Brood of Vipers Maggie Claire (mobi reader .TXT) 📖

“I know all about you, Helena. I am in your head and heart,” the creature whispers with a sad smile, its voice changing to sound soft and ethereal. “Why did you leave me, Mother? Didn’t you love me enough?” The creature edges closer to the cliff, her toes hanging off the sides. “Why didn’t you bring me with you? Don’t you know how much I have suffered?” The visage of Helena’s daughter wails, tumbling off the ledge, her long ivory hair like comet’s trail behind her as she flies.

Helena clenches her eyes against the sight. Not real, not real.

“Are you certain?” her daughter’s sweet voice answers, the wraith’s shape sitting on the ledge once more. This time her body is broken and bleeding, as if she had truly fallen and cracked on the ground. A part of her skull shows along her right ear, and a bone is protruding from her left arm as she reaches out toward Helena.

“Please,” Helena begs, another bout of sickness turning over her stomach. “Leave my daughter out of this!”

A giggle that sounds like metal screeching against metal grates in Helena’s ears. Throughout it all, Helena still forces her feet to keep climbing, her legs to keep pushing, and her arms to keep reaching higher. The only way out of this demented hell is to reach that light in the ceiling.

The rocks around her flare with a crimson light that pulses almost like a heartbeat. “What do you want, Helena?” The very crevices between the stones seem to cry out this question in mockery.

“Freedom,” Helena whispers, biting her own tongue against the scalding pain of the rocks against her skin. They are burning hot, almost as though they had just come out of a fire. “I want to see my daughter again,” she growls through chattering teeth.

“Is that all?” The strange voice seems to grow harsh, and a silent reminder and warning not to lie burns through Helena. The words she’s kept from speaking inch up her throat, almost as if they are living, breathing monsters writhing inside Helena’s chest. She shudders, fearing that when she opens her mouth, they climb out of her heart, spewing hate-filled blood as she bares the truth to all who hear. “Say it,” the image of Helena’s daughter demands, her broken body skittering closer on the rocks, moving more like a lizard than a human. “Tell me what you really want!”

“I want to end the king’s rule…and his life.” Helena’s thoughts replay all of the faces of the forgotten. The three other prisoners who did not survive this tunnel. Ithel and the other slaves who had no choice but to endure their trials unto death. What is life without the right to live it your way? Her child and the man from Cassè who had taken them in and given them a home. All the friends and loved ones that she had left behind after the fall. Every evil, every injustice had the king to blame.

In her rage, Helena climbs despite the scalding heat in the rocks, never once daring to look at her hands. Blisters pop and ooze, her finger joints scream against the hurt, pain signals plead for her brain just to let her body fall to the land and end the pain forever. But her blinding will and furious heart urge her onward. “I want the king to suffer! I want him to pay for all of the things he has done,” Helena cries, ignoring the pain lancing into her shoulders.

The creature of the tunnel matches her progress, a small smile forming on its thin lips. It changes form once more, this time becoming a young boy that appears to be around the age of ten. His frame is wiry and small, and his skin looks tan from many days out in the sun. His blue eyes pierce Helena, stopping her from climbing higher in the tunnel. “Are you sure this is what you want?” the creature asks, his voice full of optimistic hope.

“I hate the king,” Helena confesses, wondering who this new persona is supposed to be. Did I know this boy? Is he a face I should recognize? Or am I seeing the real face of the monster who has been tormenting me? The idea that her assailant is a child fills Helena’s heart with pity. What would cause a child so young to be so cruel and heartless?

Helena’s revelation of vengeance seems to please the boy. He plops down onto a ledge, his skinny legs swinging over the side. “Very well, Helena. I hope you manage to accomplish this goal.”

“Really?” Helena stops herself from challenging the boy, wary of his sudden change in demeanor. “That’s it?”

“Yes,” the boy replies, humming softly to himself before adding, “I’ve been waiting for someone like you, someone with enough drive to push on despite the pain. Someone who was so focused on their desire to see the king die that they didn’t care what happened to themselves. Someone who would do whatever it took, even if it meant dying, just to reach their goal.”

“Why do you hate the king?”

The strange being does not answer Helena’s question. It dissipates into a crimson cloud that gets absorbed by a pocket of glittering gems nestled in the wall. The glowing rocks suddenly fade, all the damaging heat in them disappearing like smoke on a breeze.

The exit of the tunnel blinds Helena with its sudden closeness. A sob of relief escapes her parched throat as she clambers through the hole into the brilliant light of day. Her body shivers with a cold sweat against the sun-warmed stones of the king’s private courtyard. No one is ever allowed to enter this place without Alaric’s special permission. Heady perfumed flowers sway in the gentle breeze, their sweet aromas so cloyingly strong that they turn Helena’s stomach.

I don’t want to look, Helena confesses, taking a few deep breaths before she inspects her injuries. Her wrists and elbows ache and