Page 12 of Dark as the Cursed Abyss

“Gods dammit, Farah, calm down and just put the ring on.” Why was the southern princess so unbelievably difficult?

“You must understand, little wolf, that I am not particularly inclined to accept jewelry from others considering what I’ve seen my father and his pet of a Voreian king do.”

Ah, yes, the gold shackles and bracelets and other accessories that stunted the Grechi’s power. Apparently they worked on sorcerers as well by the sweat beading between Farah’s brows.

“This is a metal found only on Nexos and I assure you it has no power other than beauty residing in it. See—tiny sapphires and diamonds, that is all.” She held the intricate piece up to Farah’s eyeline.

“I do not trust any sort of wear that comes from the hands of those who are not mortal. Sorry, little wolf. Maybe another time.” She shooed Chloe’s hands away and made to step around her, but Chloe latched her grip around the princess’s arm.

“Do you trust me?” Her voice cracked slightly on the words, shaking as erratically as her hand that held the ring.

Farah’s eyes narrowed and her lips curled up in a snarl. “I am not sure that I do.”

Fair. Their relationship—if you could call it that—was tumultuous at best and spiteful at worst. But this was not about the two of them. This was about Avra.

“Do you trust me more than my aunt?” Chloe asked, breathless.

For a long moment, too long of a moment at that, Farah stood staring at her. The southern princess’s eyes roamed her face in assessment, trailing down to her lips then back up to her eyes. “I suppose.”

“Then wear the stupid ring, katáskopos.”

Snatching the ring from Chloe’s hand, Farah let out a huff. “Fine, but I am giving it back as soon as we are done with this meeting.” She slid the piece on her right ring finger before stomping away, muttering something Chloe could not discern.

“Unfortunately, Princess, that ring might never come off,” the wolf whispered to the wind circling around her.

Avra wouldn’t let it.

Ever.

Chapter Nine

Chloe

Auric walls peppered with rubies and diamonds stretched up as far as the eye could see. A hum surrounded Chloe, leading her to the center of Avra’s castle. No guard had been at the entrance to greet them and take them to the great hall—in fact she had not seen a single patron of this court since the young man who met them at the docks.

With each step her crew took further into the maze of windowless corridors and past darkened alcoves, Chloe knew with more certainty they were walking into a trap. The only benefit of not meeting anyone at the entrance was that the five ambassadors from the crew, Farah, Kirke, one of the captain’s men, Iris, and herself, were still armed. And if guards eventually appeared and tried to strip them of those weapons, there were things lurking inside each of them more vicious than any blade.

As they waded further into the unknown, the castle itself narrowed and widened, stopping them from going down certain paths, while pushing them toward one that was particularly unlit. Chloe’s eyes dilated, adjusting to the darkness. Behind her, Farah snapped her fingers, lighting a low flame, giving off an eerie glow. The hum of the castle grew louder, a threatening thump, thump, thump until Farah swiped her fingers once more and darkness fell upon them again.

Then the sound stopped. The walls straightened out, and candelabras bloomed to life, emanating a sanguine tone over two gargantuan iron-wrought doors before them. The doors were debossed with depictions of war. Ancient titans ran toward cowering civilians. Gods soared above, sending down weapons and storms, pillaging lands and causing a river of blood—decorated by crimson rubies no less—to flow directly into the earth.

It was beautiful, in the most nausea inducing sort of way.

A piercing wail echoed past them as the doors creaked open. Still no guards were present, but golden statues of soldiers who’d passed lined the great hall of the Hespalian Castle. They stood in wait, their traditional spears tucked in close to their chests, helmets crafted atop their heads with horse-hair that appeared life-like, despite the metallic sheen.

The statues went two rows deep and twenty down from what Chloe could count, and they all faced away from an ornate dais, turned directly toward her crew. In a glimmer of gold, it looked as if the first soldier, more ornately decorated than the others, nodded his head in a bow.

“Well, it took you long enough,” a shrill voice called from the opposing side of the great hall.

Sitting on a throne made entirely of bloodstones, sat her aunt. She looked keenly similar to Chloe’s mother, hair long and raven-like, eyes a splitting ice blue, skin as pale as the snow-capped mountains in the ranges outside these very walls. And yet, the aura that glowed from her was one of utter loathing and disgust—or perhaps she was just bloodthirsty. Avra did love her kills.

It is why they were advised to send a letter in advance of arrival. With a snap of her fingers, Avra could have them all on the floor choking on their own blood.

Or worse.

So much worse.

Avra’s muscular legs were crossed in a delicate manner for the wretch, her elbows propped on either arm of the throne, extending to where her fingers tented in front of her face.