Page 58 of The Crimson Throne
And the worldunravels.
The room is full of swirls of…something. Blue and red and vibrant orange. They build and heave and flow out of Alyth, funneling toward the fire, wrapping around me. They’re translucent enough that I can see through them, can make out Alyth as the center of this chaos of color.
But—it’s those cats.
They’re not cats anymore.
They’re three little creatures. Roughly the same size as a cat but half-wild snarling things, not mousers like they looked just a moment ago. Fine, downy fur blends in with their scraggly hair, and their eyes are all black, staring at me, narrowed in rage. They stand on two legs and wear simple clothes, linen, I think, stained with soot.
And they’re armed with more normal objects. A fire poker, the tip red and burning. A small dagger. And the third one clutches something in both fists, arms cocked as if ready to hurtle whatever it’s holding.
My brain goes to blizzard whiteness. Utter, stupefied shock.
Then I’m grabbing Alyth, her knife be damned—it digs into my neck again, wells up blood—and I throw her behind me.
The three strange little beings close in around us, and I’ve no bloody idea what in the hellis happening.
“Got another knife?” I ask Alyth, one hand holding her behind me, the other out in front in protection. “Other weapons? Or something—I don’t—”
Alyth is very still behind me. She’s not reacting to my movement; in fact, she’s lowered the knife from my neck. I feel a trickle of blood running down.
“Lady Alyth?” one of the creatures says. “Can we kill him now?”
They can talk?
They…they know her?
And—
Kill me?
My head throbs. The swirling strands of thin colors pulsate around me still, the fire high and hot; my body breaks out in sweat. I’m breathing too hard, each inhalation rough.
I’ve fully gone stark raving.
“Lady Alyth,” the creature says again. “I think he can see us through the glamour. That’s not so good, is it?”
Prickles of awareness race across my skin. Not the pleasant kind, not the ones I’ve started to expect from feeling Alyth’s focus on me. These are something burrowed deeper, something telling me I’m in danger, I gotta run.
Slowly, I turn to face Alyth.
Whose eyes are saucer wide. Her mouth opens in horror, face gone pale. The knife in her hand seems forgotten, as does the necklace in the other.
“You,” she whispers, her eyes running over me, head to toe and back again, seeing, seeing things I can’t guess at. “You’re a—”
Then I’m flying through the air.
It takes my body and brain long seconds to connect I’ve been thrown at the wall, the harsh, jarring impact of my shoulder blades against the stone making me cry out. A force loops around my neck and tugs, slamming my head back, and I scrabble at it, but there’s nothing to grab. I’m being choked, held an arm’s length off the ground by nothing.
The little creatures are focused on me, faces set in terrifying scowls. The invisible force tightens, and chills of true, deep fear counter the sweltering heat of the fire as I claw more desperately at my neck, still uselessly.
Black spots prickle the edges of my vision. From lack of oxygen?
Or from my curse, rising in defense against this threat?
Fear becomes something bigger. Something consuming. I don’t want to black out here. Whatever Alyth’s on about, I don’t want to hurt her.
And that desire, to not black out and hurt her, to not let her see me in a rage, seems enough to press back against the swell of darkness. For now.
