The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash 4)

Figuring that she meant the Ascended, I tamped down the surge of anger that rose. The Royals were all the mortals knew. And living for as long as she had under their rule, the fear of being seen as disloyal—as a Descenter—would be hard to shake.

I forced a smile. “You no longer have to serve the Ascended.”

Vessa was so unbelievably still. “I do not serve them while I wait.”

“Then who is it you serve?” I asked.

“Who else but the True Crown of the Realms, silly girl?”

“I am neither silly nor a girl,” I said coolly, setting the ledger on the tea table, assuming she referenced the Blood Crown.

Vessa gave a shaky bow I feared would topple her. “My apologies, Your Highness. I’ve lost all sense of coyness with age.”

I said nothing for a long moment, letting the insult roll off me. I’d been called far worse and dealt harsher insults. “How is it that you serve the True Crown, Vessa?”

“By waiting.”

Between the too-short answers and the longer, rhyming ones, I was quickly losing my patience. “What is it that you wait for?”

She straightened in short, jerky movements. “The one who was Blessed.”

I stiffened.

“One born from a grave misdeed, of a great and terrible Primal power, with blood full of ash and ice.” Her words rattled her entire body, raising the tiny hairs all over mine. “The Chosen who will usher in the end, remaking the realms. The Harbinger of Death and Destruction.”

I sucked in a sharp breath at the all-too-familiar words of the prophecy. She must’ve heard them from the Duke. It was the only explanation.

“You.” The hem of the lacy veil fluttered. “I wait for you. I wait for death.”

Icy fingers pressed against the back of my neck once more as if a spirit had touched me there.

The old woman lurched forward, black robes flapping like the wings of a crow as an arm whipped out from the vast folds. A glimpse of silver glinted in the lamplight. I locked up for the briefest second as potent, acute shock swept through me.

I snapped out of it, the dressing robe fluttering around my legs as I shot to my feet. I caught her wrist, my finger sinking through the heavy cloth and around the thin, bony arm.

“Are you serious?” I exclaimed, still caught in shock as I shoved away.

Vessa stumbled back, bumping into the tea table. She went down hard, her head snapping forward. The veil slipped and then fell to the floor. White, wispy hair spilled out from patchy clumps along a wrinkled scalp.

“Did you just try to stab me?” Incredulous, I stared down at her, my heart thumping heavily. “When you know what I am?”

“I know what you are.” She planted a pale, skeletal hand against the floor and lifted her head.

Good gods, she truly was old.

Her face was almost nothing more than skin and skull, her cheeks and eyes sunken in, her flesh heavily lined, creased, and a ghastly, grayish-white. Lips a bloodless, thin line peeled back across stained teeth, and her eyes… They were milky white. I took an involuntary step back. How in the world could she even see me?

But she still clutched the slender dagger, and that was rather impressive considering her extreme, advanced age.

“Harbinger,” she crooned softly.

“You should stay down,” I warned, really hoping she listened. Something was obviously very wrong with her—perhaps due to hearing that damn prophecy and the fear that festered because of it. Or, this behavior could be a byproduct of her age. Probably both. Either way, I didn’t want to harm an old lady.

Vessa heaved herself up to her feet.

“Oh, come on,” I muttered.

She lunged at me this time, faster than I expected. Gods, the fact that she’d gotten up at all was, yet again, impressive.

I easily side-stepped her. This time, I grasped both her arms as carefully as I could. Trying not to think of how brittle her bones felt, I pushed her down, this time onto the settee.

“Drop the dagger,” I said.

“Harbinger.”

“Now.”

“Harbinger!” Vessa yelled.

“Godsdamn it.” I put the slightest pressure on the bones of her wrist, wincing as she gasped. Her fingers opened, and the dagger fell to the floor with a thud. She started to push up. “Don’t even think it.”

“Do I even want to know what is happening in here?” Kieran boomed from the doors.

“Nothing.” I glanced at him. Clearly, he’d just risen. He wore only breeches. “Except that she just tried to stab me.”

Every line of Kieran’s body went taut. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“Harbinger!” Vessa shrieked, and Kieran blinked. “Harbinger!”

“And in case you can’t tell, she believes I’m the Harbinger.” I looked down at the old woman, half afraid to let her go. “No matter what you’ve heard or were told, I am not that.”

“You were born in the shroud of the Primals,” she screamed, and it was loud. “Blessed with blood full of ash and ice. Chosen.”