have caught her before she hit the ground. Judging from the aches and pains, it wasn’t a clean catch.

  “Ah, the Princess stirs,” said a familiar voice outside the dungeon bars. Rasul Kader stood in the shadows, staring at her with a grim and unpleasant expression. “Nice try, trying to kill yourself. But I’m afraid Daredin’s pets proved faster.”

  “I figured,” she replied. “So what happens now?”

  “Tomorrow you are to be sacrificed. When the Devil’s Moon reaches its apex, your heart is going to be cut from your chest.” She said nothing, and Kader continued, “Your blood is the key. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you the importance of your bloodline.”

  “No,” she said, barely above a whisper. “You don’t.”

  “Yes, the fabled Lamont bloodline. Heirs of the Vigorian Throne—believed to go all the way back to the Seraphim. A bloodline said to be divine.”

  “How does Lily fit into this?”

  “Who..? Oh, right.” He chuckled to himself. “That was rather serendipitous, actually. You see, I kept an eye on you after you left Dictum. I trashed my room to throw you off and simply waited. When I saw you with the Blackthorn girl, I decided to use that to my advantage.” He chuckled again. “I suppose if I should ever meet that girl, I should thank her. She proved to be quite helpful to me—my original plan was to use one of Krutch Leeroy’s pirate wenches.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Hell if I know. Daredin’s people made no mention of her. Were I to guess, I’d assume she’s moved on if she’s still alive.”

  Katrina remained silent, hoping Lily had gotten to safety.

  Kader laughed again. It was a humorless sound, coupled with a nasty, hateful smirk. “The spilling of your blood will harken an age of darkness, symbolic of evil’s triumph. Or so the prophecy says, anyway. And then—”

  “And then your boss becomes a god, the seas will part, candy will rain from the sky, and everyone will have a great big party.” She sneered, rubbing her sore neck. “Whatever.”

  “Very amusing,” said Kader. “Although Daredin is not actually my ‘boss,’ and frankly, I have no idea if there’s any truth to this prophecy of his. You see, Lady Lamont, I was a scholar—studying to join the Guardians, in fact. But my talents led me on a ... different path. One that—”

  He was caught off guard by Katrina’s mocking laughter. “You mean you dropped out,” she said. “You wanted to be a mage and failed, so now you’re a two-bit mercenary shilling horseshit prophecies and worthless magic. I know men like you. You’re no better than the homeless drunks that wander the countryside declaring ‘the end is nigh’ and calling for people to repent. The only difference is at least those guys believe what they’re saying and don’t charge people for it.”

  Kader stared at her in silence. His face was grim and angry. It was the same petty look she saw when she kept questioning him outside Fane. It was a look that revealed him to be nothing like the suave, cunning mastermind he believed himself to be. He was just a spineless, pseudo-intellectual, wannabe wizard con-man.

  “Do you know how I found you?” he asked. “Are you not curious how I learned who you really are?”

  “Sure,” she said, bored. “Enlighten me.”

  “Tell me, Lady Lamont, did you really believe you were the only survivor of Vigor?”

  The words struck her dumb, and her sardonic attitude evaporated. Seeing the change in her mood, the spiteful smirk returned to Kader’s lips.

  “What..?” she choked out.

  “All these years, wandering like a ghost, did the possibility there were other surviving Vigorians out there never occur to you?”

  “There,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to not sound lost. “There were no others. I was the only one ...”

  �
�The Red Plague spread out from beneath Tyrell’s fortress. Anyone that happened to be inside was spared the sickness.” He paused, his smirk growing into a mocking grin. “Did you really believe you were the only one in the fortress?”

  Katrina felt her strength leave her. Part of her tried to remain defiant—not wanting this toad to get the upper hand. But the possibility she wasn’t the only one hit her like a thunderbolt. And worse, the questions that came with it.

  “But,” she said. “But why ... why haven’t they contacted me? Why wouldn’t they..?”

  “Because, Lady Lamont, they all hate you. When your land was laid to ruin, and what remained of your people needed you most, you were nowhere to be found. You wandered off to wallow in your own self-pity while the remnants of your people were scattered to the winds. Not just those loyal to Tyrell. No, most are your own soldiers. Men and women who believed in you, Katrina.”

