The Twilight Thief: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (Thrones of Midgard Book 1) by J. Levi

Author:J. Levi [Levi, J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-07-29T22:00:00+00:00

19

Merida

“We the gypsies broke bread with the greatest rulers of Midgard, twisting tales and casting light to the macabre. The fae brought with them parlor tricks, but we, the people of old, remember what our mothers taught us. The ancient ways of Midgard, the true way to harness Arcana.

– Madam Terfoot, mother of gypsies 12 B.M.

“Move it, you mangy mutts,” a crass soldier sneers with an unnecessary tug of my iron shackles. We move along obsidian corridors, turning corners and scaling stairs. The bustle of steel boots falling into a rhythm as soldiers escort us is enough to make me cringe. I cautiously study the vylorian guards. I know something is off since twice the typical number of soldiers stormed into our tower chamber and clasped an iron collar to my mother’s neck. Sharp thorns in the collar’s brim intrude into her skin. A long black-clad chain dangles against her back. It perfectly matches the black iron shackles that adorn her wrists and ankles. No matter how rough the guard, she doesn’t resist. Nor does she snarl when they taunt her with barking mockery or spit at her feet. I wince at their repulsive display of disdain, and my blood curdles at their jests.

I recite the mantra in my mind, the words my mother whispered to me just before the soldiers burst through our chamber door. Don’t react, don’t give in, bide your time. I repeat the words internally, like a chant or mantra. It’s the only thing keeping me from ripping the guards’ heads from their rancid bodies.

A king’s guard grips the black chain that’s secured to my mother’s collar. He gives it the occasional tug as we’re escorted. He acts as though he’s walking a dog. Disgusting.

He’ll be the first I kill. My tongue glistens in saliva at the thought of tasting the vylorian glutton’s blood. I allow myself to imagine placing the very collar on my mother’s throat around his. I itch at the thought of dragging him across the black marbled floors and lynching him over the railing of the grand spiral staircase in the foyer of Obsidian Reach.

I’ve memorized the better parts of Obsidian Reach over the years, which is why I recognize the path we’re taking. The throne room. My disobedience during the tour pissed Veryn off, indeed. I’m confident we’re about to receive the punishment for my actions.

When we pass the tall iron doors, flourished in gold leaves and silver lianas, I lower my shoulders and raise my chin. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm before him.

Veryn sprawls across his throne. His head is tucked against the armrest and his legs dangling on the other. He’s always in this lax manner when his machinations are genuinely sinister. This isn’t what I’d imagine being a king’s posture, more like a prepubescent child too bored to sit still. And as a child might, Veryn is about to unleash his tantrum.

Veryn doesn’t bother giving us a glance even as we stand before the dais.

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