Power (Dark Scions Book 3)

by Anna Carven

  Sometimes, I’m guided by the appearance of the rats. Where there’s food, there’s rats. Sometimes, they get to the bounty before I do, stealing away precious morsels, much to my frustration.

  Sometimes, I kill them, slamming my heel on their fat, wet, furry bodies in the darkness.

  I eat the rats, too. It’s fucking disgusting, but I eat everything. They aren’t giving me enough food to sustain myself. It’s the only way I can ensure that this half-mortal body of mine survives. The effects of Vyloren’s poison are still raging through my body, and the magical pain has become a familiar companion, its hot fire almost comforting against the cold, dark nothingness of my prison.

  I’m resigned to the poison now. Clearly, my body can’t eliminate it on its own, but something is keeping me from dying.

  I let out an aggravated sigh. It’s little wonder I left this death-cult of assassins to begin with. As a young Ven, a mere novice killer, I was never allowed to see the full extent of their depravity.

  Grunting with pain and exertion, I rub my rope bindings against a slightly rough patch of stone on the floor. I’ve been doing the same thing ever since I was locked in here, and bit by bit, the Teklen silk ropes are finally beginning to fray.

  I need to get out of here.

  I’m not going to let these Ven assholes use me for their sick rituals.

  I’m not going to sit back helplessly and wait for the dark bastard to cross the veil, or whatever he’s trying to do. Whether he comes to my aid or not, I can’t just wait for him to come to my rescue.

  It isn’t my style.

  The only person I’d ever allow to rescue me is Amali.

  Give me my hands. I need my hands.

  Suddenly, there’s just the tiniest bit of give in the ropes.

  Desperation surges through me.

  I start to work harder, faster, ignoring the pain in my body, ignoring my weakness; my disheveled, filthy state. Anger fuels me, making me frantic.

  I think of how good it will feel to be close to her again, to inhale her sweet, female musk, to touch her glorious body, to taste her.

  It’s all the motivation I need.

  Twenty

  Kaim

  Wake up, young prince. They’ve come for you at last. I’m almost jealous. At least you’ll get to go for a little walk, breathe the stale air, see the sights… Andoku’s mildly infuriating voice jolts me out of a deep sleep. Is he ever truly serious about anything.

  Not now, blood-drinker. I blink furiously in the darkness, trying to come back to reality. These days, it’s so hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t. I was dreaming again, searching for Amali in my silent shadow-world. I was testing my obsidian hands. They’re just like my old ones, only I can spin and twist the fabric of time with them.

  My gaze snaps toward the entrance as the heavy stone door opens with a loud groan. Strangely, I didn’t sense them at all. I usually would have, but I’m ill and more than a little exhausted right now.

  But I don’t care.

  See, after many my bindings against the rough stone floor, my arms are finally free.

  Chains and irons clink. A flare of light sears my vision, momentarily blinding me. I blink rapidly as my dark-sensitized eyes adjust.

  The smell of burning oil fills my nostrils. A glowing torch illuminates the cell, sending shadows dancing across the cold stone walls.

  I stand in the far corner, hiding my freed arms behind my back.

  The element of surprise is always a useful one.

  Three Ven enter the cell. Djeru isn’t with them. Instead, I recognize Salanke, the only female who has ever attained the rank of Trainer. She’s small and muscular, and her features are distinctly Aedalian, the same Midrian tribe that the emperor’s family comes from.

  After all these winters, she’s barely aged. Her golden hair is bound into the same long braid she’s always worn, and her grey eyes are hard like chips of glass. She wears a simple fighting outfit made of skintight leather and wool, her twin swords hanging from a belt at her waist.

  Perhaps there are a few more lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth and a few greys in her hair, but overall she looks to be in supreme physical condition.

  Behind her stand two young Ven. Not baldy and the redhead from before, but two others, both female, their expressions perfect copies of Salanke’s.

