In truth, even death bores me lately.
Hunting draygonets, the brainless bloodsuckers who’ve slaughtered countless forest-dwelling moss elves this past year, was once my main source of pleasure. Now it’s wearisome and tedious. Always my arrow strikes true and blood drips fast, but the satisfaction of the kill is fleeting.
What else can I complain about?
I’ve had my fill of sleeping rough, bland meals of weeds and mushrooms, and the monotony of my own dark musings. So, what now?
I’m the thirteenth Black Blood prince, heir to the Land of Five, and I’d rather be buried under the mountain than sit upon its throne.
As I pull Jinn to a halt, I think of home, the feasts and revelries of the Emerald Castle—all wicked, lavish, decadent—and so thoroughly, mind-meltingly boring.
While Jinn stamps the ground impatiently, I stare at the grass and contemplate my future. Each dreary hour will roll into an endless age in the kingdom I pray to Dana will never be mine.
The throne I plan to shun.
The court I wish to abandon.
The care I no longer have for… well… for anything.
But I wasn’t always this way, full of bitterness and hate. Once, the sun shone in my kingdom, and I ran wild and carefree with my brothers. Now the eldest, Rain, is dead, and I’m the current Black Blood heir, marked for the exact same fate. Unless, of course, I find my queen, stop the poison, wear the crown. And let the air mage win.
That will never, ever happen. My plan, instead, is to wring her slender, treacherous neck. Slowly.
I think of Mother, and of the girl she wants me to find. The king she wants me to become.
My head flicks up as frenzied barks resound from the gully, near the creek most likely, because Balor is a fool for water.
Damn the dog to the withered dryads; what foul beast has he captured now?
I may as well take a look because whatever he’s found will be a diversion from my current thoughts, unpleasant images of Mother’s face when she learns I’ve been hunting draygonets instead of my future bride.
I snap the reins in the air, and Jinn shifts into a trot.
Plunging into the woods, I track the sound of Balor’s vicious growls, my skin buzzing. He probably has his prey by the throat, which means when I arrive, he’ll be shivering with joy and irritatingly pleased with himself.
And I shall remain bored.
Bored of everything.
Mist gathers on my hooded cloak as we pause on the hilltop, surveying the land’s gentle decline down to the stream. Other than Balor’s soft snarls, a suspended tension fills the air. The birds wait. The bakru, fauns, and elves, too. All of them bide in silence—the trees and even the leaves.
Shhh. The Black Blood prince comes. Do not peep a sound, for it may be the last one you make. Shhh. Shhh.
Paying the whispers no mind, I dismount and stroke Jinn’s neck. “Wait here. I won’t be long.”
Balor hears my boots crunch over leaves and fallen branches, and his snarls turn into excited yelps. I emerge through scrubby brush at the water’s edge, jerking to a stop when I see the dark shape he’s looming over.
Draped on moss-covered rocks, a small hand dangling in the water, is a very odd creature indeed. Obviously, it’s some kind of unconscious water sprite. Perhaps a merrow. Or a dribble-hag. No, its arms are too short. More likely a troll, then, which warrants closer inspection.
“Balor, back.”
The dog whines as he scuttles up the hill, eyes fixed on the sleeping lump of troll.
“Well done,” I say, conceding the compliment he’s been waiting for. “Indeed, you are the kingdom’s finest hunter, if not the most undisciplined.”
As my palm rubs my sword pommel, dark magic infuses the air, curling around my calves like a hungry cat. I breathe deeply, tasting the flavor, unfamiliar and strong. No way that’s a fallen troll sleeping in the creek—their magic is next to useless.
With each step I take toward the sodden heap, pain radiates from the tattoo in the center of my chest, the symbol of air, burning and no doubt glowing brightly beneath my clothes.
I crouch in front of the troll and examine it.
Its face is lodged in a crevice between rocks, the small body and unusual costume partly buried in mud and leaves. I wonder how long it’s lain there? Not a great amount of time, I assume, because the water-dwellers haven’t started to dine on it.
The creature groans. Grimaces. Then lifts a hand to rub through its long matted hair, the color of watery blood. My boot tapping impatiently, I watch closely as it rolls over and reveals itself.
Dana be damned. What is this extraordinary thing?
A coarsely woven tunic of dark lavender clings to curves, confirming the creature is female. Huh. It looks like an uncommon variety of goblin. A sour flavor tingles my tongue.
How tiresome. But in case it’s breeding, it must be presented to the queen—my mother and her stupid rules—and the court will decide what to do with it—what to do with her. It is ugly, so they’ll probably kill it or enter it into bonded labor.
Dirty eyelids flicker and uncover dull-green irises as plain and bland as the rest of it. If the thing screams, I might just kill it myself.
Its mouth opens, head raising an inch off the rock.
My fists clench, knuckles cracking, and black fury clouds my mind. I sneer down at it—at her—thunder shaking the sky. “Hello, goblin girl. So, tell me, from which tree stump did you crawl out?”
Chapter 3
NEVER MIND
Lara
“What?” I mutter as I crack my eyelids open.
The pain in my head feels like a thousand tiny knives stabbing my brain. I’m cold, and something sharp digs into my back. It sure doesn’t feel like my bed’s comfortable mattress.
I lift my head, and the knives pierce deeper. Damn. The headache I had yesterday has only gotten worse, and I don't even remember arriving home after my shift at the diner last night.
Knowing my luck, I’ve been hit by a car, and I’m currently lying in a sterile hospital bed. But instead of machines beeping and nurses talking, there’s a tinkling sound, like running water.
So, where am I?
I squint hard and my surroundings slowly come into focus. What I see shocks my heart into cartwheels.
Immediately in front of me looms a large shadow and, behind it, bright rays of pewter-colored light stream down from the heavens like a Renaissance painting. I blink, trying to work out the details of… hang on, wait a second.
How in the world can I be outside in broad daylight?
The last thing I remember was meeting those freaky bachelorette girls after work, the church bells tolling, a white-haired girl shining. That was midnight. So now what time is it? Heck, what day is it?
I stare down at the moss-covered rock I’m splayed over while my brain scrambles to solve the puzzle of how I got here—wherever in the world here is.
“I’ll ask once more,” says a voice made of nightmares, the deep rumble confirming the shadow is in fact a man. Back-lit by a silvery sun, all I can make out of his appearance is a halo of shimmering hair. “Which tree stump did you crawl out from, grubby wood varmint?”
“What?”
“You are fortunate we speak the same language, little worm.”
Little worm? Who says things like that?