The Griever's Mark (The Griever's Mark series Book 1) by Katherine Hurley Read Free Book Online Page A

how I might have done it alone. “I dragged myself from it. It was like...getting out of water. I ended up in a forest. Then I stepped into the Drift. To come back.” Before Belos has a chance to call me a liar or ask further questions, I launch into questions of my own. “What was that place? What happened?”
    Again Belos and Theron exchange a look. What do they know that I don’t?
    Belos says, “It’s part of the Drift, difficult to access.”
    He’s lying—I know his tricks, and he just lifted his chin in that confident way that screams, “liar”—but of course I can’t say that.
    Theron’s eyes dart to mine, then he squares up to Belos. “My Lord? The plan?”
    I know Theron’s tricks, too, and he is redirecting, helping Belos cover something up. Belos, never one to be grateful, glares at him.
    I interrupt, “I already have one.” I have to assert myself if I hope not to be thrown out of this and back into a cell. “I’ll go to Heborian. I’ll tell him Martel is in Tornelaine. Martel has a plan of his own, and we need to destroy it before he can make good on it. If we put him on the run, with Heborian at his heels, he’ll be desperate. Desperate enough, perhaps, to accept a deal.”
    A smile tugs Belos’s mouth, which looks eerie in the moonlight. He lays cool hands on either side of my face, like he used to when I was a child. I am reminded that he wasn’t always so angry with me. When I was young, he would smile at me, call me “Little Drifter.” When did that change? When did he start to hate me? But I know the answer. I know exactly when things changed. When I tried to run. When he took my mind. We will never forgive each other.
    The thought seems to occur to him also because he drops his hands and steps away.
    He says stiffly, “Theron will accompany you.”
    Theron dips his head. “To serve is to live.”
    Belos accepts this coolly, then throws at me, “Don’t disappoint me this time, Astarti.”
    A glow forms around him, lighting him to brief, harsh beauty, then he’s gone.
    I rub my arms for warmth and try to still my shivering. I’m not sure what chills me most: the cold night air slipping through my tattered dress, or the warning in Belos’s tone.
    Theron unbuckles his cloak, shakes it out, swings it around me. He fastens it at my shoulder, and his fingers linger there. Has he forgiven me for my failures? His breathing is a little too shallow, his leaning toward me a little too purposeful. He’s looking at me as he does sometimes when we are alone.
    I shift uncomfortably. “Theron—”
    He drops his hands and turns away, nodding south. Theron would never go against Belos, would never presume to take what belongs to his master. “Tornelaine is that way. Do you want to drift?”
    I let it go. I don’t know what I would have said anyway, had he done more than let his hand linger on my shoulder. It can never be, and I don’t know that I even want it. True, I am lonely sometimes, but Theron is one of the Seven. He has no regard for the lives of others. He kills easily. Sometimes cruelly.
    I dismiss these pointless questions and focus instead on the present. I say, thinking of the Hounding, “Don’t you think we should wait?”
    Theron shrugs carelessly, as though he did not scream in fear only minutes ago. He turns south.
    I catch up, trudging through the grasses, the hem of my skirt and Theron’s too-long cloak bunched in my hands to free my sandaled feet. There is no elegance in me. I just want my pants. And boots.
    We crest a hill. To the right, the ocean spreads below us, moonlight washing its surface. Far off, the dark hump of an island tells me the Floating Lands of the Earthmakers have drifted near. Earlier today, that was empty water. I wonder if Theron misses it. If any of the Seven do, it would be him. Cruel, yes, but gentle sometimes. I wonder suddenly why he joined Belos. As I grew up, that fact was just part of my world, as the Dry Land was. It didn’t occur to