  Looks like she’s taken them under her wing. As always, she’s all business. “Time to go, Kaim. You’ve been summoned.” Her voice is deceptively calm, almost to the point of being friendly. She speaks to me as if it were only yesterday that I was sweeping her training floor after a grueling but fair sparring session.

  But I know better.

  This is a woman who will slit your throat in a heartbeat and not think twice about it.

  “Salanke.” I tip my head, almost—almost—respectfully. She deserves that much. She’s the only Trainer who never resorted to unnecessary cruelty when it would have been easy to do so. “You are still blindly following orders, even when they don’t make any sense.”

  Her expression doesn’t change one whit. Survival instinct is a strange thing. Even if she had any doubts about Khelion Rel’s motives, she would never let me see it. “Don’t prolong this, Kaim. I don’t want to have to put you in chains and drag you there.”

  That elicits a bitter smile from me. “Wouldn’t that be interesting?” My invisible hands twitch. You could try.

  I quickly weigh up my options. Could I take all three of them in my current state?

  Perhaps, but they would give me hell, and I would come out of it in a terrible state.

  Is she here again? My beautiful ice-queen? If you could just get rid of those two attack-wolves by her side and bring the one called Salanke to me, I will repay you in rivers of blood, young prince.

  We shall see, I tell the sanguisu as the three women coldly size me up. From now on, you will call me Kaim. I don’t like false titles.

  Anything, Kaim.

  I shake my head a fraction as the women close in on me. “Are you sure you want to do this, Salanke? It really doesn’t seem like your style.”

  “Quiet,” she snaps, revealing a tiny crack in her facade. “Don’t argue, Kaim. Just—”

  I explode into motion.

  I’m terribly weak, but this time, it’s easy.

  I draw on all the pent-up anger inside me. I think of Amali, trapped and mistreated at the hands of those unworthy Midrians.

  My anger is cold and dark and endless.

  I barely understand it.

  All I know is that it gives me strength.

  And although I can’t control time right now, my body’s natural speed has returned.

  I slip into the darkness like water, finding my range as I deliver a high spinning kick to the Ven on my right. She ducks and draws her sword, aiming to slash me at the kneecap, but I pivot and follow with a second kick, which catches her in the gut, sending her reeling backward.

  “How the fuck did he get free?” Salanke and her subordinate draw their twin swords, coming in at me from both sides.

  “We can’t kill him,” Salanke says softly in Ioni. “The Grand Master needs him alive.”

  Her disciple curses viciously. “That’s going to make things more difficult.”

  Give her to me, Andoku howls in my mind, suddenly losing his composure. I just need a little taste.

  I duck beneath a swinging sword and drop low, bringing one leg around in a sweeping kick that Salanke manages to jump over. Having recovered, the first Ven that attacked runs in from behind, a dagger in one hand. She manages to impale me in my left shoulder as I kick Salanke’s left wrist, sending her blade clattering to the ground.

  “Bloody monster,” she gasps. “What are you doing? You can’t win.”

  I’m behind the second door, Andoku seethes. Bring her to me, and I’ll make sure you get out of here alive.

  Summoning an unnatural burst of strength, I run backwards, crashing into Salanke, sending her off-balance.
I turn and wrap my handless arms around her, getting her in a headlock. She plunges her dagger into my side again and again, bringing forth a torrent of blood.

  She kicks my shin.

  She punches my face.

  Her subordinates are upon me. One is sticking a blade into my knee. The other is trying to break my grip.

  I’m in pure agony, but still I hold on.

  You can’t kill me.

  My knee goes up into Salanke’s chest, robbing her of breath. She gasps. I punch her in the face with the bandaged stump of my arm, lightning-sharp pain shooting up into my body. She goes a little limp in my arms.

  “What the—?” Her voice registers surprise. She might be one of the most experienced and deadly of all the Ven, but I am half other, and I was just a boy when I left her tutelage.

