“How the fuck would I know?” I growl quietly. I’ve never felt more stupid than during this time I’ve had to try and solve these damn riddles uttered by those mad Witches.
On slow and tired steps, Carver walks over to the small desk and wooden chair. He runs a finger over the back of the half-splintered wood as if he might lower himself into the seat and try it out for himself. I can’t imagine it would hold him, even with his lean frame. Quite honestly, a good solid gust of wind might take that rickety old thing out. Instead, he leans against the desk. The legs scrape across the flooring as he settles in. His ankles cross, one over the other, as my gaze drifts down.
And then his face lights up, and I know the exact moment he sees it. My eyes follow his gaze all the way down his tilted frame to the board just beneath his boots.
Thin and sliced at a smaller measurement than the surrounding ones.
My boots pound against the floor. Carver is up, standing, and together we push back against the desk a little more until it reveals another foot of space. Another board cut oddly among all the others.
A knowing sensation skims across my flesh.
I turn and shove it so hard, the desk flips on its side, more papers scatter, and several more glasses shatter to the floor, only adding to the mess.
Carver clasps my shoulder as I stare down at the perfect square that’s outlined into the flooring. Then both of us are staring at the outline.
I lower slowly, crouching down until my fingers brush at the dust and dirt that’s settled in the cracks of the hardwood. Sighing, I curl my nails into the edge. Splinters dig underneath my nail beds, but in seconds, the board snaps. Hastily, Carver grips the next and tosses it behind him. Then the next and the next.
My hair hangs in my eyes, and my knees spread against the floor. In silence, we stare down into complete darkness. A terrible sense of knowing settles in my gut.
Heat fumes up from the hole.
If I imagined the structure, it would logically have to be set up opposite of the spiraling stairs that led us here. But there are no stairs leading down. There are only shadows and heat that burns in the air.
“What if there’s a reason I can get to Violence by using the offering and you cannot?” My attention never leaves the terrible abyss below.
The offering allows part of your soul to walk somewhere else while your body stays planted in the present. Carver’s soul wasn’t welcome wherever Violence is.
But mine was.
My lips part as realization trickles into my mind even if my mouth refuses to say it. It’s because I am half Demon.
The underworld would, of course, welcome one of their own.
Chapter Twenty
Violence
“Father,” Basilus copies notes from the king’s journal in carefully concise script, “The Strengthening of Souls, have you tried that one yet? If you make the soul more powerful, it seems they nearly become a solid structure. And this Bound by Power line here, does that mean they’re something like a servant?” His index finger glides along the text.
My eyes narrow on his ass-kissing ways. As much as I hate being here with my father, I hate that it’s a family event even more. As if he cares at all what any of this means.
I suppose I should be thankful they’ve allowed me out of my room, though Jeriko watches every move I make. They haven’t tried the sedatives again, not yet, at least. Since returning from the Court of Winds, I’ve waited with anxiety knotting my stomach for my father to mention another injection. He hasn’t ever brought it up.
For three days, I’ve done what I do best. Listen. I’ve learned all I can of what he has done, who he has harmed, and what will happen if he’s no longer there to sort through his stolen souls. The ones he hasn’t devoured, they can be put back... I’ll just have to figure out where they belong.
A prickling feeling crawls down my arm, interrupting my plotting. It’s familiar, even. The under-the-skin sensation is that of the Wild Hunt. It’s something I haven’t felt while trapped here.
Not even when Nollix was near.
I glance to Jeriko to see if she feels it too. With wide eyes, she nods after every single thing my father says. Sometimes I wonder what they discuss when I’m not here. They’re closer now. More of a father-daughter duo than we’ve ever been.
It’s insufferable.
Another wave of the prickling washes through my body, and I take a quiet step back from their table. Both of them continue to discuss the swirling handwriting in my father’s journal. Some of his notes are word-for-word what’s detailed in the book of Severed Souls.
Another three steps back, and then I turn and slip away from the room entirely.
I walk on hesitant steps aimlessly through the building. It’s set up like a home and a war bunker all at the same time. Thick sheets of metal lead me down a long hall, and as I near the end, the prickling feeling starts to become piercing.
