Descent Read Free

way through life.’
    Altor gave her a withering laugh, his eyes flashing.
    ‘Charm? I had no idea I possessed such a thing.’
    ‘You have more charm than anyone I’ve ever met. But instead of using it you prefer to manipulate people into doing what you want.’
    Altor tilted his head. ‘Charm is obvious; so is the way people react to it. True personality arises when one is frightened or uncomfortable. It pleases me to see this.’
    ‘You play with people like they are toys.’
    ‘What else are they to a prince?’ he asked softly.
    Satine shook her head. She knew his arrogance was mostly an act, that he didn’t actually see himself as any better than his people. But she also knew Altor would say anything at all if he thought it would get a reaction.
    He laughed. ‘Mother, you are no fun. If you won’t come with me I will have to find someone who will. Maybe our new guests would enjoy an evening ale.’ The tone was soft, his eyes watching her closely. Sometimes the dark intelligence in those eyes startled her. Traitorous thoughts crept into the furthest corners of her soul, making her wonder what he could be capable of, what he desired. But no matter how wary she might be, Satine could never fear her own son.
    ‘What new guests?’
    Altor idly picked at a fingernail.
    Just then Satine spotted something on his arm. ‘Altor! Is that blood? What happened to you?’
    He flashed an indulgent smile. ‘The last of the six Strangers have arrived.’
    ‘What?’ Satine stood up so fast her chair flew to the ground. ‘You think to tell me this last? Altor, in all the gods’ names, what is wrong with you?’
    ‘It slipped my mind,’ he offered.
    Satine shook her head in exasperation and swept from the room. ‘Where are they?’
    ‘Waiting for you in the entrance hall. And they might be a little upset.’
    ‘Why? Because of the crossing?’
    ‘No,’ he answered slowly. ‘I found them outside, Mother. And look at how dark it is.’
    Satine turned cold. ‘Oh gods,’ she whispered, and broke into a run.
    Images from last night’s dreams intruded on his focus, and as a result Harry sent his last arrow just shy of the bullseye. He breathed out slowly, trying to force the pictures from his mind. Angels. Again. But these were different to the one he’d dreamt about so long ago, the angel dream that he and his friends had shared. These were dark, and violent. Black wings covered in blood fluttered through his vision every night, waking him in a cold sweat, leaving him exhausted and unsettled. But there wasn’t time to focus on dreams. Not when there were real creatures that needed killing. Not when Harry spent all his time training to kill them.
    Archery wasn’t the only thing Harry had been learning. With nothing to define him except the legend that shaped the very way people looked at him, he had a great deal of time on his hands. Time for horse riding, weaponry, teaching himself about Paragor’s history, and searching, always searching, for a way home. He didn’t know if he would take that way home, or even if he could after everything they’d been through, but he knew the others would want the option. There was a difference between choosing this life and being trapped here. It was a dangerous prison of Harry’s own making, andeven though no one on Earth could possibly miss the nobody he’d been there, those kinds of thoughts could drive a guy crazy.
    Harry walked to the end of the training room to retrieve his arrows. Something about this night always made him miss his friends more than usual. It was the anniversary of the war. Sometimes he wished he lived in Amalia with Anna and Luca, but he felt a connection with Burmia, the place he’d first crossed to, and couldn’t imagine leaving Satine and Altor.
    He shot another ten arrows, but as he went to retrieve them he felt a familiar jolt to his senses and froze.
    Harry, are you there? Luca whispered in his mind, like a gentle nudge on his brain.
    Yes,