  My strength and speed have increased considerably since then. Even when I’m sick and injured like this, I can still defeat a human…

  But Salanke doesn’t stay stunned for long. She returns my face-punch with three of her own, sending stars dancing across my vision.

  She reaches for a weapon.

  I tighten my arm around her neck.

  She starts to choke. Still, she continues to punch me, dealing vicious blows to my side.

  The pain barely registers. It’s nothing. Pain has been my constant companion ever since Vyloren scratched me with her cursed claw.

  “Call off your young wolves, Salanke,” I growl, “or I’ll crush your windpipe like a twig.”

  Her disciples hear me loud and clear. The first one pulls her blade out of my thigh. The second releases her grip on my arms.

  “Don’t you fucking dare hurt her,” the one who stabbed me hisses. “I’ll tear your balls off if you do anything stupid.”

  “At least you’re loyal,” I say mildly. “Same can’t be said for a lot of your kind.”

  I squeeze harder. Salanke flails and coughs and splutters. She doesn’t have the strength to hit me anymore. She’s losing her air supply. Soon she’ll start to black out.

  That’s when Andoku decides to butt in. Don’t you dare kill her, halfling, or you’ll make an enemy of me for all eternity.

  Hmph. It seems these two have some kind of thing going on between them. I’m not even interested.

  Relax, bloodsucker. You’ll get to see your queen soon.

  I have a long, long way to go before I kill Salanke. I’ve strangled a lot of people in my time. I know exactly when to put the pressure on, and when to take it off.

  I tighten my arm ever so slightly. The power drains from the assassin’s limbs. “Step back, or she dies.”

  The two young women exchange a look.

  I know what they’re thinking.

  Right now, they’re deciding whether Salanke is worth sacrificing.

  Their trainer. The one who has taught them since they were still in diaper-cloths.

  They’re supposed to try and take me down, no matter what.

  They’re supposed to let Salanke die.

  Can’t do it, can you?

  The one that stabbed me, a black-haired Ioni with rows of tight braids crowning her scalp, reaches for her sword. “We’re supposed to secure you at all costs. Even if you kill all three of us, you won’t get far.”

  I know that.

  “If I kill all three of you, that’s three lives wasted for the sake of a man who won’t blink an eyelid when he hears of your deaths. I hold no enmity toward Salanke or you. You’re just following orders. It’s all you know. I’m just trying to survive.”

  And take back what is mine.

  Amali’s face flashes in my mind’s eye. Why am I wasting time here when I should be searching for her?

  Impatience twists through my anger, turning my emotions into a thing of seething, serpentine darkness.

  “There has to be more to this existence than just killing and blind obedience,” I say softly as I tighten my arm around Salanke’s slender neck. She gives one last kick of defiance and then slumps against me, unconscious.

  Don’t you dare, bastard…

  I’m not going to kill her, vampire. Settle down.

  “You would really allow here do die, right here, right now, after all she has done for you? Believe me, I know what Salanke is like. Her appearance is deceptive, you know. She’s a lot older than she looks. She’s the perfect soldier, but she’s wiser than she pretends to be. Yes, she follows orders to the letter, but there’s a lot of thinking going on inside. She’s done a lot of missions in her time. She’s seen the greater world. You? The two of you are barely out of training. I’ll bet you still think every single human outside these walls is weak and slovenly and evil and hardly even worth soiling your precious blades for.”

  The two women stare at me in shock, as if I’m speaking the worst kind of blasphemy.

  But I’m only telling them the truth as I learned it all those winters ago.

  That is how the Ven make it so easy for us to kill.

  They teach us to despise the human race, and by the time we’re old enough to learn otherwise, the killing has already become a natural thing; a reflex.

  “Almost everything you think you know about the world is wrong. Step back, children. Don’t do something you’ll regret terribly later on… if you even survive this.”

