Page 58 of Brine and Bone
Not the fear of the unknown, that nebulous dread that had haunted her throughout her transformation, when Nyxarion could not speak to her. When he couldn't explain. Neither was it the horror of drowning, the revulsion of enslavement.
Not war, or injury, or death.
This was fury.
Female wrath.
White-hot.
Ancient.
Rising inside her, fed by the fumes of generational suffering that crossed species boundaries and knew nothing of petty political posturing.
And when her lips parted, it was Nerissa's voice that escaped her throat. "Enough."
Threnakar's king jerked. Shocked. As if appalled that she would dare open her lips and speak to him, for when he turned ancient, molten eyes upon her, it was laced with an incredulous glare. His gaze swept over her, twisted with open disgust.
But Kore was far from done.
She stepped clear of Nyxarion's grip.
Setting her feet to the coral floor of the throne room, she took a deliberate step toward Nyxarion's father. Webbed toes spreading against the hard coral that defined Vorynthar's seat of power. Standing where no other couldeverstand, for Pelagorn couldn't.
Letting him look.
See all that she was, even as her hands settled over the gentle swell of her belly. Protective. Cradling the modest bulge where his grandchild grew.
There was a moment, as his gaze traced her limbs with a curl in his lip. An instant of stillness.
Profound quiet.
Before a tempest lit the Deep.
Vorynthar touched her skin, and the heretical reef ignited.
Strobing with a blinding display of color, the Raskoril blazed withherfire. Vorynthar's divine flame.
Beneath his enormous, serpentine body, the throne itself pulsed beneath the Abyssari king. Around him. The pedestal that had once been her cage now smoldered with the memory of her. Turning Abyssari blue into something radiant.
Breathtaking.
An answer to her spirit.
And Kore stood fast in the center. Incandescent. Resplendent, both hands secured around a belly growing ripe with the future. One she hadn't wanted, but craved with all her might.
"Howdareyou," she whispered in that strange, dual-tone of hers. "You speak to him this way? Here? In his city. Inourthrone room?"
The old king went very still before he laughed. It was a brittle thing. Barbed, but not quite sharp enough to cut. Gills flaring,his filaments pulsing crimson, he leaned forward, watching her with something akin to contempt.
And then, "Yourthrone room?" he asked, tilting his head to peer down at her. "A human broodmare presumes ownership of Abyssari territory? Presumes tocommandme?" Tail flexing, the massive coils scraped against the seabed. "You are a vessel, girl. A womb with legs. The only value you possess grows inside you. It will be harvested before you might infect it further." He leaned closer still. "Claimed in the name of Threnakar."
It was the wrong thing to say.
Entirely.
Utterly.
Hands balling into fists, Kore's knuckles went white before they crackled with violet light.
