Reign of Darkness (The Prince's Assassin #2) - Ariana Nash Page 0,32
flung out, mouth open. Black veins cracked across his pale skin and snaked down his forearms, up his neck and face, as though at any moment he would splinter into a thousand pieces.
The beast’s jaws lay open. Ethereal smoke rose in wisps from Vasili’s body and poured into the creature.
Fury shattered Niko’s shock. Whatever that thing was, it wasn’t damn well taking Vasili. Not while Niko was here. He drew his blade and, with a roar, charged forward—and plunged straight through the beast. A shock of cold washed over him, snatching his breath from his lungs, just like the fiends had. But this beast was no fiend. It wasn’t even solid.
Vasili jerked, all-black eye rolling.
Gods, no. That bastard thing wasn’t taking him!
Niko swung the sword again, but it sailed through the beast unhindered, as though it were simply slicing through air. The creature continued absorbing the dark flame right out of Vasili’s skin.
“Do something!” Yasir screeched. He bolted in, dropped to his knees, and grabbed at Vasili’s arm. The beast snapped at Yasir, startling the man backward onto his ass.
Blades didn’t work.
Metal had worked on the fiends, but this thing wasn’t a corrupted elf. How could Niko fight a dream-creature?
Blackness throbbed off Vasili, the flame rippling higher, drawn from his body. Whatever was happening might kill the prince, and Niko hadn’t survived the Caville palace and the prince’s machinations for him to watch Vasili die and do nothing.
There had to be a way to get it off him, to stop it.
The beast focused again on Vasili. Vasili’s back arched, rising off the ground, as though pulled by invisible strings.
Niko tossed his sword in the dirt and grabbed at Vasili’s limp hand. The beast swung its huge head and snapped sharp teeth together inches from Niko’s face. Ember-red eyes burned through Niko, scorching his soul, touching his heart with darkness. Unflinching, Niko stared back. Whatever this thing was, whatever it was doing, it would have to pry Vasili from Niko’s cold, dead hands.
Niko pulled, but Vasili’s rigid body didn’t budge. He should have been able to heave him out from under the beast’s stance, but the prince was stuck, and with every second, more darkness spread beneath his skin, bleeding from his veins, painting him with the dark flame’s consuming touch.
The beast growled. Its lips rippled over jagged teeth.
“He’s dying!” Yasir’s cries weren’t helping.
Niko swore, released Vasili’s limp hand, and clambered to his feet. He scanned the camp for any weapon. Anything. There had to be something that would stop it. Yasir’s small bag of salt caught his eye. He snatched it up and threw the contents over the beast. Pink, crystallized salt dashed the beast’s side, sizzling into its smoky mass. It raised its head and let loose a haunting howl. The sound faded as its body dissolved into nothing but air.
The black veins were fading from Vasili, but he’d never looked paler. Niko dropped to his knees and cupped Vasili’s cold face. Pale lashes fluttered, his lips gently parted. He still breathed. Relief had Niko gasping. He scooped Vasili into his arms and carried him to the wagon. “Yasir, get us on the road!”
Niko sat in the rear of the wagon, shortsword in hand, as Yasir quickly cleared the camp and drove the wagon and horses back onto the track.
Shadows blurred by. Niko watched for any sign of glowing eyes, listened for howls, and kept the almost-empty bag of salt within reach. Behind him, Vasili lay motionless, pale and cold.
He draped the silks over him and then lingered to watch him sleep.
A life in a prison of fear was no life. Niko did not agree with Vasili’s methods, but he was beginning to understand how the prince believed he had no choice in them.
Maybe Niko could show him that choice was all he had, if he ever woke up.
Chapter 12
Vasili woke a day later. He didn’t speak, just took a few rice cakes, drank some water, and when they stopped at a brook, he took himself off, returning later with his damp hair slicked back, his face still pale and glare defiant. He might even have been the typical Vasili Caville again if Niko hadn’t seen the cracks in his emotional armor, or his slight hesitations and the way his fingers trembled.
Yasir chatted aimlessly, providing what was fast becoming a sense of normalcy, and eventually, the jungle gave way to more substantial roads as they passed carriages and mud-built huts and people tending the red soil.