  “A-and how are we supposed to go on… if we let you past?” The other Ven, the one who tried to break my grip, regards me with a thunderous frown. She’s a tall, solid woman with vaguely Tieg features and a missing finger on her left hand. She looks resigned… and a little angry. “You know what will happen to us.”

  “Swift death for a weak mind?” That is what the Ven do to disciples who dishonor the Order. “You don’t have to accept that. My neighbor here will protect you.”

  Won’t you, Andoku? There’s a small, unexpected part of me that feels a little sympathetic toward these naive disciples. Perhaps that’s the effect that Amali’s had on me.

  What are you on about?

  If they honor this little deal I’m trying to carve out, then you will protect them.

  I’m not in the business of prote—

  Want another thousand winters in this hole, or are you going to do as I say? Besides, they’re important to Salanke.

  Oh, fine. When you put it that way… I do want to make a good impression on her. I think she already hates me.

  “Stay here,” I snap at the Ven as I drag Salanke toward the exit. The heavy door is wide open. “Come after me and she dies, and then you will die too, because any Ven who allows their trainer to die right in front of them is a traitor, and Khelion Rel will order you to commit ritual suicide on the edge of the Dragon’s Teeth, and he will have his lackeys kick your dead corpses into the abyss below. So you don’t really have a choice in the matter now, do you?”

  Confronted with the very real possibility of their own death, the two Ven hesitate.

  “Fine.” The black-haired woman drops her swords, and her companion follows. “For Salanke’s sake and nothing else.”

  “Maybe there’s hope for the Order yet,” I mutter as I drag Salanke’s unconscious body into the hallway. She’s heavier than she looks, this former trainer of mine. That’s because her small body is muscular and powerful.

  I glance to my left.

  The wide, cavernous passageway is lit by flickering torches in sconces. A stone channel runs along the opposite wall, carrying fast-flowing water that’s draining away from the top of the mountain. A rat scurries down the shallow drain, disappearing into the shadows.

  What a cursed, depressing place. I think this is the place they locked me in, once before. Was Andoku here back then too? Why didn’t he speak to me then?

  Some distance down the hall, I catch sight of a massive stone door that’s identical to the one on my cell. In the center is a small sliding hatch that’s used to deliver food or whatever else a prisoner might need in such solitary confinement.

  A great iron bolt inscribed with the image of a dragon seals the door shu
t. It can only be opened from the outside.

  I drag Salanke across to Andoku’s entrance and slide the bolt across. It slides easily in its housing, like liquid; an impressive feat of engineering.

  These cells weren’t made by any recent technology. This kind of thing… this finely crafted ironwork; perhaps it existed thousands of winters ago, but not anymore.

  Adjusting Salanke’s weight so she rests more comfortably in my arms, I pull her inside, using the scant flickering light from the corridor to guide me.

  At first, I see nothing but bare stone walls and a cold black floor. It smells dry and musty in here, like an ancient tomb that’s been undisturbed for eons.

  There’s nothing here.

  Are you sure about that, boy?

  I look again.

  And again.

  What in Lok’s cold hells is that?

  It takes a while for my brain to register what my eyes are seeing.

  Against the far wall is a man… or what was once a man. Right now, that person—thing—is a grey, shriveled, mummified corpse. Thick iron shackles bind him against the wall. His arms are outstretched and his legs are held straight and together, turning him into a desiccated human T.

  Where the eyes should be, there are just hollow, shriveled sockets. His skin is thin and dry like parchment, stretched taut against his bones. In places, it has worn away, exposing bits of bone and even an elongated fang.

  Well, not human, then.

  “Is that really you, Andoku, or are you just a figment of my imagination?” I try to keep the shock out of my voice. Am I going insane? This is the thing that’s speaking to me inside my head? Perhaps it’s just a corpse, imprisoned a long time ago and forgotten by his captors, left to decay and mummify in the freezing cold. Perhaps I’m truly mad.

  Don’t mock me right now, young prince. There are extenuating circumstances. I’m usually much better looking than this.