Death's Queen (In Deception's Shadow Book 4), page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Epilogue
Death’s Queen
By Lisa Blackwood
In Deception’s Shadow: Book 4
Death’s Queen © 2017 by Lisa Smeaton
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and characters are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any print or electronic form without author's permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Edited by Tracy Vandervliet
Cover Art Design by Rebecca Frank
Back Cover
Death wants his queen back.
After her two sisters are caught up by destiny’s call, Lamarra Stonemantle is the only one left to play the role of dutiful noble daughter. A task she embraces in an effort to hide the dark magic living inside her own soul. Now that power is whispering its seductive promises again, telling her only a long dead king can complete her soul.
That unknown being terrifies her, but when Lord Master Trensler orders his acolytes to capture Lamarra, she must flee her home. To her dismay, she is rescued by tomb guards sent by her dead king.
Lamarra soon learns her fate is just as terrible as she thought, but Dead King Soryn isn’t anything like she feared. He’s worse. Yet he’s also gentle and kind and he knows a way to track and destroy the acolytes’ evil god.
But Lord Master Trensler has his own plans. If he cannot match power with the Dead King, then he will go back in time and eradicate Soryn before he ever has the chance to become the Dead King.
There is one thing Trensler did not factor into his plan—Queen Lamarra and the protective instincts she feels towards her new king.
Author's Note:
In Deception's Shadow is a series best read in order for maximum enjoyment.
Betrayal's Price (Book 1)
Herd Mistress (Book 2)
Maiden's Wolf (Book 3)
Death's Queen (Book 4)
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Epilogue
Prologue
In Sorrow, the city of the dead, far below the weight of its living twin, the absence of sound had become his near constant companion. Now it lay heavily upon dust and stone alike. Such would drive those of lesser fortitude to abandon their honor and duty long ago. But his Watchers of the Dead were not such weak-willed beings.
They waited now, as they had for uncounted time. Their expressions inscrutable under their tattooed and painted features. In times long ago, their names were revered by the living, but like many things in the long passage of time, their names had been forgotten by those above in the living city of Grey Spires.
His Watchers of the Dead awaited him with infinite patience.
Only the soft, flickering light of the mage globes moved, casting shifting shadows to flow across the carvings on the stone walls. At room’s center, surrounded by twelve radiant crystal pillars, rested two elegantly carved stone sarcophaguses. One depicted a tale of love and loss. The other a long life lived with honor, compassion, and wisdom. That one was now empty. Dead Queen Karneska—his last guide and mentor—had made her final journey to the spirit realm five centuries past.
In spirit form, he ghosted between the crystal pillars and the guards as he returned to his mortal shell after a lengthy commune in the Oracle Tower. Both dire and joyous tidings it had imparted, making clear what he’d already gleaned from his fellow ruler before she’d departed to rejoin her own beloved King—Soryn’s predecessor.
The soft rustling of his wing feathers drew his guards’ focus and betrayed his return. Time was something he had plenty of, but for once he found himself wishing for more so that he could mull over his own feelings on the subject of what the Oracle had revealed. He’d known the foretold events were approaching. The Twelve had been reborn.
And so had she. His beloved.
He knew what that meant. He would be reunited with her—only to be forced to make her his queen and then send her from his side to complete her task, her purpose. For the first time in all his long existence, he wasn’t sure if he could do what was asked of him. He wasn’t sure if he could part with her. Again.
Had he still been mortal, he would have sighed. Or fretted and paced. In truth, while he no longer had breath to sigh with, he still wanted to fret and pace. Instead, he merged his spirit with his body inside his tomb.
The stone sarcophagus, which acted as an anchor for his spirit when he was not in his body, still inspired a twist of dread deep in his avian soul and he forced his wings to still their restless shuddering. The millennia he’d spent in his current form had dulled almost all other instincts left over from a time when his heart still pulsed within his chest. Only the call of the open skies still existed deep in his phoenix soul. But it was useless to dream of the skies; his dry, lifeless feathers no longer able to carry him aloft.
He shoved aside that old mental longing.
Duty required him to act. There was no point withholding his orders from his guards. The path was clear. The future written in this one regard.
There must be a new queen to take up the mantle left by the old.
