Power (Dark Scions Book 3) by Anna Carven

Author:Anna Carven [Carven, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-05-07T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Three

Amali

The door to my cell opens, and this time it’s Trise, flanked by two black-uniformed Midrian soldiers.

“Get up, Tieglander,” he barks. One of the soldiers walks to my side and grabs my arm, roughly hauling me to feet.

I glare at Trise. The cold, dispassionate stare he gives me sends a small shiver of fear down my spine.

This man looks at me as if I’m less than human.

He’s capable of anything.

What are you going to do to me?

I don’t say a word, though, because I don’t want to show them even a single trace of fear. Instead, I hold my head high and straighten my back. My clothes are dirty and my hair is disheveled and I probably stink to the high heavens, but I don’t care.

They can’t kill me.

The soldiers march me down the narrow passageway, passing cargo and ropes and cannons and other strange nautical objects I don’t even understand.

They take me up onto the freezing windswept deck, where the sailors are standing in a line at the rear of the ship. Decked out in full leather and chain armor at least a dozen Midrian soldiers flank them on both sides, hands resting menacingly on sword hilts.

The soldiers don’t look like they’re standing in solidarity with their sailor comrades. They look like they’re threatening them. With their far superior weapons and sturdy armor, the soldiers look like they could easily overpower the motley crew of sailors.

What is going on?

I glance over the side of the ship, taking in the landscape beyond. Tall grey cliffs loom beyond the shoreline, crowned by thick forest and dense white mist. A slender waterfall drops elegantly from the top of the cliffs into the roiling grey ocean below, shearing through the ghostly mist.

If there weren’t a dozen grim-faced Midrian soldiers before me, I would be astonished by the sheer beauty of this place.

But suddenly Trise is there beside me, his foul, musky stench washing over me, his thick hand caressing the back of my neck, sending a shiver of revulsion through me.

I tuck my arms close to my body and stand very still in the freezing cold. I stare over the edge of the ship, looking out across the churning grey ocean. A lone black bird soars above us, cutting through the mist with its impressive wingspan. It lets out a sharp, mournful cry; a sound I’ve never heard before.

I don’t even know what kind of bird it is, and I know most birds.

I’m a long way from home.

Trise’s callused fingers snake through my hair and caress my scalp. Suddenly, he makes a fist and pulls, stretching my hair taut from the roots, yanking my head backwards.

Pain lances through my scalp. I stifle a gasp.

“You’ve been telling my sailors devious things,” he hisses, his tabac-tainted breath washing over me. “About curses and gods and dissent. The words of a Marked One have power over weak minds. Some are even feeling sympathetic toward an emperor-killer. They’re bringing you gifts in the night. Dare I say that some are thinking of mutiny as I speak.

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