Lord of the Abyss. Nalini Singh
he wondered if she was a very clever spy, come to assassinate him.
But who would dare raise a blade against the Lord of the Black Castle? And why would they send this creature so weak and small and strange? Ridiculous. With that, he ate the tart.
An explosion of flavors—sweet and fresh and spicy and—”What else have you made?” Swallowing the tiny tidbit, he waited with impatience as she served him two more of the same.
Then came the soup so clear and with round little green things in it that she told him were pieces of “spring onion.” He blinked, having the sudden, nagging feeling that he hated onion. But that was an inexplicable thought—he ate what Jissa made, but then Jissa’s food had no taste. “This is meant to feed me?”
“Try it, my lord.”
He didn’t bother with the spoon. Picking up the bowl, he drank.
And drank.
And drank.
There was a large square of something made of many layers in front of him when he finished the soup and set the bowl to the side. This time, he didn’t question, simply picked up the fork and took a bite.
Cheese and a thin pastry and peppers and cabbage, tomatoes and other things, spices he couldn’t name but that burst to life on his tongue with flickering heat. He cleared his plate with swift relish. “What is next?”
She spooned rice, soft and fluffy, onto his plate, before covering it with some kind of a stew, except that it was full of chunks of different vegetables that turned it into a storm of color. “Where is the meat?”
Putting down the bowl, his peculiar little prisoner folded her arms. “I won’t cook it. If you wish for meat, you may ask Jissa to do so.”
He was the Lord of the Black Castle and of the Abyss. He wasn’t used to being defied. But he was also not used to eating food that made him eager to see the next course. So he tried this vegetable stew over rice. It was a thick, flavorsome concoction that lay warm and satisfying in his belly. Finishing the food, he pushed away the plate. “You will cook for me.”
A slight nod—as if she had a choice in the matter. “I didn’t have time to prepare a proper dessert, my lord, but I hope this will do.”
She put slices of fruit in front of him, plump and fresh, alongside a small pot of something sweet and rich, with a scent that made his nostrils flare. “What is this?”
A faint smile. “Try it, my lord.”
He hadn’t been the recipient of any kind of a smile for so long that something creaked and crashed open inside of him as he looked into her face. “No, you will tell me,” he said in a harsh tone, suddenly no longer amused.
She didn’t flinch. “Honey with a bit of vanilla and some spices. It is sometimes called nectar.”
More, please!
Shaking his head, he rid himself of that odd childlike voice. He didn’t know such a child, and the smallest of the realms never came through the doorway to the Abyss. They didn’t have time to grow into the evil that would mean banishment to this place of torment and repentance.
More, Mama!
“Take it away,” he said, shoving back his chair with such force it clattered to the floor. “And do not bring me such a thing again.”
His prisoner said nothing as she—with Jissa’s help—began to gather up the remains of the meal. Stalking to the other end of the great hall, he used the power of this place to raise himself to the wall above the throne and picked out a giant sickle, black as his armor. The edge gleamed white-hot the instant it touched his hand.
He glimpsed Liliana watching him as he came back down to earth and turned to walk out into the cold dark of the soul hunt.
Liliana’s eyes lingered on the doorway through which the dark lord had disappeared, the echo of his chair hitting the floor still ringing in her ears. Something in him remembered the delicacy favored by the children of Elden, something in him knew.
“Liliana.” Jissa’s hand on her arm. “Go, go, we must go. Not nice to see souls being dragged into the Abyss. Always, they try to escape. Beg and bargain and plead.”
“Where is the doorway?”
“Feet, below our feet. Down, down in the castle.”
Liliana looked at the black marble of the floor and wondered what she would find if she were to crack it open. Likely nothing but rock. For it was said only the most blackened of souls and the Guardian of the Abyss himself could view that terrible wasteland full of screams and horror. And it was this place that the youngest Elden royal faced night after night. It was this place that had shaped him.
“We’ll eat now.” Jissa’s bright voice broke into her murky thoughts. “You and me and Bard, we’ll eat your delicious food.”
“The other servants?” Liliana asked when they reached the kitchens after cleaning up the table in the great hall.
“Returned to the village they have.” Round, shining eyes filled with unquenchable sorrow. “Gone home.”
Liliana’s hatred for her father grew impossibly deeper. “Sit,” she said, “eat. I’ll be back after I deliver this—” picking up a tart “—to another friend.”
When Bard began to rise, Liliana said, “Where will I go, Master Jailor? And what would I dare steal?” With that, she pushed through the door and made her way down to the dungeons. The door to her cell was closed, but not locked.
Walking inside, she placed the tart near the food container. “Little friend,” she whispered, “this is for you.”
Silence. Then a slight sound, a small body quivering in hope.
Rising, Liliana backed out and closed the door. She was about to return to the warmth of the kitchen when she found herself curious about the other cells. She’d heard nothing but silence the previous night, but she’d been weak and exhausted at the time.
Picking the torch up off the wall, its flames flickering eerie shadows over the crumbling stone, she walked deeper into the cold. The first cell beyond her own was empty, as was the next. But the third, the third was very much occupied.
“Sissssster,” came the sibilant whisper as she stood with the flame held close to the small barred square in the door, “help meeeee.”
Chapter 4
Squinting, she tried to see within. But there was only blackness. An impossible blackness, so dense as to repel the light from the torch. Liliana hesitated. She wasn’t stupid. The Black Castle held the gateway through which only the most vicious of the dead and the Guardian himself could pass—her sojourn here aside, its dungeons were unlikely to be populated by beings who meant her no harm.
Holding the torch in front of her like a shield, she backed away.
A slithering, as if some large creature was nearing the door. “Sisssster, it issssss a misssstake. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Then,” she said, continuing to keep her distance, “you would not have been drawn to the Abyss.” It was said the Abyss was the one constant throughout the realms, its magic elemental, immutable—if your soul was rotted and foul, you’d be unable to escape it once your mortal flesh released its grip on life.
“Are you ssssssssssoooo certain?”
“Yes,” she said, suddenly conscious that she was almost at the cell door once again.
She couldn’t remember moving.
And she couldn’t shift her eyes from the square “window” of the cage.
“Come clossssser, sissssster.”
Swallowing, she squeezed her fingers