Chapter 42: 42
If audio player doesn't work, press Stop then Play button again
The slight stammer in my voice makes him smile mockingly and I try my best not to keep myself bristling in discomfort. Those fingers tighten around me, claiming, repulsive. I almost gag.
"Yes, in fancy terms I would be called a psyche tractatori, but for a simple little thing like you it means I can take your mind, and do whatever I wish with it. Crush it, if I want." My whole body goes cold. I look him over, searching in those dark eyes for any sign of it, of his power, but all I see are pools of lazy red that swirl under the light of the chandeliers.
Something prods at the back of my mind, cold and sharp, a claw, or a finger, sudden enough to make my body go rigid and my mouth fill with a horrible dryness. The necklace pulses on my chest an evident warning. The claw withdraws.
"And what use would that be to you? Torture?" I ask, shoulders relaxing a little, feeling a rush of something that is not quite fear run through me- perhaps the thrill at the feeling of still being alive. Azrael twirls me on the spot.
"Both my powers and Soren's are used for the defence of our lands, and for a bit of fun, every now and then." The sickly glimmer in his eyes as he says the word 'fun' is almost enough to make me vomit. Just how many people had he used his powers on? My mind flits to a faceless body, brain-dead and throthing at the mouth, eyes white and staring into an empty nothing. The same fate that many of my angel's had shared. The gorge in my throat rises.
"Guarding the kingdom?" I press casually, trying to feign uninterest and an ever so slight boredom. Pulling away from him I gesture for us to walk to the nearest table of food and drinks, jerking my chin in the direction. As soon as I turn from him, the smooth mask of my face drops, crunching up in an excruciating agony of nausea.
All these thoughts of death is making me feel sick, deciding getting something to take my mind off it would probably be a sensible idea. My head spinning like a whirlpool, I don't even look at the glass of liquid I have taken as I gulp it down. I try not to think of the thick taste of iron as it slips down my throat. I wipe my mouth. Azrael watches me closely, observing the goblet of blood I have just put unwittingly to my lips.
Crap.
"We use our powers to guard the flame. As well as deal with troublesome individuals. And so far it seems to be working quite well, since our kingdom has been standing for thousands of years." The whirring in my head slows to a steady. Guard the flame… I turn my head away slightly, pretending to drain the last dregs in my cup as my mind races at full speed, all the while Azrael's eyes bore into me, harsh and stern with cold.
The Princes use their powers to guard the flame… And I know, at least I think I know, some of the extent of their powers, how they function, what they feel like. If I could trace them… Pinpoint their location in the castle, somehow find a way to avoid detection and their influence…
That claw, the icy hand, begins to prod at my head again, worming its way into my skull, and phantom finger prodding at the depths of my brain. I make my mind go blank.
This is Azrael's power, it has to be. The necklace around my neck pulses against my chest, only harder this time, a second heartbeat, and a bitter threat. The red liquid swirls, and the claws once again recede defeated.
At once dark shadow creeps over the room, flickering like a blackened flame, casting a cold mist over the ballroom that creeps into my veins, chilling my blood to ice. For a brief moment, the dancing in the ballroom stops, and heads turn to cast around just long enough to fill the air with an all too familiar mixture of dread and awe. My cup drops from my frigid fingers. Blood trickles onto the marble floor.
"I never thought I would catch you drinking that, Serena darling," comes Soren's velvety drawl from behind me. A shadowy hand manifests on each one of my shoulders, solidifying to the familiar colour of deathly pale skin and black clawed nails. It's hard not to jump a little at the coldness of his touch through the thin veils of my clothing, or ignore the chill that runs through me as his thumbs run small circles over my skin, both reassuring and somehow threatening at once.
The dancing resumes around me, as does the eating and the drinking and the kissing and the biting, but every now and then I would see eyes gaze over in my direction, some of longing, some of pure, ice-cold, hatred. I ignore the silent gestures of death threats from a familiar blue skinned face, determined to look unbothered, cold, and certainly not weak. Soren's hair tickles my face as he leans down to breathe in my ear:
"He didn't hurt you did he?" I turn my head slightly to face him.
"No," I whisper back. With a small, almost inaudible sigh of relief, Soren draws back, moving to stand by my side as he pulls down the delicate frilled ruff of his sleeves and hooking a sturdy arm around my waist, drawing me in a lot more forcefully than he ever had before. I can sense the darkness radiating off him, the relief now replaced with a glowering anger.
Soren once again, looks ready to kill. His eyes shine with a molten red, coiling with tendrils of darkness and bitter distain at the creature before him who- though I may seem to imagine it, cowers a little in the stretch of his shadow.
How much the Scarlet Prince sensed or heard between Azrael and I is certainly not a known fact. Perhaps he has already realised I was trying to glean information out of Azrael. Perhaps not.
But if there is one thing that is certain, its that the whole room is tense with the notion of what is about to unfold, quivering under the harsh, domineering darkness of Soren's presence, and the prospect of exactly what is about to happen to their other prince....
Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
The slight stammer in my voice makes him smile mockingly and I try my best not to keep myself bristling in discomfort. Those fingers tighten around me, claiming, repulsive. I almost gag.
"Yes, in fancy terms I would be called a psyche tractatori, but for a simple little thing like you it means I can take your mind, and do whatever I wish with it. Crush it, if I want." My whole body goes cold. I look him over, searching in those dark eyes for any sign of it, of his power, but all I see are pools of lazy red that swirl under the light of the chandeliers.
Something prods at the back of my mind, cold and sharp, a claw, or a finger, sudden enough to make my body go rigid and my mouth fill with a horrible dryness. The necklace pulses on my chest an evident warning. The claw withdraws.
"And what use would that be to you? Torture?" I ask, shoulders relaxing a little, feeling a rush of something that is not quite fear run through me- perhaps the thrill at the feeling of still being alive. Azrael twirls me on the spot.
"Both my powers and Soren's are used for the defence of our lands, and for a bit of fun, every now and then." The sickly glimmer in his eyes as he says the word 'fun' is almost enough to make me vomit. Just how many people had he used his powers on? My mind flits to a faceless body, brain-dead and throthing at the mouth, eyes white and staring into an empty nothing. The same fate that many of my angel's had shared. The gorge in my throat rises.
"Guarding the kingdom?" I press casually, trying to feign uninterest and an ever so slight boredom. Pulling away from him I gesture for us to walk to the nearest table of food and drinks, jerking my chin in the direction. As soon as I turn from him, the smooth mask of my face drops, crunching up in an excruciating agony of nausea.
All these thoughts of death is making me feel sick, deciding getting something to take my mind off it would probably be a sensible idea. My head spinning like a whirlpool, I don't even look at the glass of liquid I have taken as I gulp it down. I try not to think of the thick taste of iron as it slips down my throat. I wipe my mouth. Azrael watches me closely, observing the goblet of blood I have just put unwittingly to my lips.
Crap.
"We use our powers to guard the flame. As well as deal with troublesome individuals. And so far it seems to be working quite well, since our kingdom has been standing for thousands of years." The whirring in my head slows to a steady. Guard the flame… I turn my head away slightly, pretending to drain the last dregs in my cup as my mind races at full speed, all the while Azrael's eyes bore into me, harsh and stern with cold.
The Princes use their powers to guard the flame… And I know, at least I think I know, some of the extent of their powers, how they function, what they feel like. If I could trace them… Pinpoint their location in the castle, somehow find a way to avoid detection and their influence…
That claw, the icy hand, begins to prod at my head again, worming its way into my skull, and phantom finger prodding at the depths of my brain. I make my mind go blank.
This is Azrael's power, it has to be. The necklace around my neck pulses against my chest, only harder this time, a second heartbeat, and a bitter threat. The red liquid swirls, and the claws once again recede defeated.
At once dark shadow creeps over the room, flickering like a blackened flame, casting a cold mist over the ballroom that creeps into my veins, chilling my blood to ice. For a brief moment, the dancing in the ballroom stops, and heads turn to cast around just long enough to fill the air with an all too familiar mixture of dread and awe. My cup drops from my frigid fingers. Blood trickles onto the marble floor.
"I never thought I would catch you drinking that, Serena darling," comes Soren's velvety drawl from behind me. A shadowy hand manifests on each one of my shoulders, solidifying to the familiar colour of deathly pale skin and black clawed nails. It's hard not to jump a little at the coldness of his touch through the thin veils of my clothing, or ignore the chill that runs through me as his thumbs run small circles over my skin, both reassuring and somehow threatening at once.
The dancing resumes around me, as does the eating and the drinking and the kissing and the biting, but every now and then I would see eyes gaze over in my direction, some of longing, some of pure, ice-cold, hatred. I ignore the silent gestures of death threats from a familiar blue skinned face, determined to look unbothered, cold, and certainly not weak. Soren's hair tickles my face as he leans down to breathe in my ear:
"He didn't hurt you did he?" I turn my head slightly to face him.
"No," I whisper back. With a small, almost inaudible sigh of relief, Soren draws back, moving to stand by my side as he pulls down the delicate frilled ruff of his sleeves and hooking a sturdy arm around my waist, drawing me in a lot more forcefully than he ever had before. I can sense the darkness radiating off him, the relief now replaced with a glowering anger.
Soren once again, looks ready to kill. His eyes shine with a molten red, coiling with tendrils of darkness and bitter distain at the creature before him who- though I may seem to imagine it, cowers a little in the stretch of his shadow.
How much the Scarlet Prince sensed or heard between Azrael and I is certainly not a known fact. Perhaps he has already realised I was trying to glean information out of Azrael. Perhaps not.
But if there is one thing that is certain, its that the whole room is tense with the notion of what is about to unfold, quivering under the harsh, domineering darkness of Soren's presence, and the prospect of exactly what is about to happen to their other prince....
