Soul of the Crow: An Epic Dark Fantasy (Reapers of Veltuur Book 1), стр. 21
I dash to my sister, and with one swoop, I take her into my arms, and we race out of the room.
Run
Sinisa
As the prince charges into me, I curse under my breath. I collapse to the cold, polished floor and expect his lifeless body to follow. I just hope the Council doesn’t blame me for his brashness. What did he expect but death when touching a Reaper? It is why we aren’t allowed to live in the realm of the living, why we are forbidden any contact with the living outside of the assignments Veltuur provides us, and why it is heavily advised not to eat anything other than butchered meat or baked breads—no one likes taking a bite of a deliciously red apple just to have it decay on their tongue.
Everyone knows this about us, even the mortals, so this guy either has a death wish or he is an utter idiot who’s going to get me in trouble.
But, when I feel his limbs flailing against mine, our boots thudding against each other’s as he crawls to his feet, I’m so entirely surprised that I’m rendered frozen. This boy touched me and yet he still lives.
Once the prince is upright, he makes a mad dash for the girl, leaving me blinking dumbly up at them both, analyzing, reviewing the chain of events in my mind. It’s then that I notice the regal fabrics bundled on his shoulder and realize that, although he did barrel into me, I can’t say for certain that our skin actually touched. I guess it must not have since he’s still breathing.
Still, it’s more contact with a human than I’ve ever had, at least with one I was killing.
Caw! Caw!
I scowl at Crow flapping its wings madly in the air as it swoops down beside me, nailing me in the eyes with each frantic flutter of feathers. Recovering from my stupor, I swat at it with one hand as I push myself off the ground with the other.
The king is pacing, mumbling something to himself that I can’t hear. When he sees me, he stops, his face beating as red as blood.
He charges me, a finger outstretched like a spear meant to jab me in the chest. “This is a disaster. Now look what you’ve done! I thought you were a professional.”
When I raise an eyebrow, he stops, cowering a few paces back.
“You have to fix this,” he says.
The statement is so unnecessary that I scoff. Of course, I’ll fix this. A Reaper cannot, under any circumstances, break a contract, unless they are eager to face punishment from the Council. And I am not. Punishment is always either one of two things: to be tortured by the Wraiths, soulless, mindless demons that feeds on torment, or to became a Wraith themselves, never again allowed to leave the bowels of Veltuur, and certainly never permitted ascension as a Shade.
No thank you.
I’ve worked too hard to get where I am, and I’m not about to let some bratty prince and his sister stop me from becoming a Shade.
“If you can’t,” the king continues, taking my silence as an omission. “Then, I will demand a new Reaper.”
“You will not,” I sneer, trying but failing to conceal my annoyance. “I am your Reaper, and I will complete the contract just as I have completed all four thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine before.”
I leap from the floor and give chase.
But when I round the corner, headed down the hallway the prince has just fled, I find it long and empty.
In the distance, I can see the courtyard it leads into, and the people that have flocked to it, but none of them are disturbed. They meander about their day like most people do, smiling politely at one another, strolling down the pathways without a care in the world. They don’t look like how people look when someone desperate and frantic has just run by them.
Which means, the prince never left this corridor.
My steps slow so I can examine the hallway. It’s only then that I notice I’m back in front of the garden that called me before. It’s silent now, but I’m still tempted to see what’s inside it, to figure out what was calling me.
Crow’s squawking draws my attention down the hallway though. Hopping on the floor, it seems to be pointing at a particularly large painting that stretches from floor to ceiling. As I make my way over to it, it is easier to tell that the shadow behind it is more than just a shadow, but a breezeway, hastily concealed.
I slide the opening farther ajar, Crow swooping just over my head, and we plunge into darkness.
Inside the hidden passage, the space narrows and dips. It feels like the walls are collapsing in on me and I can’t help but struggle against them. I’m used to the open spaces of Veltuur, not the confinement of being buried beneath stone. The deeper I descend, the thicker the air becomes, reeking of dampness. Every breath I draw is strained, my lungs wanting to mimic the walls closing in on me, but with each new breath I draw, I will them open.
I focus instead on Crow’s cawing as it guides us beneath the palace and through the jagged rocks.
Then I feel the faint tug at my chest. With a sigh of relief, I recognize the soul is calling to me again. I can feel it, and it’s getting stronger, which means we’re getting closer.
Just a little farther now.
I push forward, the stone scraping against my shoulders and the top of my head. For