launched myself forward, striking Taren hard across the jaw. I hit her twice more, driving her down into the mire. “How many pieces do I have to cut her in before you shut up? How many?” I yanked her up.
Taren’s head whipped around. She licked her torn lip and her red eyes glowed. “Kill the bitch if you like. But it changes nothing—nothing!” he cried out. “You
will
turn the ground red with blood again, Troy. I promise you. It’s what we are.”
Taking the dagger from my belt, I grabbed a handful of Taren’s muddy hair. I shoved the blade under her chin and ripped it across her throat. “It’s not what I am.”
SIX
T he grass crunched with my every step. It was an odd noise, out of place. It wouldn’t be in another month. Cold came early to the mountains.
Yet the black, dry condition of the woods had nothing to do with winter, or the rapidly approaching night. The bare, lifeless branches, the curled, brittle underbrush and numerous carcasses of birds and other small creatures littering the forest floor weren’t made by natural means. They were dead because of me.
I wasn’t shocked. Losing his vessel in Taren’s death had done nothing whatsoever to hold my Shinree enemy at bay. He’d seized my magic three more times before I found my way out of the swamps, and again shortly after I crossed over into Kael. Since then, as I traveled the mountain paths and moved deeper into the kingdom, his intrusions had grown farther apart.
I would have been grateful for that, except as the time between spells lengthened, the more my appetite for them grew. So far, I’d been able to resist casting on my own. But fighting the urge was getting painfully hard. When it became impossible and I couldn’t hold out anymore, I wouldn’t be able to shift the blame to my enemy. Whatever was drained, whatever died when I cast, it would be entirely on my shoulders.
It is now
, I thought soberly, looking at the death and desolation that surrounded me. The spell may not have been my doing, but it was mine. I was the reason that Kya was the only other living thing in the woods besides me.It was my fault she was wandering alongside the trail, nose to the ground, searching for something edible that wasn’t here.
I’d killed breakfast. Again.
It was her only concern, the lack of green vegetation, and I wished I could be like her. I wished that the forest that died to feed my spell meant nothing. That my stomach didn’t turn at the sight of so many tiny, desiccated bodies at my feet, at the hordes of industrious insects and worms feasting on their shriveled remains. It would be simpler if I could ride on without caring that there was a village nearby.
Because riding on meant finding out what I might have done to them.
There are children there
, I thought, imagining their little forms bent and shrunken, their skin thinned and wrinkled like fruit left too long in the sun.
If I killed children I didn’t want to know. I couldn’t live with not knowing either. I certainly couldn’t go on like I was, leaving a trail of death behind me while some rampant Shinree helped himself to my magic. I had to stop him.
How exactly, I wasn’t sure. I had nothing to go on but a vague description and a voice I didn’t know. Neither would get me even a halfway decent tracking spell. The only workable lead I had was the tavern where Taren was hired. I knew the place. I knew the kind that went there. They responded to money and fists, and I was glad to give them both if it got me answers.
It wasn’t without risk though. The Wounded Owl was in a city of thousands. If I was forced to let loose a spell while I was there, the worms would be gorging on much larger meals than squirrels and mice.
The only way it could work was if I got in and out quick, between spells. Yet, betting lives on my enemy sticking to his recent pattern didn’t sit well. Finding a way to deflect or resist him would make going into the city a little less hazardous, but
Taren’s head whipped around. She licked her torn lip and her red eyes glowed. “Kill the bitch if you like. But it changes nothing—nothing!” he cried out. “You
will
turn the ground red with blood again, Troy. I promise you. It’s what we are.”
Taking the dagger from my belt, I grabbed a handful of Taren’s muddy hair. I shoved the blade under her chin and ripped it across her throat. “It’s not what I am.”
SIX
T he grass crunched with my every step. It was an odd noise, out of place. It wouldn’t be in another month. Cold came early to the mountains.
Yet the black, dry condition of the woods had nothing to do with winter, or the rapidly approaching night. The bare, lifeless branches, the curled, brittle underbrush and numerous carcasses of birds and other small creatures littering the forest floor weren’t made by natural means. They were dead because of me.
I wasn’t shocked. Losing his vessel in Taren’s death had done nothing whatsoever to hold my Shinree enemy at bay. He’d seized my magic three more times before I found my way out of the swamps, and again shortly after I crossed over into Kael. Since then, as I traveled the mountain paths and moved deeper into the kingdom, his intrusions had grown farther apart.
I would have been grateful for that, except as the time between spells lengthened, the more my appetite for them grew. So far, I’d been able to resist casting on my own. But fighting the urge was getting painfully hard. When it became impossible and I couldn’t hold out anymore, I wouldn’t be able to shift the blame to my enemy. Whatever was drained, whatever died when I cast, it would be entirely on my shoulders.
It is now
, I thought soberly, looking at the death and desolation that surrounded me. The spell may not have been my doing, but it was mine. I was the reason that Kya was the only other living thing in the woods besides me.It was my fault she was wandering alongside the trail, nose to the ground, searching for something edible that wasn’t here.
I’d killed breakfast. Again.
It was her only concern, the lack of green vegetation, and I wished I could be like her. I wished that the forest that died to feed my spell meant nothing. That my stomach didn’t turn at the sight of so many tiny, desiccated bodies at my feet, at the hordes of industrious insects and worms feasting on their shriveled remains. It would be simpler if I could ride on without caring that there was a village nearby.
Because riding on meant finding out what I might have done to them.
There are children there
, I thought, imagining their little forms bent and shrunken, their skin thinned and wrinkled like fruit left too long in the sun.
If I killed children I didn’t want to know. I couldn’t live with not knowing either. I certainly couldn’t go on like I was, leaving a trail of death behind me while some rampant Shinree helped himself to my magic. I had to stop him.
How exactly, I wasn’t sure. I had nothing to go on but a vague description and a voice I didn’t know. Neither would get me even a halfway decent tracking spell. The only workable lead I had was the tavern where Taren was hired. I knew the place. I knew the kind that went there. They responded to money and fists, and I was glad to give them both if it got me answers.
It wasn’t without risk though. The Wounded Owl was in a city of thousands. If I was forced to let loose a spell while I was there, the worms would be gorging on much larger meals than squirrels and mice.
The only way it could work was if I got in and out quick, between spells. Yet, betting lives on my enemy sticking to his recent pattern didn’t sit well. Finding a way to deflect or resist him would make going into the city a little less hazardous, but
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