Page 51 of Dance of Kings and Thieves

Once she was safely out of the longhouse, I soaked my body in darkness. Fear grew with each breath. My fear. I held firmly to the helplessness of watching Malin fall to the ground. Shadows filled my eyes. Doubtless they were darker than the coldest nights during the frosts.

“Nightrender.” Valen stopped me. The king held out one of his battle axes. “Use it well.”

The weight of the axe added a heady violence to my hate. It was perfect.

Edvard glared up at me, slowly scooting away on his backside.

Combined with fear and rage, I was practically giddy to feel the cut of the axe through flesh and bone.

“You think you can harm my wife and live?” I didn’t give him time to consider what I’d said before I kicked my boot deep into his ribs. The crack of bone was a bleeding lullaby.

He groaned and rolled onto one shoulder. I stomped on his gut.

“You think you can touch her,” I snarled through his whimpers, “and I’d simply slit your throat?”

A kick to his spine, his head.

I used the point of the axe to dig into his shoulder. Edvard cried out as the steel slashed through his skin. With a tug, I forced him to roll onto his back.

One knee pressing onto his breastbone, I leaned forward until our noses almost touched. “You will feel every one of your deepest fears tonight. You will beg me to send you to the Otherworld. Only when I am bored with shredding you to pieces, will I let you die.”

His chin quivered, but he said nothing. He didn’t need to. Dozens of horrid images filtered through my mind as his fears soaked into my mesmer.

Every way he feared to die would be granted to him. Fingers sliced off, knuckle by knuckle. Shallow gashes across his whole body, left to burn and rage in pain. As a skydguard, he had a vivid, violent imagination.

All the better.

“Come.” Valen’s voice carried over the longhouse. From the corner of my eye, I watched the king take Elise’s hand and lead the others to the door. “Let us give the Nightrender his time.”

Hob met my eye as he strode for the door. A quick dip of his chin followed, as if to tell me the kill was now mine to take.

Alone, I sneered down at Edvard. No words needed to be spoken as I took the first step toward his downfall. One swift swing of the axe landed above the joint of one elbow. He roared his agony as the limb severed.

I wiped the curve of the axe against his cheek, watching the river of fresh blood drip over his jaw and onto his sweaty tunic. An ugly puce color stained his skin when I pressed my boot against the bob of his swallow, choking off his air.

“That was practice.” Head tilted, my lips curved in what I knew was a bit of a mad smile. “Now, we’ll begin.”

* * *

My body achedwhen I stepped out of the longhouse. I blinked and hot blood dripped off my lashes. All my mesmer was spent at least a clock toll ago. By then, fear had already taken Edvard Vill’s mind.

I’d cling to the memories of his screams. The way he pleaded with me to end him over and over again. His final fate was delivered by the axe.

Soaked in sweat, blood, and more than one fleck of bone, I stepped out into the flickering light of torches and campfires. This land belonged to us now.

In one hand, I carried a canvas sack. Thick drops of blood spilled from the bottom seam as I walked. Gripped in my other hand was a skydguard short blade. The mark of Edvard’s rank was etched in a rune poem meant for men of honor and prestige.

Gasps and cries drew my attention to a huddle of people in one of the goat pens. The serfs and people who occupied the farm had been gathered and shoved into the pen. They’d remain there for now. We did not know who would run away screaming to the Black Palace.

Oskar had been returned to his wife and children. His eyes went wide when he caught my gaze and his woman sobbed against his chest.

Lynx and Isak guarded the front gate, but I must’ve appeared frightening enough that even Isak lifted a brow.

“I’ve come to deliver your master.” I stepped up to the gate, staring at the frightened people. My body trembled from the exertion, but I hid it well. I would not think to rest until I had eyes on Malin.

Oskar’s wife pulled her little boy into her breast, shielding his face from me.

Wise of her. I was not in the business of scarring littles with nightmares, but tonight I didn’t spare the boy a thought as I stabbed the point of the blade into the soft earth. With one hand I dug into the sack.