[THIS STORY WILL BE TAKEN DOWN ON SEPTEMBER 30, 2024]
He had hunted me, captured me, and locked me in a tower.
Season 3 'Of Crows and Thorns'
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While in RISING, Tabitha discovers something peculiar that may assist Nelle in her plan to escape the...
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Leaning my weight onto my spread thighs, I clasped my hands between them. The blood in my veins chilled at Jett's unstable stance, and I willed Sirro to hurry the fuck up. Jett looked as pale as death with bloodless lips and pain-glazed eyes. Dull morning light slipped through the solar's window and glanced over the sheen of sweat beading on his skin.
Jett's voice was tight and weary. "They swifted in. Not-quite-alive."
"Wraiths?" Sirro asked, linking his fingers and resting his hands across his stomach.
"No...corporeal," he rasped. "More like the dead brought back to life."
Sirro blinked. "Necromancy?"
Even the Horned Gods didn't have the ability to bring the dead back to life quite like those things I'd encountered. The dead could be brought back to life. But they were wrong—soulless, lifeless creatures.
"I'm not sure. They're nothing like I've ever encountered or learned about when it comes to necromancy."
I could barely taste Jett's lies.
I'd shared every single thing I remembered down in the catacombs below Ascendria. We went through it again and again during the ride here to Sirro's residence—Jett repeating it, twisting it until he believed it was him down there fighting to protect Nelle. And then he went through what happened when, supposedly, this faction attacked the tithe convoy, crafting a choreography of events.
"Nine of them. They had weapons like ours, forged of Adamere. Crossbows too." Jett paused, sucking in a deep breath. "It was fast and brutal. They'd split into three groups... Two took out the convoy of guards, the other one went for the tithe truck." He wobbled, his knees threatening to buckle.
My muscles bunched as I half-rose to surge forward and help him.
Sirro's enraged glare lashed across the room, pinning me back into place.
I gritted my teeth and sat back down.
Fuck you, Sirro!
My foot tapped a restless, furious beat on the floor, my knee bouncing up and down.
Sirro's features smoothed into a bored expression. He unlinked his hands, propping an elbow on the armrest, and swept an upturned palm in Jett's direction, his forefinger pointed. "And what were you doing?"
"I engaged in combat." The fine skin around Jett's eyes pinched into creases as he glanced down at his shaking hand, pressed to his side. His t-shirt was soaked in black blood and his fingers were coated in the sticky substance. The putrid scent of rotting flesh wafted from him.
Dread curdled in the pit of my gut.
How long was Sirro going to drag this out? The Horned God was enjoying every second of my brother's suffering. Like a wolf devouring the juicy hunch of an elk, there was a sated glow in his eyes.
