Page 1 of A Rose Among Snakes (Gardens of Ruin and Revival)
Prologue
T he door swung open with a rattling creak and slammed against the wall, jarring the prisoner awake. A man dressed head to toe in black stormed in, a hood pulled tight over his face shielding his identity. The disguise was not for the prisoner, though. Stomach sinking, he recognized the visitor the second he opened his eyes, even in the dimly lit room. The guard assigned to keep watch over him stood in the corner, sinking into the shadows with arms folded across his chest. The hooded man stopped directly in front of the cell bars.
“Key,” he demanded of the guard, sticking out his hand.
The guard shuffled across the wooden floor and fumbled through a set of keys attached to his belt. The hooded man tapped his toe but kept his attention on the prisoner. Once the correct key was located the guard placed it in the hooded man’s open palm, then retreated to the shadows.
He turned the key slowly in the lock, the gears grating as they rotated. The door opened with a rusty, metallic shriek as the hooded man entered the cell. Swallowing his fear, the prisoner got to his feet and stood tall, glaring at the face he despised still concealed by the hood. Without warning, the hooded man’s fist collided with the prisoner’s jaw, sending him sprawling on his backside. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the stars from his vision, only to be met with another blow, this time a crushing kick to his windpipe.
Flat on his back and gasping for breath, the prisoner was unable to fight back when the hooded man grabbed him by his shirt and threw him into the wall. He lay slumped in the corner, disoriented and stunned, but he still recognized the metallic ring of a short sword being unsheathed. He turned his head to face the hooded man and could only watch as a flash of moonlight glinted off the blade as it sliced through the stagnant air. The guard in the corner gasped and stepped forward, eyes wide with horror, his hands limp at his sides.
The hooded man shoved his sword in so swiftly the prisoner didn’t have time to prepare. Searing, agonizing pain radiated from the wound, heat and ice spasming through his veins. Impulse had his lips forming a plea, but pride kept the word from escaping. Still holding the handle, the hooded man knelt and grabbed the prisoner by his hair, bringing their faces close together.
“This is what traitors get,” he hissed, spit flying from his lips and landing on the prisoner’s cheek as he pushed his hood back. The prisoner stared into merciless black eyes as he slipped into oblivion, his last thoughts of his family and all the ways he’d failed to protect them.