![]() ![]() "Not just one of the fae, Soraya interrupts angrily. Perhaps that's why he likes his bleached skulls so much? My father's ghostly pallor would not go well with the simple black velvet doublet I wear. After all, it's why I was created a half-fae, half-wraith creature that can pass as either, though my features throw more toward my mother's people than my father's. It wouldn't be the first time I slipped among the lighter courts. Of the long-lived races, they're the only ones who've been around that long-and survived. You want me to steal from one of the fae. A single failure means we will never get such a chance again. I've spent three thousand years waiting for this chance, and I will not see it slip through my fingers. She must still be smarting from that failed assassination attempt last month. While Soraya can stop a man's heart with a single smile, I can pluck the last coin from a miser's purse while he's watching it. There's no love lost between my sister and me, but she has her gifts. I can do it, Father, Soraya says, looking up from her kneeling position. I see no need to delay further on pleasantries. Once upon a time, we were reflections in a mirror, but Soraya no longer has an interest in being the other half of me.Īnd for some reason, she didn't want Father's messenger to reach me. Black silk flows from her shoulders and her shining black hair is woven into a dozen braids as she keeps her head bowed. I pause below the dais, next to the kneeling supplicant already waiting there. Forgive me for not anticipating your desire to see me. Especially the one in the center, where a tendril of glowing white light senses my presence and reaches out to press itself against the glass. You sent for me, Father? I ask, trying to stop my gaze from sliding to those glowing glass vials. Subtle, he is not.Īnd capturing his attention is never wise. ![]() Wisps of insubstantial light fill them, an almost hypnotic glow. A pale wolf pelt rests over his bare shoulders, a golden chain around his throat dripping with tiny glass vials. The creature that holds my fate in his clawed hands.Ī crown carved from a troll's skull rests on his long, raven-black hair, and those bottomless eyes lock on me with an eerie intensity. Raesh Ghul, the Wraith King Beyond the Shadowfangs. I briefly consider telling him the flickering sconces and smattering of winter-scoured skulls are precisely why the gilded fae courts consider those of my kind abominations, but I like my tongue where it is, thank you very much. The Wraith King sits on his throne, ghostly pale hands resting on the arms as I enter the audience chamber, my heeled boots clicking on the polished obsidian tiles. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |