The Witch's Daughter - Laken Cane Page 0,41
the words out. The buzzing in her head grew louder. She could see nothing but the army. Could barely think.
Standing in an invisible enclosure, their faces blank, bodies showing the stillness of very old vampires, were rows and rows and rows of…
Her.
“How can this be?” she said, or wanted to say. She wasn’t sure she was actually speaking until Ian answered her.
“But…they were made just as you were, Princess. You were made. They were made in your image.”
She pressed her fingers to her temples.
He’d known, Brasque Dray, that the shock would be enormous. Surely, he’d known.
Ian touched her arm. “They’re not exactly as you are. They’re simply machines, of a sort.” He pointed toward Owen. “Like Five is. They have no emotions, no heart…”
“Owen does,” she murmured.
“Sure.” He nodded a little too quickly. “Sure he does. But the only thing your army can feel is pain, because that keeps them motivated to succeed. To protect themselves. Do you understand?”
When she said nothing, only stared at the army, he hurried on. “They will follow any command you set them.” Then he shrugged. “But they know what to do even without your commands.”
She walked closer until she was standing right in front of them. “But what are they?”
“They are—”
“Zombies,” she said. “They’re zombies.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Princess zombies. But they will not be slow to move. They will kill. That’s their only desire.”
“My monster.”
And she knew it was the truth. Her monster was standing there before her, in the flesh, multiplied.
Bloodthirsty.
Deadly.
Empty.
She couldn’t cry. It was too big for tears.
She shivered, suddenly freezing.
They were her.
She’d been…made. Not born. No one was truly her mother, and no one was truly her father.
She had contributors. And every single one of them was…shit. Just shit.
She’d been put together with pieces and parts from all four shimmer lords, and all four shimmers.
Built.
“Tell me…”
“Anything, Princess.”
“Nicolas Llodra,” she said.
“He was Blood Shimmer lord. It is said that he and the witch were in love. That she was obsessed with him. She grew jealous and in the end, she captured him. Forced him to live as her slave for…” He shrugged. “For I don’t know how long.”
“Who’s the Blood Shimmer lord now?”
“His name is Rand. His shimmer was overtaken by Magic and no one knows if he was taken by the witch, killed, or managed to escape. They were a secretive bunch anyway.”
“Death Shimmer lord,” she said.
“Nikolai Czar. He is at the mercy of the witch. It is unknown if he lives.”
“How long has he been the Death lord?”
“Not long, Princess. Nikolai is of my time.” His voice softened. “He is not one of your makers.”
“Then who was the Death Shimmer lord at the time of my creation?”
“A man named Ariessin. He disappeared over twenty years ago. Deserted his shimmer, his people…and no one really knows where he is hiding.”
“Fuck it,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”
There were worse things than to be made from shimmer lords.
Surely.
She shuddered. “How long have you been here?”
He hesitated. “I…I lost count.” His voice was hoarse. “I don’t remember.”
Nothing was normal. Nothing.
That’s all she’d wanted, just something halfway normal.
A mother, a father.
But all she had, really, was a fucked up title in a fucked up world.
And Z, who was missing and who could never, ever return to her world to be with her.
Not ever.
“Fuck you,” she said, shaking so hard her teeth rattled. “Fuck you.”
He drew back, his face pale. He couldn’t know the words weren’t really directed at him.
She didn’t enlighten him, just clenched her fists, ground her teeth, and went with dread and something close to fear to meet her army.
Her army of Rune zombies.
Chapter Twenty-Five
She gave them the command to follow her, and they left their pen eagerly, claws out, fangs dropped, eyes glowing red.
After that, she tried not to look at them.
They’d barely left the Flesh Shimmer when Ian pointed at something ahead. “Princess. It’s…what is that?”
She urged her horse closer, her mouth dry.
Crows. Hundreds, thousands of them. They appeared to be corralled in their own invisible holding pen, a mass of unmoving and silent birds.
They watched her, big crows with tiny cold eyes and shiny black feathers.
When she drew closer to them, the crow that had burst from her chest cawed, drawing her attention.
She knew him as well as she knew her monster.
He’d perched on one of the invisible rails, waiting.
He’d found her an army.
“An army of zombies and crows,” she muttered, her stare on the birds.
When the army flew in pairs from the corral, marching below them was Sorrow’s pup,