Soul of the Crow: An Epic Dark Fantasy (Reapers of Veltuur Book 1), стр. 24
Dare I hold hope that the empty throne among the seven above me contains my future.
I turn to him then. My patience is wearing thin; I just want this to end. I don’t want any special treatment, just to serve my time, and be done with it. But the way he holds my eyes tells me I won’t get out of this without telling him everything first.
Making sure my groan is audible from their high seats above, I throw my hands onto my hips. “Crow and I arrived at the palace, and it was the opposite of helpful once we got there. It took me awhile to figure out where we needed to go, but once we found the throne room, we greeted the king, who introduced us to his son—”
Caw! Caw!
“Please,” Leumas purrs. “Don’t leave out any details. Your crow says that the introduction to the prince was not the king’s intent.”
I cock my head, remembering. The blow to my skull might’ve done more damage than I thought because the details are still foggy though, even to me.
“It wasn’t,” I say slowly, recalling everything piece by piece. “I don’t think. The prince was spying on us—or hiding or something. But the king saw him and forced him out of the shadows for an introduction. The sister—my target—stepped out with him.”
“Your target was in the same room as you, and you still let it get away? A mere mortal child, for that matter,” spits Nymane.
The two blubbery Councilspirits on either side of her, Pillox and Bhascht, nod, their podgy bodies rippling in agreement. Though they are both large, they are each a different kind of plump. Bhascht looks as if he might’ve spent years floating in Kallinei Swamp. His bloated skin is a muted green, and his eyes are so swollen that they are permanently closed. Pillox, on the other hand, is more drooping than bloated. His flaccid skin makes him appear as if the candles surrounding him are melting him to a vat of lard.
The only Councilspirit who hasn’t spoken or moved is Wex. I know little about them, as they mostly keep to themself, but they remind me of someone who spent the entire stretch of history abusing opium in the dark shelter of a cave. Their skin is so pale, it’s translucent, the blue veins bulging every so often as they work tirelessly to pump blood through the Councilspirit’s decrepit body.
“And then,” Leumas says, urging me to continue.
I’m about to tell him I’d rather skip over the humiliating details of chasing after someone with no tactical or strategic skills and losing someone who hadn’t even earned their third speech rune yet, when I remember what it was that brought the sister out of hiding.
“The prince mentioned wanting the help of Guardians.”
A collective gasp hisses from every member of the Council, except for Wex—whose black eyes become shiftier—and Leumas, who darts his attention briefly to the empty throne.
Clearly, I’ve given him what he was looking for, even if I have no idea what it means. I don’t know what is so important about Guardians. I’m not even sure I’ve heard the name before today.
“That’s impossible,” Nymane screeches, her porcelain exterior cracking into more spiderweb fissures. “The Guardians have been dead for centuries.”
“We killed them ourselves,” Bhascht adds, his bulbous lips quivering.
“Perhaps we missed a few,” Leumas says with an air authority, like the answer doesn’t surprise him at all. “Perhaps some of them went into hiding before we could reach them.”
It is the first time that I realize Leumas already knew this information. This entire time, he’s been fishing for it, trying to get me to say it in front of the rest of the Council. As soon as the thought enters my mind though, I’m shaking it away. There’s no way he could’ve known. The only people in the room when the prince mentioned the Guardians were the king, the princess, me, and the prince. And Crow.
A chill licks my spine. Leumas’ watchful eye suddenly feels much closer than I ever knew.
“You can’t think that. We were thorough,” Nymane squawks. She looks back to me. “What else was said about the Guardians?”
“I—nothing,” I say, more confused than ever. Not only do I not know what a Guardian is, the sudden interest of the Council makes me uneasy, compounding the caution growing inside me for my relationship with Leumas. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt unsafe in Veltuur, in my home. “The king brushed it off like it was nonsense.”
Nymane crosses her arms, shimmying herself deeper into her throne. “That’s because it is nonsense.”
“But if they have come back,” Wex begins, and the room falls silent. Their voice is like the chill of wind, blowing over everyone with a shiver. It is rare they ever speak, but when they do, the Council listens. “It is imperative we find them.”
Leumas is nodding, his eyes closed. There is the tiniest hint of a smile tickling the corners of his mouth, but it disappears when he opens his eyes and takes me in.
“Reaper Sinisa, the Council thanks you for this pertinent information. We have heard your case and will determine a verdict fitting of the offense.”
Bowing my head, I stare at my toes, waiting for the claws of the Wraiths to snag me through the stone floor and into the abyss below. I am ready. I can do this. Thirty years in darkness should go by in a blink for an immortal. Right?
The Council turns to one another to talk among themselves above me. Despite my best straining, I am unable to