Page 61 of Crown of Death

“Here,” a gentle voice says, and something that smells like animal, but is warm, wraps around myshoulders.

The baby cries again, wailing.Inconsolable.

“He’ll die if we don’t do something,” the words breathe over my lips. The baby screams again, and tears prick in myeyes.

“There,” the voice says. A hand raises, pointing across the valley. To the other side of the lake. Dark spires rise into the night air. “We will gothere.”

* * *

My eyes slide open,my teeth chattering. I pull the blanket tighter around me to fight off thecold.

Only my room is plenty warm. There’s no wind. No first signs ofsnow.

I’ve always had strange dreams. Imagined things I can’t really explain. Images of landscapes I’ve never visited. Flashes of faces I’ve never seen before. Had feelings of family and friends I know don’texist.

It’s why I firmly believe inreincarnation.

I’ve lived other lives. It sounds crazy. But I can’t come up with any otherexplanation.

My imagination isn’t vivid enough to come up with this on itsown.

The door to my bedroom opens and Mina walks in, pushing another mealcart.

“The King wants you to eat a good breakfast and enjoy the services he will soon be sending up,” she says without hesitating or even looking up at me. She parks the meal cart close to my bed. I scramble, sitting up, but being careful to keep myself covered, considering I slept in the nude lastnight.

“The party will begin at two o’clock,” Mina continues. She moves to my closet. She grabs another garment bag, this one huge. “You’ll wear this. Head to the great hall, and he will meet youthere.”

She turns on her heel, and exits thebedroom.

I shake myhead.

My life is so weirdnow.

I wrap a sheet around myself and sit on the edge of the bed, pulling the silver dome off theplate.

It’s a large spread, far more than I could ever actually finish. Eggs, fruit, French toast, bacon. I can’t think of any breakfast item that isn’tthere.

Almost as if on cue, as soon as I finish my breakfast, there’s a knock on the door, but before I can even get up to answer, it opens and in walks a strong-looking man, carrying a massagetable.

“Good morning, Miss Pierce,” he greets me with a warmsmile.

So much for any semblance of control over my life, orprivacy.

I can’t complain too much though, when ten minutes later a little groan of pleasure embarrassingly escapes my lips as the man digs his hands into my muscles. Expertly, he rubs, soothing,relaxing.

I really should thank Cyrus. It was a thoughtfulmove.

I get the impression he wants something from me. And as I think about it, I know exactly what itis.

He wants me to agree to let him kill meearly.

My skin tingles as I think back to what happened last night. When he was brushing his skin against mine. The heady look in hiseyes.

I can’t lie. That was desire pulsing through my ownveins.

But what is it that Cyrus really wants from me? Cyrus says and gets what he wants, so if he wanted me, for whatever primal or romantic purposes, I think he would just say it. And he had this urgency from the first sixty seconds of ourmeeting.

Desire might be evolving from it, but that’s not what this stemmedfrom.