Read Online Blood's Pride (Shattered Kingdoms) by Evie Manieri - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Evie Manieri
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eyes were fixed and cloudy, as if he’d been blinded. ‘My gods, what’s wrong?’ Daryan gasped. ‘I’ll get the physic—’
As he turned to jump down from the dais, Eofar reached out as if to grab his robe. ‘No!’ he moaned, but his hand fell away and he pitched over onto his back, throwing an arm across his face as if the dim light hurt his eyes. Strands of his pale hair had come loose from the leather binding and stuck to his forehead. His skin was a sickly greyish colour and his lips were no longer blue but nearly black.
‘You’re ill, my Lord. You need help,’ Daryan said anxiously, trying to remember to keep his voice low.
‘No,’ Eofar said again, this time with a little more strength, ‘not ill—’ His left hand scratched among the bedlinen as if he was looking for something. Suddenly, Daryan saw a small, shiny object roll off the bed. It landed on the stone dais with a musical ping and he scooped it up before it could roll down the steps. It was a tiny bottle, stopped with a cork, containing a few drops of some thick, dark liquid.
‘What is this?’ he asked slowly, tipping the bottle from side to side, watching the syrupy stuff slide back and forth. He stared at Eofar with the bottle cradled loosely in his hand. ‘It looks like poison,’ he said thickly. ‘Is it poison?’
Eofar coughed and rolled onto his side away from him. ‘I don’t know yet.’ He clawed his way to the edge of the bed, coughing hard enough to make him retch, though he did not. He tried to sit up, but instead slid off the bed and fell heavily down on to the stone step, shutting his eyes and resting his forehead against the wooden bed-frame.
Daryan watched while his breathing gradually slowed, at a loss for any way to help him. Finally Eofar’s silver-grey eyes slid open again. ‘Water, please,’ he requested thinly, followed by a long, relieved exhalation.
Daryan put the bottle back down on the bed, filled a cup from the cistern in the corner and set it down on the floor next to his master. Eofar’s hand shook as he lifted the cup to his lips, but the water appeared to revive him. After a long moment, the Dead One picked up the bottle again. ‘You don’t recognise it?’
‘No, my Lord.’
‘This is made by your own people, to see the future.’
Daryan stared at the little bottle in shock. ‘Divining elixir, my Lord?’
‘You’ve heard of it?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t think there was any still around. I remember Har—’ but he stopped himself there.
‘Why did you think it was poison?’ Eofar asked softly, slipping the bottle into his pocket.
Daryan swallowed. ‘I don’t know, my Lord.’
‘I’ve had— There are things—’ the Dead One started, but he couldn’t seem to go any further. He looked past Daryan at the curtain still swinging gently in the doorway. ‘I’m surprised you think I’d do something like that.’
‘I don’t think I would have,’ Daryan said carefully, ‘before.’
‘Before what?’ Eofar asked in his expressionless voice.
‘My lord, it’s not for me to—’
‘Speak.’
‘You’ve hardly left your room in months. You barely eat. You drink too much. You’ve stopped training. Why did you let your father give control of the mines to Lady Frea instead of you? And Lady Isa— I rushed here to tell you that she tried to fly out on Trakkar tonight, by herself.’ Eofar straightened up quickly. ‘Don’t worry, my Lord,’ he reassured his master bitterly, ‘she didn’t get off the ground – but you know her: she’ll try again. I’m begging you, please do something before she gets hurt.’
Eofar stared back at him, his face as smooth and immobile as a slab of marble. ‘You have more to say.’
‘No.’ He stared down at his sandals. ‘That’s all, my Lord.’
‘Say it.’
‘I’ve already said more than I should have, my Lord.’
‘Daryan,’ Eofar said, even more quietly; he watched his own clasped fingers for a long moment, then slowly
As he turned to jump down from the dais, Eofar reached out as if to grab his robe. ‘No!’ he moaned, but his hand fell away and he pitched over onto his back, throwing an arm across his face as if the dim light hurt his eyes. Strands of his pale hair had come loose from the leather binding and stuck to his forehead. His skin was a sickly greyish colour and his lips were no longer blue but nearly black.
‘You’re ill, my Lord. You need help,’ Daryan said anxiously, trying to remember to keep his voice low.
‘No,’ Eofar said again, this time with a little more strength, ‘not ill—’ His left hand scratched among the bedlinen as if he was looking for something. Suddenly, Daryan saw a small, shiny object roll off the bed. It landed on the stone dais with a musical ping and he scooped it up before it could roll down the steps. It was a tiny bottle, stopped with a cork, containing a few drops of some thick, dark liquid.
‘What is this?’ he asked slowly, tipping the bottle from side to side, watching the syrupy stuff slide back and forth. He stared at Eofar with the bottle cradled loosely in his hand. ‘It looks like poison,’ he said thickly. ‘Is it poison?’
Eofar coughed and rolled onto his side away from him. ‘I don’t know yet.’ He clawed his way to the edge of the bed, coughing hard enough to make him retch, though he did not. He tried to sit up, but instead slid off the bed and fell heavily down on to the stone step, shutting his eyes and resting his forehead against the wooden bed-frame.
Daryan watched while his breathing gradually slowed, at a loss for any way to help him. Finally Eofar’s silver-grey eyes slid open again. ‘Water, please,’ he requested thinly, followed by a long, relieved exhalation.
Daryan put the bottle back down on the bed, filled a cup from the cistern in the corner and set it down on the floor next to his master. Eofar’s hand shook as he lifted the cup to his lips, but the water appeared to revive him. After a long moment, the Dead One picked up the bottle again. ‘You don’t recognise it?’
‘No, my Lord.’
‘This is made by your own people, to see the future.’
Daryan stared at the little bottle in shock. ‘Divining elixir, my Lord?’
‘You’ve heard of it?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t think there was any still around. I remember Har—’ but he stopped himself there.
‘Why did you think it was poison?’ Eofar asked softly, slipping the bottle into his pocket.
Daryan swallowed. ‘I don’t know, my Lord.’
‘I’ve had— There are things—’ the Dead One started, but he couldn’t seem to go any further. He looked past Daryan at the curtain still swinging gently in the doorway. ‘I’m surprised you think I’d do something like that.’
‘I don’t think I would have,’ Daryan said carefully, ‘before.’
‘Before what?’ Eofar asked in his expressionless voice.
‘My lord, it’s not for me to—’
‘Speak.’
‘You’ve hardly left your room in months. You barely eat. You drink too much. You’ve stopped training. Why did you let your father give control of the mines to Lady Frea instead of you? And Lady Isa— I rushed here to tell you that she tried to fly out on Trakkar tonight, by herself.’ Eofar straightened up quickly. ‘Don’t worry, my Lord,’ he reassured his master bitterly, ‘she didn’t get off the ground – but you know her: she’ll try again. I’m begging you, please do something before she gets hurt.’
Eofar stared back at him, his face as smooth and immobile as a slab of marble. ‘You have more to say.’
‘No.’ He stared down at his sandals. ‘That’s all, my Lord.’
‘Say it.’
‘I’ve already said more than I should have, my Lord.’
‘Daryan,’ Eofar said, even more quietly; he watched his own clasped fingers for a long moment, then slowly
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