Page 51 of Crowned In Venom
51
VARKOS
T he tunnels are dark and narrow, the cloying smell ofdamp earth and old magic pressing against my lungs. My boots echo against the stone, each step too loud in the silence.
Anya is still in my arms, her weight unfamiliar—not a burden, never that—but a reminder. Of what I almost lost.
She does not stir.
Not when the tunnel shifts around us, the walls lined with glowing runes, flickering weakly like dying embers. Not when the Ghost walks ahead, his pace unhurried, as if he is taking us somewhere familiar.
And certainly not when my chest tightens at the realization that I am following him blindly, because I have no other choice.
"Where are we going?" I demand, my voice low, sharp.
"To a friend."
A friend.
The word is bitter in my mouth.
"I don’t have friends."
The Ghost chuckles under his breath. "No, you don’t. But this one has hated the Matriarch long before you ever did. That’s enough."
I don’t like this.
I don’t like walking into something unprepared, exposed.
Especially with Anya unconscious, vulnerable.
The tunnel slants downward before opening into a wide chamber. Flickering torches line the walls, the scent of incense curling through the stale air.
At the center of the room, a figure waits.
Tall. Wrapped in deep red robes, dark steel visible beneath the folds of expensive fabric. Eyes like molten gold, flickering with intelligence and cruelty.
And a smile that does not reach his eyes.
"Varkos," the dark elf drawls. "I have been waiting."
I stiffen.
I know him.
Or rather, I know his reputation.
Lord Kareth. A warlord, a noble, a monster in his own right.
The Matriarch tried to have him executed once, but he slipped through her grasp. He has spent years gathering strength in the shadows, waiting.
I had not expected him.
"Kareth." I keep my voice measured. Unreadable. "I wasn’t aware you were still breathing."
His chuckle is smooth, amused. "You wound me, Lord Varkos. But you should know by now—I am not so easily killed."
His gaze flickers to Anya.
I shift slightly, my grip tightening around her.
He notices.
"Interesting."
I don’t rise to the bait.
"The Ghost said you would offer sanctuary." I don’t waste time. "Are we wasting words or getting to business?"
Kareth smirks.
"Always so impatient. But then again, you are in no position to make demands."
He steps closer, and I do not move.
I do not flinch.
I do not let him see the exhaustion dragging at my bones, the ache in my limbs, the way my body screams at me to fall apart.
"You need me," Kareth says, voice lazy, but sharp. "You need a safe place for… her."
His eyes flick to Anya again, lingering.
My rage coils, slow and deadly.
"Say her name," I murmur.
Kareth’s golden eyes gleam. "No."
A test.
A game.
And I am too tired for it.
But I cannot afford to lose.
I exhale slowly. "You want something."
Kareth’s smile widens.
"You’re not as slow as the Matriarch thinks you are."
I grind my teeth. "State your terms."
Kareth steps closer, his presence imposing, but I do not step back.
"I want the Matriarch dead," he says simply.
I almost laugh.
"You think I don’t?"
"Oh, I know you do. But I don’t just want her empire to crumble. I want her annihilated."
His voice is hunger and blood and war.
"When you strike," Kareth continues, "I want to be at your side. I want to watch her bleed. And I want a piece of the ruin."
Of course.
No one does anything for free.
"What piece?" I ask.
Kareth’s smile turns sharp.
"Half."
I bark out a laugh. "You think I’m desperate enough to hand you half?"
He shrugs. "You have no empire left to give."
He’s right.
But I won’t show it.
"A quarter," I counter.
Kareth tilts his head. Considering.
"A third."
"A fifth," I bite back.
"A fourth, or you find another ally."
I hold his gaze.
It’s not ideal.
But I don’t have time to bargain longer.
And I need him.
"Fine."
Kareth grins, victorious.
"Then we have a deal."