Deep Roots by Vanessa Roades EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Vanessa Roades
- Language: English
- Genre: Fantasy Fiction
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Age of Shields 250
Cypress
When he finally reaches the gates of Silvershale, Eirjatal lets himself
wonder—only for a moment—if he’s been carrying Rhoheme’s corpse this
whole time.
The wind steals the sound of her breathing, if she’s still breathing at all.
The icy rain numbs her warmth against his back. Eirjatal’s stubbornness in
these muddy, dark woods cost them their supplies and precious time. He
was determined to bring Rho to Silvershale’s steep walls instead of bringing
its elves to her.
He couldn’t leave her. He doesn’t know what creatures may have
followed the scent of blood coming off of her and the panic coming off of
him.
Silvershale spirals upwards, its trees so bare, white, and distant that it
seems caught in a spider web. Lights pop along the tangle of bridges and
staircases that make up what he can see of the city when so far beneath it—
and when still locked out. Eyes gleam down at him, feline and uncanny.
Silvershale doesn’t get visitors. The sharp peal of the wreath of bells over
the doors must have shocked every elf inside.
Eirjatal adjusts Rhoheme on his back. Her cheek is pressed against his
pointed ear, beneath where their horns interlock with all his shifting and all
her slipping. Something too hot to be rain trickles down his neck. The black
liquid from her mouth again, Eirjatal supposes, and then vows to not think
on it again until he’s inside.
“The Nelaeryn Fey is as much my maker as She is yours. Let me in!”
His voice chases itself through the metal trumpets installed up the tower
city. Windows slam shut.
Fire spills into Eirjatal’s palm, too eager, too easy, thanks to his
frustration. The rain extinguishes it with a hiss, but his skin is still hot
enough to warm Rho’s fingers as he presses them to his chest.
Last thing she said to him was, “Worst plan you’ve ever had.”
The metal doors drag inwards. Their patchwork hinges are beaten into the
grey wood of the tilting trees. In his home kingdom, Dianthus, everything is
a theatre of honeyed wealth and sentimental artistry, but here it’s all
practical, even the charmed phrases engraved on the doors. They express
good health and fortune, warming the edges of his exhaustion as he passes
them.
Perhaps there’s also a spell to catch cruel intentions at the door—but
most likely not. From what Eirjatal knows, Sunmirren Vyriseh happily
meets her enemies when they’re fully armed and thinking they’ve fooled
her.
He steps out of the mud, onto the stone. He blinks away the silver rain as
a bat swoops down; a woman steps from its silhouette.
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