The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,37
pulled him to his feet. “Wake fully, Lord Pangion, and plant your spirit in the world where you now stand.”
Her command snuffed out the last of the echoes but not the memory of the monk crucified on a scaffold of black bones. He stared at Anhuset, concentrating on her features. “Can you hear them at all? The galla? I dreamed them, but I swear it was more than a dream.”
“I believe you.” She left him to rummage through one of her packs, returning with a small hand mirror. “Take a look,” she said, handing it to him.
He held the mirror up and swallowed back a gasp as horror flooded his veins. The blue luminescence hadn't confined itself to a corona surrounding Megiddo's bier. Serovek stared at his reflection with eyes flooded in the same shimmering hue. His natural eye color was blue as well, but of a more natural shade. His dead wife had once likened his irises to the deep of a cold ocean. Now they glowed with the ethereal strangeness of a Wraith king's power, like the simulacrum vuhana he'd ridden into battle against the galla. As he continued to stare, the light faded, his sclera becoming white again, even as his irises darkened, losing their definition to pupils dilated from the dimness of the stables and the last vestiges of his nightmare. “Gods,” he breathed, before thrusting the mirror at Anhuset.
Her claws scraped across the glass as she took it from him. Her eyes glowed as well as she regarded him, but from the nature of her heritage instead of sorcery. “How long has this been happening?”
Serovek shrugged. “This is the first time I've seen it.”
“But is it the first time you've looked?”
“No.”
This was the worst nightmare he'd had about the galla or Megiddo so far, but not the only one. Each time he'd awakened, the shuddering aftermath left him bathed in a cold sweat. He'd suffered through battle sickness when he was younger, less inured then to the savagery of war. This wasn't battle sickness. No one's eyes glowed ethereal blue when they fought their own inner demons.
Anhuset put away the mirror, switching it for a flask. “You look like you need a drink. If this doesn't chase away the echoes, nothing will.”
Serovek ran the flask under his nose, rearing back when his eyes watered at the familiar smell. Peleta's Kiss. He saluted Anhuset, took a healthy swig and braced for the burn as the spirit scorched a path over his tongue, down his throat, and into his stomach where it ignited with a heat to melt the last splinters of ice coursing through his veins. This time the shudder that threatened to break his joints loose had nothing to do with the nightmare and everything to do with the flask's contents. Clear-headed, with a warm glow burning in his belly, he thanked Anhuset for her offering and returned it to her. “The spirit that cures all ills,” he said.
She nodded and tucked the flask back into the satchel where she'd stashed her mirror. “Nectar of the gods.” Her mouth curved. “For when they want their insides set on fire.” The amusement softening her features faded as she eyed him. “I've had bad dreams, but yours was worse than what most of us suffer, I think.” She inclined her head toward Megiddo. “And him being here has something to do with it obviously. Do you wish to speak of it?”
He liked that she didn't demand he tell her what he dreamed, though holding such a nightmare close did the dreamer no good. “Not really, but we both know this was more than a dream. I think it was a warning and probably something you should relate to Brishen when you return to Saggara.” Her features remained expressionless as he recounted the grotesque visions and the sounds of the galla as they tortured the Nazim monk. Only her eyes changed, their yellow brightening or darkening as he spoke of the hairline crack of light in the writhing darkness and Megiddo's desperate command that Serovek get away.
When he finished, she turned to stare at the monk's bier and the body lying peacefully under the blanket. The blue light had disappeared completely. “How long have you dreamed of the galla and Megiddo?”
It felt like several lifetimes. “Since a couple of months after returning home from Haradis. They've grown progressively worse as time passed but nothing like tonight.” He followed Anhuset's gaze to the bier. “Then again, this is the