Princess of the Sword Read Online Free Page B

soul.”

    “Are you certain?”

    “Aye, milord. My life upon it, milord. I just laid down but a moment ago.”

    Droch took the boy by the scruff of the neck and shoved him away. “Begone. I want privacy.”

    The serving lad scrambled with all due haste across the chamber. The door was wrenched open, then pulled shut behind him with a bang. Miach listened to Droch wander about the chamber, investigating corners and patches of dark that gave way to his werelight only reluctantly. He paused, then walked back over to his table and studied the books there. Miach had sensed no spell covering any of them—well, other than the usual bit of vileness that crawled over whatever tome contained Olc. Surely nothing that should have given his own presence away.

    The master of the art came to a stop in front of his solar door. Miach could no longer see him, but he could hear him as he moved again, his boots very light against the stone of the floor. He walked to a spot directly in front of the wardrobe and stopped.

    Miach was suddenly so overcome by the desire to fling open the door, he almost caught his breath. He wasn’t sure if it was his own will faltering or if it were some sort of wretched spell that Droch was casting silently. That he couldn’t tell spoke volumes, no doubt.

    Droch stepped back suddenly, out of sight again. Miach didn’t dare hope that would be the end of it. Morgan’s fingers in his back didn’t relax either, so perhaps she had the same thought. He closed his eyes and listened to Droch pace about the chamber several more times, pausing each time to linger in front of the wardrobe. Miach supposed they wouldn’t be fortunate enough for Droch to wear himself out, then go have a little rest on that sofa long enough for them to escape.

    Droch suddenly walked in the direction of the door. Miach didn’t have to wonder for long what he intended, for he heard the words of a spell clearly enough. In time, he saw something begin to form itself in the middle of the chamber. Droch clapped his hands and the pile of what he’d created began to first shimmer, then take shape.

    “That should take care of any vermin that might have slipped in unnoticed,” Droch drawled. “And what an unpleasant way to die.”

    Miach closed his eyes and cursed silently as Droch left the chamber, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it. Unpleasant wasn’t the word he would have used, but perhaps he would think of a better one when he had gotten Morgan safely away from what was now a mass of writhing, twisting snakes there in the middle of the chamber. He supposed it might have been prudent to wait a bit longer and see if Droch had merely pretended to leave, but he didn’t think they would have that luxury. Consequences be damned. He and Morgan had to get out before those snakes warmed enough to slither about and find what they’d been instructed to seek.

    Anything that moved.

    Alarm bells began to ring in the distance. Miach swore, then flung open the armoire door and hurled the first thing he put his hand on across the chamber. The cloak he’d thrown landed on top of the nest of vipers, covering them temporarily.

    He bolted for the window and worked on the latch with the knife Scrymgeour Weger had gifted him. Perhaps it possessed a magic he hadn’t felt, for it cut through the spells there as if they’d been naught but tender flesh. He shoved open the window, boosted Morgan up, then jumped up himself.

    “Miach!”

    He looked down and flinched at the sight of fangs that were a fingerbreadth from his leg, stopped only by that same bit of steel he was holding in his hand.

    Morgan said nothing else, but her knife flashed suddenly in the light from the fire. The viper’s head and its body fell back to the floor separately.

    Miach followed Morgan out onto the ledge, then jerked the window shut behind him. He wiped the venom off the knife and onto his boot, then carefully resheathed his knife. The venom of the