As his mind, spirit, and body aligned in agreement, the heavy stone lid of his sarcophagus moved with a scraping of stone on stone, the strength of his magic and will pushing it aside. Joy spiked through his spirit at the thought of escaping his stone confines.
Rising from his sarcophagus in a swirl of power, he looked to his guards. Even before he had fully descended the stairs to stand before them, they had all dropped to the ground in graceful bows. It was an honor he’d never truly grown accustomed too, even when he’d been a living king. Breaking them of the habit had proven frustrating, so he had given up long ago.
‘Raikena, arise,’ he said in a voice both soft and hollow, one that had not known the constraints of mortal flesh for many centuries. ‘You shall convey my commands to your brothers and sisters of the order.’
“My King, I listen and obey.” The gryphon folded her black and burgundy-hued wings tight to her back and raised her head from where it had brushed the cold stone of the floor. Her tufted ears swiveled forward and her eyes, shimmering pools of darkness, studied him with a predator’s intensity, missing nothing.
‘I have been with the Oracle.” He paused, assessing their thoughts, learning what his guards had already discovered while he’d been within the tower. “As you have guessed, the Twelve have returned. The Destroyer, protector to the Twelve, is abroad in the land once again and she and her bondmate have been enslaved by his Larnkin, Itharann. But as dire as that would normally be, they are not my concern. There is another darkness sullying our land. A creature capable of devouring other forms of magic. Its most potent slave is a human by the name of Lord Master Trensler. The leader of the human acolytes.’
Raikena tilted her head, her dark eyes knowing. “While you were within the Oracle’s Tower, the li
‘If I was to tell the truth, even after all these centuries I still do not know what Trensler’s master is, but it is lethal to all living things—perhaps the greatest threat creation has ever faced. It is almost time to put into motion the Oracle’s plan that may allow us to track this deadly enemy, but first I must solidify my magic, and only with another queen at my side will that be possible.’
“Your queen has been reborn at last, hasn’t she?” Raikena’s voice held a hint of joy. “Tell me where to find her and I shall bring her to you.”
‘Yes. She has been reborn at last. And while I rejoice in that, I also despair that she will not know me, will not remember what we were to each other until long after her Larnkin awakes. Unfortunately, Lord Master Trensler will not give us the time needed for her to remember.’ Dead King Soryn turned from his guards and made his way across the vast chamber until he reached the first stair leading up to the two thrones. ‘She is already in danger. I shall protect and watch over her until you and your brothers and sisters of the order reach her. If she does not come willingly, then bring her by force, but she must come for her own protection. Once she is safe, I shall make her my queen.’
“Force, my King?” Raikena stiffened, her shock evident in her raised crest. “To force one of our sovereigns….”
‘If it will set your mind at ease, think of this as rescuing your king’s beloved. What Lord Master Trensler will do is more horrific than what the gods have planned for her.’
Although he left it unsaid, her true fate was almost as terrible. Being bonded to him would be a living nightmare for any creature of flesh and blood. He couldn’t keep the horror from creeping into his own soul at the thought of bonding a warm, living being to his current form. How was his poor beloved supposed to accept him as her bondmate?
She didn’t have a choice—not if creation had a hope of survival. The only comfort he could take was in the knowledge that she’d always been strong—all heart and fire and steadfast determination. She would not fail.
“As my King commands.” Rising gracefully, the gryphon returned to her position among the other guards. With the surety of one who is ancient, she remained silent and waited for the rest of her orders.
‘The Oracle told me Queen Lamarra is in the company of her youngest sister, Sorsha. They are both fleeing from acolytes. Go now. Make sure they both are safe, but only bring Lamarra to me.’
“At once, my King. Would you have us tell her why?” Raikena, loyal as all her kind, would serve, but her tone said she would take no pleasure in this.
‘No,’ Soryn said. If he was going to condemn her to a fate where she was bonded to the dead, where she would be helpless against the raw power of his Larnkin and the primal energies of the Spirit Realm, then the burden was his to explain. ‘I will explain her fate. That is my task.’
“Very well, my King.”
Even though he wanted to rage at what fate required of him, he merely paused and then ordered, ‘Go, take a dozen other tomb guards and bring Lamarra to me as quickly as possible.’
