Page 93 of Storm of Shadows
“You failed me,” the necromancer spits, descending the steps leading to his throne. “It is because of your weakness that I was defeated.”
Natharius raises a silver brow. “Is that what you’ve been telling yourself all these centuries?”
A growl rumbles in the necromancer’s skeletal throat. As it stands, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mulgath ordered his undead to attack us at any moment. And we’re not here to provoke the necromancer. We’re here for Juron.
If he’s alive . . .
A sudden burst of courage blooms in my chest. I step in front of Natharius, and Mulgath’s gaze flickers down to me.
“We came here because your wraith claimed you’ve taken our friend captive,” I say. Despite my bravery, I don’t meet the necromancer’s shadowy eye sockets. I stare at the throne behind him, focusing on that instead. “Where is he?”
The necromancer’s teeth grind together in what I think is a wicked grin, though it could be a toothy grimace. Since his skull is void of flesh and muscle, it’s hard to tell. “Bring forth the prisoner!”
Three undead slip into the chamber on the left. They return moments later with Juron. A strip of dark cloth is wrapped around his right eye but aside from that, he remains very much alive.
His left eye sweeps over the four of us, and then his mouth falls open, seeming to forget the skeletal hands urging him forth. “Caya!” he gasps. “Taria!”
“Juron!” Caya exclaims. “You’re alive!”
“You . . . you shouldn’t have come for me.”
Natharius scoffs. I glare at him before he can tell Juron exactly what he thinks about this rescue mission.
“How could we not?” Caya says.
Juron doesn’t reply, and Taria remains silent. The priestess’s expression is contemplative.
Caya whirls back to Mulgath. “Release my brother.”
The necromancer lets out a bellowing laugh, and the hollow rumbling echoes around us. The undead join their master’s laughter, dozens of jaws clattering.
“The demon in exchange for this mortal,” Mulgath growls.
I tighten my fists. While I want to save Juron, handing Natharius over wasn’t part of the plan. Without the Void Prince, how will I defeat Arluin and the necromancers?
“Not a chance,” I say through my teeth.
“Then this mortal dies.”
In the next instant, the necromancer is beside Juron, pressing a gnarled blade to his neck.
“No!” Caya cries. Though she looks as if she wants to charge forth, her heels remain fixed on the polished floor. “Don’t!”
“The bargain is simple,” Mulgath snarls. “The Void Prince in exchange for your mortal friend.”
Caya glances back at me. Desperation fills her dark eyes.
If I don’t hand over Natharius to Mulgath, Juron will die. But if I hand Natharius over, I will lose my greatest weapon against Arluin. And it’s unlikely the necromancer will let the rest of us leave freely even if I comply with his demand.
But refusing Mulgath means sacrificing Juron. And I lack the heart to make that awful choice.
Natharius turns to me, his crimson eyes narrowing. “Don’t tell me you’re considering exchanging me for that pathetic lump of a mortal.”
Surprisingly, no one comments on the insult Natharius pays Juron. The others must be more focused on the impossibility of our situation.
Mulgath glares at me. “You will order the Void Prince to stand inside the binding circle.” With his free hand, the necromancer gestures to the markings to the left of the throne. I didn’t notice the binding circle until now, my attention otherwise preoccupied with Mulgath and his undead, and the shadowy markings also blend into the onyx floor. “If you refuse, I will slit this mortal’s throat.” The bones of his right hand tighten around the hilt of his gnarled dagger as he presses the blade more firmly against Juron’s neck.
“Reyna!” Caya shrieks. “You can’t let my brother die like this! Please!”