  She said nothing.

  “In my studies, I came across records revealing certain Vigorians were still alive. Coupled, of course, with the legend of the Ghost Princess, I did some investigating. Sure enough, I found a handful of them. They keep to the north and lead simple lives—preferring their true heritage not be known.

  “It didn’t take much prodding to find out they knew you were still alive. Nor did it take much to get them to tell me where you might be, what you looked like, and what alias you traveled under. Oh yes, Katrina, they know exactly who you are and where you are. But they’ve made no attempt to contact you because they hate you. Most would strangle you themselves if they crossed paths with you.

  “Naturally, I considered discovering the fabled Ghost Princess still lived and the name she traveled under might be worth a lot of money to certain people. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, I met Mr. Jacob Daredin, and we made our arrangement.” He laughed to himself and finished, “How’s that for a two-bit mercenary, Princess?”

  Katrina still could say nothing. Her strength was gone. She sat slumped in her darkened dungeon, broken and defeated.

  “Once Daredin had you,” Kader continued. “I was content to take my payment and be on my way.” He stepped forward, revealing the ugly, fresh scar that ran down his face from when Katrina clawed him. “But since you did this to me, I’ve decided to stick around long enough to watch Jacob cut out your bitch heart. If his prophecy is true, then more power to him. Me—I’ll be content to just watch you die.”

  He laughed again and turned to leave, but stopped. He looked at Katrina and said, “Oh, but don’t think me heartless.” He revealed a large bottle of liquor in his hand. He took a swig and rolled it into the dungeon toward her. “One last drink, Princess..? I’m sure you could use it.”

  Kader walked off, laughing, while the bottle rolled across the floor and came to a stop at her feet. She sat motionless for some time, feeling dead inside. She looked at the bottle, and the craving for a drink returned, stronger than ever. It had been days since she lost herself in soothing alcohol. To numb the pain. It would be a welcome escape.

  Katrina picked up the bottle and started drinking.

  * * *

  Krutch awoke that night much the same way he’d been waking up almost all week: aching in pain. And like a cruel joke, the pain seemed to be worse and more spread out every time. His entire body throbbed and was stiff—but now the worst pain had come to his face. His head ached, his eye was swollen shut, and the taste of blood lingered in his mouth.

  He realized he was tied up before his vision cleared. His worries were confirmed when he looked around to find Sentry soldiers sitting around him.

  “Oh, crumbs,” he moaned.

  “Look who’s up,” said one of the soldiers. “The infamous Krutch Leeroy.”

  He moaned again. “You know,” he said, trying to sit upright, “you people don’t need to always add the adjective before my name. Seriously—infamous, notorious, great, shady ... I even heard someone call me the ‘cheeky’ Krutch Leeroy. Just call me Krutch. Yeesh.”

  “Fair enough, Krutch,” said Drake Garrison, sitting across from him. “You remember me, don’t you?”

  “Indeed I do, Major. Still sore about the last time we ran into each other?”

  “Yes. I am,” Drake replied, in a blunt and matter-of-fact tone.

  The last time Krutch and Drake Garrison crossed paths, Krutch had been unwillingly roped into another of Lemmy Hobbs’s schemes. This one involved robbing a caravan of traveling monks carrying some expensive religious artifacts. The Sentry Elite were to act as bodyguard. Things turned ugly when the caravan was also attacked by a rival cult of fanatics that wanted the monks dead for their own reasons.

  It was a total mess that saw Krutch fleeing with his tail tucked firmly between his legs when the chance arrived—not that it stopped him from getting the bulk of the blame.

  Funny how no one seems to remember that story when “they” talk about me.

  “I realize there’s no point in trying to explain that wasn’t my fault,” he said, “but would it help if I said I was sorry..?”

  Drake showed a humorless smirk. “You’re a funny guy, Leeroy. I will say that about you. Consider yourself lucky, though. After seeing what you and your boys did to Marcus, Brooks, and Nelson, I don’t think there’s a person here who wouldn’t want to cut your throat, right here and now.”

  “Who..?”

