Wrath of the Forgotten: Descendants of the Fall Book II by Hodges, Aaron (good english books to read .txt) 📗

I should thank you, Adonis continued, and Lukys could hear the disdain in his words. We have worked long to keep the secrets of the ancient world from humanity. Had we not arrived first, I shudder to think what new magics might have fallen into human hands. Though it was a shame the Old Ones were…lost.

Adonis’s words ended up abruptly, and Lukys thought he caught a flicker of something in the creature’s eyes. Fear? A shiver touched him as he recalled what had waited in those tunnels beneath the earth. The Tangata that had arrived before them had woken something—the “Old Ones” Adonis spoke of. It seemed even the Tangata feared the creatures.

“What are they?” he asked.

A darkness crept across Adonis’s face and he quickly looked away. The clearing fell still, and Lukys knelt, waiting, wondering…

The last hope of the Tangata.

The words were so quiet Lukys wasn’t sure whether Adonis had meant for him to hear them. He did not respond, and after a moment the Tangata shook himself. Drawing in a breath, he turned to where the female still stood watching.

Put him back with the other one. The order was directed at the female, but it seemed the Tangata were able to make their thoughts heard to more than one listener, should they wish. The Matriarch will wish to question him further. Perhaps together we can find the source of his ability.

With that, Adonis clasped his hands behind his back and turned away. Lukys shivered. The action was unnervingly similar to a nobleman dismissing a servant. Shaking his head, he rose as the female approached. Keeping her eyes averted from Adonis, she took his hands and bound them again, thankfully in front of him this time.

She started to lead him away, but Adonis spoke again before they reached the edge of the clearing.

Sophia. Lukys’s escort froze at the name, her head slowly turning to look back. The Tangatan leader stood staring after them. Your insolence has not gone unnoticed.

The female Tangata swallowed. Yes, Adonis.

Then they were retreating, the female leading him back into the trees. Lukys found himself staring at her back, remembering how she had interfered, stopped Adonis from killing him.

“Sophia…” he said suddenly. Ahead, the Tangata froze, spinning to look at him, eyes wide. Lukys spoke into the silence: “That’s your name?”

Light filtered through the canopy overhead, revealing the confusion on his captor’s face. Seeing such a human emotion made it easier to ignore those terrible grey eyes, and Lukys found himself taking note of her other features. A small scar marked her cheek, accented by copper skin tanned in the southern summers. Twigs and branches tangled in her ash-brown hair and dirt streaked her plain-spun tunic and leggings, though she was probably cleaner than Lukys after his weeks in the wilderness.

Yes, her reply came finally, a frown still creasing her forehead.

“Why did you save me?” Lukys blurted out before he lost his nerve.

The Tangata leaned her head to the side. You killed my partner, she replied, her frown deepening. You are mine.

4

The Fugitive

Exhaustion weighed heavily on Erika’s shoulders as the soldier led them through the narrow corridor. Wide windows on the wall opened to the dawn, granting her a view of the shadowed gorge beyond the ramparts of the Illmoor Fortress. After three nights of sailing in darkness, they had chased the rising sun to arrive before the daylight. She could see it even now, its orange glow just appearing on the distant cliffs.

It almost felt strange, to be on her feet as daylight approached. They had spent their days in hiding, the boat pulled in amongst tall reeds that dotted the shallows of the Illmoor. Each day she had lain waiting in that boat for their pursuers to catch them, for the arrows to find her, to strike her down.

Now she was finally safe from the queen’s reach. All that remained to be seen was whether the King of Gemaho would keep to his word. She prayed it was so. Walking the corridors of the Illmoor Fortress, she was in his power now.

Guards had met them on the shore outside the fortress, crossbows trained on their little sailboat. Thankfully, they had lowered the weapons when they’d seen Maisie. With the guards help they had been able to lift Cara from the boat with minimal effort. By then they’d covered her wings with a heavy fur coat, thinking it better not to announce her presence to all the world.

Finally they were led into a high-ceilinged room lit by brass chandeliers and furnished with white velvet sofas and tables of glass and steel. The lavish sight brought relief for Erika—she’d half-feared they were being led to the dungeons. The sensation was immediately followed by one of discomfort. Her only bath for the last two weeks had been an unplanned dip in the river water. She had long since ceased to detect her own scent, but with her hair stiff with mud and clothes stained brown, she had no illusions about the current state of her appearance.

She turned to the guards to ask about a private chamber to bathe, but they were already vanishing into the corridor. The door swung closed behind them with a distinct thunk that suggested a locking bar had been slid into place on the other side. She looked at Maisie, but the woman seemed unconcerned. Cara, on the other hand, smirked.

“Looks like we’re both prisoners now,” Cara muttered. Her chains clinked as she wandered across to one of the sofas and slumped into its cushions.

Erika winced as dirt from the Goddess’s clothes left streaks of dirt on the velvet. “I don’t think our host will appreciate you ruining—”

“Bitch,” Cara interrupted. The scowl the Goddess wore suggested she knew exactly what she was doing.

Letting out a sigh, Erika turned away. She’d tried various times during the journey to explain herself, but Cara had remained stubbornly silent, deaf to anything Erika said. The only constant were