Mask of Poison (Fall of Under Book 1) Kathryn Kingsley (best e books to read .txt) 📖

the one to whom he was joined. For he, as king, was the branch that flowed from that creature’s power and into the world around him.

As were all the Ancients and their kings and queens. All seven of them stood as an extension of their power so that they might rest.

An itch that wound up his spine told him the days of peace might be over. Shattered and broken glass lay scattered around the floor, glinting in the light like snowflakes. It would be beautiful, if he didn’t suspect that it represented a warning for the destruction that might have come to their world.

Something terrible had happened. He could sense it in the air.

And then…he saw what it was.

There should have been seven altars stood arranged around the room. The House of Blood in white. The House of Shadows in black. The House of Flames in red. The House of Moons in green. The House of Words in purple. The House of Fate in blue. And the restored House of Dreams in its brilliant shade of turquoise.

But there were not seven altars standing around him.

There were eight.

He walked slowly to the newcomer, to the statue that should not have been there. It was tattered and terrible, like its flesh was rotting from its bones. The decayed and open face that stared back at him seemed to be laughing at his horror. Laughing at his shock.

An altar stood before it. Clothed in tattered, decayed cotton. Stained in a terrible, fetid shade of yellow.

There was no house whose color was yellow.

Or…there shouldn’t be.

He stood staring into the carved visage of an Ancient, but not one that he knew. Questions flooded his mind. One after another, and each of them he could not answer.

For the first time in many centuries…Lyon knew fear.

And while he might not know how this had come to pass—or what had truly happened—he knew one thing for certain.

The time of peace had come to an end.

This meant wrack and ruin for them all.

“My lord?” someone asked breathlessly from beside him.

Lyon turned to look at the young man. “What is it, William?”

The young man looked out of breath. And caught in the same fear that Lyon was experiencing, if for different reasons. “There’s—there’s a mortal girl. In the Cathedral. She had a spear, and—”

Lyon furrowed his brow. “What? Where?”

“I—I don’t know. I ran to get help, and she must have disappeared.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. William was a sweet boy, and he meant well. But he was a moderate fool. He needed to go to the Great Hall—to speak with Ini, the Queen of Fate. He needed to deal with the fact that there was a new altar in the Cathedral. Not muck about with William and his flights of fancy. “Are you certain you are not mistaken? There are no mortals in Under. We are not due for another alignment with Earth for a few more years.”

“I know, sir. I’m positive. I—she was dressed strangely, and—and—I promise, she was mortal.” William was tripping over his words in his nervousness.

“Very well. I will find her.” He let his body take the shape of the white bats that he preferred and swarmed through the building. It would simply make it easier to find someone as a hundred smaller creatures, rather than one bigger one.

There was no possible way William was correct. A mortal finding their way to Under was impossible.

But so was a new altar.

So was the world seemingly dropping out from beneath him.

It would not stall him for long to do a quick search of his home.

He caught the scent of blood with a strange tinge to it. Something odd that he couldn’t place. He focused himself in that direction and took shape just outside the room where it was the strongest. Stepping inside, he froze.

There was a young woman standing by the window, staring out at the city beyond. She was dressed in a collection of tattered, mismatched clothing, with bits and pieces that were stitched together to form full garments. She wore a heavy leather coat with fur that had been added on, and boots that were the wrong size for her and looked as though they had been through hell and back.

Her hair was half black, half white, split down the middle. A rusty, broken pair of blast goggles sat atop her head. A tattered, stained bag hung from one shoulder. And at her feet was a metal spear, lying amongst the scattered items in the room and the broken glass of the windowpanes.

Lyon stepped over books from an overturned case, carefully approaching the young woman. When he drew close, he reached out and placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Excuse me, but—”

She whirled. Wide, dark eyes looked up at him in shock. A black line was drawn across her face from cheek to cheek in soot. Lyon blinked in surprise, for she had no other marks on her face.

And he also blinked in surprise, because her hand was wrapped around the handle of a long knife that was now protruding from his stomach.

Ember had reacted without thinking. She had drawn her long knife and stabbed the man who had snuck up behind her.

By the Grandfather, he was tall. His all-white clothing stuck out against the darkness of the room and almost seemed to glow purple with the light of the bizarre and terrifying moon outside the window.

Crimson began to bloom around the blade, turning the white fabric of his vest to red in the process.

For one second, everything seemed to hang. She expected him to scream. To fall to the ground.

Instead…he smiled.

It was a kind and sympathetic expression.

“Hello.”

She took a step back from him, hitting the jamb of the window. There was nowhere for her to run. Nowhere for her to hide. And he had her knife! She reached down to grab her spear, but he placed a foot atop it.

“Please, no. I’d rather not be skewered twice in one day.” His