The Skeleton King (The Silk & Steel Saga) by Karen Azinger Read Free Book Online Page A

with his booted foot. “Sit up. Let me see your face.”
    Sobbing, the priest obeyed, his
face streaked with a river of tears.
    “It is always the weak who are
first sent against me.”
    “But they told me…”
    “Shhh…” The Mordant kept his voice
soothing. “There is no need for words. All the answers are written upon your
soul.”
    The priest shuddered, a hint of
hope in his gaze. “Then you’ll forgive me?”
    “You know what you’ve done…and now
you must atone for your sin.”
    “But I did not mean to, Lord, I did
not know it was truly you!”
    The Mordant gestured and the priest
fell silent. “I’ve shown you the fate of traitors.”  
    The priest made a low whining
noise, like an animal caught in a trap.
    “I offer you a choice.”
    Choking on a sob, the young man sat
back on his heels, staring up at the Mordant, his face ghost-pale. “A
c-choice?”
    The Mordant extended the goblet.
“Drink.”
    The priest shrank back, his eyes
wild.
    “The cup or a traitor’s death,
yours to choose.”
    “Is there no other way?”
    The Mordant waited.
    Trembling, the priest took the
goblet, his face flushed with fear.
    The Mordant hid his smile, the
power of fear was intoxicating to behold. “Drink it. Every drop.”
    The priest stared into the cup,
slowly raising it to his lips. Tipping the goblet, he drained it in one long
draught. Empty, the golden goblet fell from his hands. A single drop of amber
liquid gleamed like a deadly jewel on the young man’s lips. Shaking, the priest
sat back on his heels, staring up at the Mordant, his face as pale as death.
    The Mordant settled back in the
chair, savoring the entertainment. “Now we’ll see the true nature of your
gift.”
    He did not have long to wait. The
priest groaned, bending at the waist. Wracked with sudden convulsions, he fell to
his side, writhing like a snake. Arching his back, he clawed at his throat,
fingernails gouging bloody rents in the pale flesh, his mouth contorted in a
rictus of pain.
    Drinking in the details, the
Mordant felt his manhood stiffen.
    The priest flopped like a landed
fish, foam flecking his lips. His eyes rolled back in his head, his back bent
to an impossible angle. Uttering a final strangled gasp, he fell still, the
smell of death hanging in the air.
    A hush settled over the pavilion.
    The Mordant studied the faces of
his guards, his voice calm. “Treachery gains its just reward. Remember the
lesson.”
    The guards saluted, fists thumping
breastplates.
    The Mordant nudged the corpse with his
boot. “Return this to Bishop Tynes. Have the body stripped naked and staked in
front of his tent, an offering to the ravens and a warning to traitors.”
    The guards saluted, reaching for
the corpse.
    “And captain,” the Mordant smiled,
“bring me a clean goblet and find me a woman.”
    The captain saluted, overseeing the
removal of the corpse.
    The Mordant leaned back in the
chair, eager for the woman, hungry for release. Foiled treachery always
sharpened his appetites. Power and youth made for such a heady combination. His
hand worked the stiff ache at his loins, enjoying the vigor of a body in its
prime. He had much to look forward to. Centuries of planning would finally come
to fruition. This lifetime promised to be a glorious, full of retribution,
deceit, and war.
    A woman approached. Dark haired and
dark eyed with a full and buxom figure, she was just the sort to quench his
need. “Drop your robe and kneel. I have much to celebrate.”

4
    Katherine

 
    Blaine’s voice carried across the glade.
Riding next to Danya, he regaled the dark-haired girl with tales of ancient
battles. Zith rode close behind, leading the packhorse. Kath ducked behind her
horse, fumbling with the saddle, her mind ablaze with thoughts of the coming
night. Unable to resist, she risked a glance at Duncan.
    He flashed her a secret smile. “Tonight.”
    Her face blazed like a sunset.
Struggling for composure, she staked the stallion and rubbed him