Raikena nodded, bowed once more, then turned and disappeared into the shadows to carry out his orders. The remaining guards neither moved nor betrayed their sorrow in any way. Yet he could feel what they felt. None deserved such a fate as what was about to be served to this human woman, but divine will must be served as it had for generations past.
Death would claim a new queen. It mattered not what he wanted.
Once again the chamber was quiet, no sounds invaded from the world above and deep in the heart of Sorrow, the city of the dead, its king settled upon his throne and awaited his queen’s return.
Chapter One
Lamarra stumbled through the gray world, her path illuminated by two weak mage globes summoned by one of her captors. The globes floated a few paces ahead but did little to brighten her present location. In fact, the pale light seemed to leach all color from this new world she walked in. Her skin had the white pall of a corpse. The end of her braid, where it thumped against her breast with each step, looked a washed out gray instead of her normal dark brown. Even the rich blue of her riding cloak was muted and dulled as if some power was draining all life and color from her.
Mentally frowning at her fanciful thoughts, she shoved them aside. It was nothing more than her weak night vision and the strange glow of the mage globes that made her think such things. Her body and clothing had just as much color as they had this morning. Her life force wasn’t being sucked away by some dark magic—at least, not now that she was away from the acolytes.
This tunnel, steeper than the last, heralded her descent deeper underground. Even without the increased slope, the hint of staleness in the air would have told her as much.
Focusing on her surroundings was difficult since her head still reeled from the trip through the fiery magic portal her Larnkin called a Gate. When it had first happened, the ringing in her ears and the stabbing pain that started behind her eyes had encompassed her entire head with each beat of her pounding heart. She thought she’d come under attack from some new threat.
When none had presented itself, she’d understood her kidnapping might actually be a rescue attempt to save her from the pursuing acolytes. The sudden change in pressure caused by traveling through the Gate from the forests just outside of the port settlement of River’s Divide to this new location—wherever it was—must be the origin of the uncomfortable sensation stabbing into her brain.
Once these Elementals had forced her and two of her santhyrian companions through the Gate, her guards had immediately driven the santhyrians off while they herded Lamarra deeper down these tunnels.
Her youngest sister, Sorsha, and the stallion mage Shadowdancer had not made it through the Gate, and she worried what had become of them. Were they even now captured by the acolytes? No. Surely not.
Shadowdancer was the swiftest of the santhyrians and Sorsha had been drawing on power to form some kind of powerful spell. Lamarra had felt the power just before she had been forced through the Gate.
She prayed that her sister and the big santhyrian had been able to escape. Besides, Lamarra was certain she would have felt it if her sister had been killed.
Her magic had always been able to sense death.
Like now. Her magic stirred awake, sensing it near.
Lamarra shivered and rubbed her arms while she glanced ahead at the two guards in the lead. There were two more behind as well. But she didn’t turn around to stare at them. To be truthful with herself, she didn’t want to look upon their painted features again.
They had been painted up to look like the dead. Gray, charcoal and white paint covered their bodies. She knew they were called tomb guards because the santhyrian, Summer Flame, had shouted a warning into her mind before they were both captured. She didn’t really know the santhyrians that well, not having spent as much time with them as her two sisters had, but she’d come to trust the horse shapeshifters because her sisters trusted them.
Summer Flame had been greatly concerned by the tomb guards’ sudden appearance, and Lamarra was certain her life was about to get far more complicated.
Her magic had assured her these tomb guards were not evil—nothing like the acolytes and their master—but Lamarra had known all her life that she was fated for something dark and terrible. In her dreams, she’d seen tunnels very much like these and terrifying figures she’d always assumed were dead, but now she thought her visions might have shown her these tomb guards with their death paint.
There was something else in her dreams. A power. Vast. Old. Something with great patience and as unstoppable as the forward march of time.
And that power and presence was here in these tunnels.
It was building now, pressing against her shields. Even as she continued to walk surrounded by her four guards, the power probed at her mental barriers, seeking a way within. Her Larnkin seemed unconcerned by that other presence, or perhaps reassured was a better word. Lamarra wasn’t so trusting and tightened the bubble of impenetrable magic more securely around her body and mind. This new power didn’t feel like what her phoenix or gryphon guards used. This was a more intense magic—older perhaps, certainly stronger.
