The Thousandfold Thought (The Prince of Nothing, Book 3) by R. Scott Bakker

Author:R. Scott Bakker [Bakker, R. Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Science Fiction, General, Fantasy
ISBN: 9781590206263
Google: LiQfD6XZyqQC
Amazon: B004KAB8IE
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2007-01-29T16:00:00+00:00

She lay awake for some time, listening to the fragments of arcane voice that surfaced from the stonework about her. Then, the gloom thickening as the braziers failed, she stretched naked across the sheets and drowsed, her soul circling about sorrow after sorrow. The death of Achamian. The death of Mimara.

Nothing stayed dead in her life. Her past least of all.

“Walking between Wards is easy,” a voice hummed, “when their author practises other arcana.”

She awoke suddenly, if not completely, and through blinking eyes watched yet another man walk to the side of her bed … He was tall, dressed in a black cloak over a silvered brigandine. With relief she realized he was quite handsome. There was compensation of a different sort in—

His shadow had hooked wings.

She tumbled from the far side of the bed, shrank toward the far wall.

“And to think,” he said, “that I thought twelve talents an outrage.”

She tried to scream, but somehow he was there, pressed like a lover against her, his smooth hand clamped about her mouth. She felt the thick arch of him pressed against her buttocks. When he licked her ear, her body shuddered in treacherous delight.

“How,” he gasped, “could the same peach command such different prices, hmm? Can the bruises be washed away? The juices sweetened?” His free hand roamed the planes of her body, and she could feel herself tense, not against him, but for … as though her desires were as easily moulded as clay.

“Or is it simply the vendor?”

It seemed that fire had stolen her breath. “Please!” she gasped.

Take me …

Stubble chafed the spit-softened skin below her ears. She knew that it was an illusion, but …

“My children,” he said, “only imitate what they see …”

She whimpered into his suffocating hand—tried to cry out even as her legs slackened to the touch of his probing fingers.

“But me,” he murmured in a voice that ran tickling over her skin, “I take.”

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