Rapture. Jacquelyn Frank

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      Magnus strode through the antechamber to Sanctuary temple, hurrying across the vast space to the courtyard on the opposite side. He cut through the peaceful rock garden with its ebony fountain and serene statuary until he entered the women’s dormitories. The students, who were the collective responsibility of all of the priests and handmaidens were separated to opposite sides of the complex according to sex, as wisdom and traditional sensibilities dictated. There were no males allowed here, just as no females were allowed in the halls of its counterpart. The teachers and guardians were, of course, the exception to that, although even then it was discouraged for propriety’s sake.

      But this was Magnus, the priest who stood closest to Darkness Herself and the most powerful and formidable defender at Her disposal. There was no corner of Sanctuary that could or would bar him.

      He made his way to the next story and then back to the deeply secluded rooms in the rear reserved for students who, for whatever reason, needed to be removed from the rest of the population. Usually it was illness or injury or some extreme discipline problem that warranted this isolation.

      Tonight it was something far worse.

      Magnus did not bother to announce himself before walking into the room. The small area was spare and quiet, its lone occupants a handmaiden who quickly got to her feet from the chair at the bedside, and the young girl in the bed who did not so much as blink when he entered. She simply continued to stare blankly up at the ceiling above her, her covers tucked just as smoothly around her still body as they had been when she was brought there two nights earlier.

      Magnus said nothing to the holy woman keeping watch, but she knew to back away into the shadows, leaving the priest alone with his student as best she could without exiting the room. Magnus quickly knelt on a single knee beside the bed and leaned over the vacant and dull child he had failed to protect in time.

      “Miranda.” He addressed her in the softest of whispers, believing that his message was the one thing in the entire world she would want to hear. “Your monster is dead, little one. The one who stole into your dreams no longer exists.” Magnus raised his bloodied weapon above her staring eyes. “His head rolls upon the ground of Dreamscape even now, the hands that touched you in violence severed beside it. I speared his heart through with the tip of my blade until its blackness burst and was destroyed. He will never, never be able to harm you again.”

      After the longest minutes, for the first time since she had awoken from the ultimate nightmare, the vulnerable young girl blinked. She moved, only a single hand, and reached to grasp the sword around the middle of its blade. Magnus did not flinch or draw away, though he knew how sharp the thing was. Instead, he let her take the battle-battered weapon down against her chest and watched as she slowly embraced the steel, as if it were a sweetly treasured pet. She turned away from him and he relinquished his hold on the hilt. She drew her knees up, hugged the stained sword with all of her heart, and began the slight rocking that seemed to always go hand in hand with the keening pitch of first-shed tears.

      Except she was perfectly silent.

      Hugging her new best friend.

      Chapter One

      Two months later…

      Daenaira blinked in surprise when the locks on the outside of her room tumbled open sharply. There was almost the sound of confidence to it, which was equally surprising, but then there was a long minute of silence, and that made her smile darkly. The door jerked open and the rotund body of her aunt filled the frame of it.

      “Let’s go, girl. I’m finally to be rid of you.”

      Dae didn’t know how to respond to that news at first. Winifred had threatened her for years with everything from abandonment to hiring someone to slit her throat, so she narrowed her eyes suspiciously on the bitch.

      “And don’t try any of your tricks, you little hellion.”

      Winifred shook her chubby wrist, making the wicked cat she held in her fist rustle, the whip’s nine tails giving off an almost musical tinkle as the metal tips clinked together at the ends.

      Apparently, Wini was feeling benevolent today. Usually she was compelled to use the hurish to keep Dae in line. The cuffs of the hurish were around Daenaira’s ankles and throat even now, rubbing and chafing them raw, especially so soon after the last dump of electrical voltage Winifred had used on her. It had been so powerful it had burned Dae’s skin, which of course made the chafing СКАЧАТЬ