The slight stammer in my voice makes him smile mockingly and I try my best not to keep myself bristling in discomfort. Those fingers tighten around me, claiming, repulsive. I almost gag."Yes, in fancy terms I would be called a psyche tractatori, but for a simple little thing like you it means I can take your mind, and do whatever I wish with it. Crush it, if I want." My whole body goes cold. I look him over, searching in those dark eyes for any sign of it, of his power, but all I see are pools of lazy red that swirl under the light of the chandeliers.Something prods at the back of my mind, cold and sharp, a claw, or a finger, sudden enough to make my body go rigid and my mouth fill with a horrible dryness. The necklace pulses on my chest an evident warning. The claw withdraws."And what use would that be to you? Torture?" I ask, shoulders relaxing a little, feeling a rush of something that is not quite fear run through me- perhaps the thrill at the feeling of still being alive. Azrael twirls me on the spot. "Both my powers and Soren's are used for the defence of our lands, and for a bit of fun, every now and then." The sickly glimmer in his eyes as he says the word 'fun' is almost enough to make me vomit. Just how many people had he used his powers on? My mind flits to a faceless body, brain-dead and throthing at the mouth, eyes white and staring into an empty nothing. The same fate that many of my angel's had shared. The gorge in my throat rises."Guarding the kingdom?" I press casually, trying to feign uninterest and an ever so slight boredom. Pulling away from him I gesture for us to walk to the nearest table of food and drinks, jerking my chin in the direction. As soon as I turn from him, the smooth mask of my face drops, crunching up in an excruciating agony of nausea.All these thoughts of death is making me feel sick, deciding getting something to take my mind off it would probably be a sensible idea. My head spinning like a whirlpool, I don't even look at the glass of liquid I have taken as I gulp it down. I try not to think of the thick taste of iron as it slips down my throat. I wipe my mouth. Azrael watches me closely, observing the goblet of blood I have just put unwittingly to my lips.Crap."We use our powers to guard the flame. As well as deal with troublesome individuals. And so far it seems to be working quite well, since our kingdom has been standing for thousands of years." The whirring in my head slows to a steady. Guard the flame I turn my head away slightly, pretending to drain the last dregs in my cup as my mind races at full speed, all the while Azrael's eyes bore into me, harsh and stern with cold.The Princes use their powers to guard the flame And I know, at least I think I know, some of the extent of their powers, how they function, what they feel like. If I could trace them Pinpoint their location in the castle, somehow find a way to avoid detection and their influenceThat claw, the icy hand, begins to prod at my head again, worming its way into my skull, and phantom finger prodding at the depths of my brain. I make my mind go blank.This is Azrael's power, it has to be. The necklace around my neck pulses against my chest, only harder this time, a second heartbeat, and a bitter threat. The red liquid swirls, and the claws once again recede defeated.At once dark shadow creeps over the room, flickering like a blackened flame, casting a cold mist over the ballroom that creeps into my veins, chilling my blood to ice. For a brief moment, the dancing in the ballroom stops, and heads turn to cast around just long enough to fill the air with an all too familiar mixture of dread and awe. My cup drops from my frigid fingers. Blood trickles onto the marble floor. "I never thought I would catch you drinking that, Serena darling," comes Soren's velvety drawl from behind me. A shadowy hand manifests on each one of my shoulders, solidifying to the familiar colour of deathly pale skin and black clawed nails. It's hard not to jump a little at the coldness of his touch through the thin veils of my clothing, or ignore the chill that runs through me as his thumbs run small circles over my skin, both reassuring and somehow threatening at once.The dancing resumes around me, as does the eating and the drinking and the kissing and the biting, but every now and then I would see eyes gaze over in my direction, some of longing, some of pure, ice-cold, hatred. I ignore the silent gestures of death threats from a familiar blue skinned face, determined to look unbothered, cold, and certainly not weak. Soren's hair tickles my face as he leans down to breathe in my ear:"He didn't hurt you did he?" I turn my head slightly to face him."No," I whisper back. With a small, almost inaudible sigh of relief, Soren draws back, moving to stand by my side as he pulls down the delicate frilled ruff of his sleeves and hooking a sturdy arm around my waist, drawing me in a lot more forcefully than he ever had before. I can sense the darkness radiating off him, the relief now replaced with a glowering anger. Soren once again, looks ready to kill. His eyes shine with a molten red, coiling with tendrils of darkness and bitter distain at the creature before him who- though I may seem to imagine it, cowers a little in the stretch of his shadow.How much the Scarlet Prince sensed or heard between Azrael and I is certainly not a known fact. Perhaps he has already realised I was trying to glean information out of Azrael. Perhaps not.But if there is one thing that is certain, its that the whole room is tense with the notion of what is about to unfold, quivering under the harsh, domineering darkness of Soren's presence, and the prospect of exactly what is about to happen to their other prince....
