The Dark Queen's Apothecary (The Ancient Ones Trilogy) by Cassandra L. Thompson

Author:Cassandra L. Thompson [Thompson, Cassandra L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Rose
Published: 2024-02-14T00:00:00+00:00

Interlude

WALLACHIA, 1463

The collective scream of carrion crows cut through the frigid air as the being once known as Hekate stomped through the woods to the castle ruins. She wondered what identity she would wear now. It would certainly not be this one. The human body she had possessed was frail, like rotten meat barely hanging from bone, and she tried her best to keep it warm. The skies released another dusting of snow as she clutched her shawl tighter. She was exhausted, but she needed to find him before her body failed from frostbite and starvation. She used her anger to propel her forward, letting it twist in her stomach as she recalled the events that brought upon her untimely death—the premature birth that set Delicia to feast upon her before Morrigan intervened, the sensation of her half-drained body being discarded into the Arges River, never to be heard from again. She wondered how Morrigan would react to learning “Hekate” had not died after all. That throwing the witch’s body into the vicious waters had been a gift.

The roar of that very river soon drowned out the sounds of crows as she grew closer, the winter storm stirring the waters to life. She shuddered. No part of her wished to return to what she once believed would be her eternal tomb, disgusted to think of Hekate’s body still trapped below.

She looked down at her new body, unhappy with its shape and how the fingers slowly blackened with cold. She cursed, picking up her pace. She’d need to find another one soon.

Soon, the crumbling vestiges of the Night War peeked out up ahead. She couldn’t help but feel dismay at the sight of the beautiful castle reduced to rubble. The overcast skies had kept the nemorti corpses intact, some still moaning for their limbs. If she was a merciful woman, she would have sliced off their heads and ended their pain, but the soul once known as Hekate was neither merciful nor a woman. She was Discordia, a makeshift goddess intent on revenge.

Boulders obstructed her path, but she maneuvered around them, growing closer to the former courtyard when an arm reached out to grab her ankle. She shrieked angrily as fingernails dug into her weak human flesh. She looked down to see an emaciated nemorti trapped underneath a hunk of rock with only its arm free. She snatched a nearby sword and lopped it off, smiling as it screamed, black blood sprayed up in her face. She pushed away her human revulsion and lapped it up, fighting back the urge to vomit until the blood’s power soaked into her bones.

She dropped the sword and stepped back, heaving to catch her breath as the immortal blood revived her. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do until she could find more. She hurried into the courtyard, continuing her search for him.

At last, she caught the glint of metal buried under a coating of snow. As she moved closer, she recognized the corpse of Danulf, the Viking immortal who’d once been possessed by the vicious wolf-beast Fenrir.

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