  Rage flashed over Drake’s face. His fist clenched, and Krutch saw he was resisting an urge to punch him. “Watch it, Leeroy. I shit you not—watch it.”

  Krutch was never good with names or faces. For all he knew, he had encountered someone named Marcus and simply didn’t know about it. But from Drake’s tone, it sounded like a recent incident—so he went over the past several days and tried to recall running into any other Sentries.

  “Oh!” he said. “Those guys with the Mage..?” Drake didn’t answer—only growling at him. “Oh, I had nothing to do with that. Those guys were dead when we found them.”

  The other Sentries scoffed. Drake only glared at him with a look warning: Stop talking, right now.

  Hesitant to explain, he mumbled, “Honestly, no horseshit, I’m pretty sure it was the Enforcer that did that.” Mention of the Enforcer piqued the group’s attention. They looked at each other, as though debating whether he was telling the truth or not. “Yeah,” he added. “I had a run-in with him myself the other day.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Drake. “Enforcer or not, you’re still a wanted man. I got you, and you’ve got a date with the noose—end of story.”

  He sighed and fell quiet. He looked over the camp and counted three other Sentries with Drake. There was a woman, Ellen Wells, tall and thin with a grim, stern face. Her hair was dark and tied in a ponytail. Sitting beside her was Wayland Dillon, a muscular man of brown skin, with long black hair. The last Sentry was a young, skinny soldier named Joss Hemley who looked like a rookie.

  Finally, sitting on the other side of the camp, was Benedict Vogel. Upon seeing him, Krutch thought of Lily, and in an instant, the severity of his present situation evaporated, and all he could think of was whether she was all right.

  Keeping his eye on Vogel to ensure he wasn’t listening, Krutch whispered, “Hey Drake, how did you guys catch me?”

  Drake stared at him, seeming to wonder why Krutch was whispering and asking such a ridiculous question. “We found you unconscious back in those ruins.”

  “What about the creepy guy?” he asked, recalling the last thing he saw before blacking out was one of Daredin’s men about to kill him.

  “What creepy guy?”

  “There was a guy. He was working for the other guy. He was going to kill me.”

  The Sentry stared at him, stone-faced. “Leeroy ... shut-up.”

  Krutch tried to figure out what could’ve happened while he was out, and Lily returned to his thoughts. Had she saved him? But then what happened to her? Where was she?

  Having so little information, he considered the worst possible
scenario: Lily dead and Katrina in Daredin’s custody. And if that was the case, not only was she in danger, but so was the entire world. Any variation of that theme—Lily alive, but also captured; Lily alive, but on her own; Katrina still on the run from Daredin—all resulted in one conclusion: something bad would happen as long as Daredin was on the loose.

  “Drake,” he said, “which way are we headed?”

  “Not that it matters,” Drake replied, losing his patience with the questions. “We’re taking you east and back up to Canton.”

  “East..? But what about the demons and Daredin?”

  Now Krutch had the attention of the entire camp—including Vogel, to his regret. “What’s that about demons?” asked Vogel.

  “What do you know about what’s going on?” Drake asked.

  “The hell you think I’m doing down here?” Krutch answered. “I got roped into some nut-job sorcerer’s scheme. He wanted me to kidnap some woman so he could sacrifice her and become a god or something. I’m not even supposed to be here.”

  He went on to explain the story as best he could understand it—Kader, Rien/Katrina, Daredin, and the apparent prophecy—only leaving out Lily’s involvement.

  He finished with, “Look, I don’t know what exactly went down in those ruins, but worst case scenario, this Daredin creep has Katrina and is going to kill her. And if this prophecy is true, then that’s going to be bad news for everyone.”

  “Why are we listening to a word this bastard says?” said Wells. “He’s probably hoping to lead us into an ambush to save his own skin.”

  “Hold on,” said Drake. He stood up and paced around. “Before Marcus died, he sent word he was escorting a woman named Rien to Bevy. According to her, this was connected to someone named Rasul Kader.” He continued pacing and said, more to himself than the others, “There have been Enforcer sightings. The demons ... the condition of the woods ...” He shook his head and said to Vogel, “You think any of this is linked to your story?”

  “Possible,” said Vogel. “Evil attracts evil.”