Mask of Poison (Fall of Under Book 1) by Kathryn Kingsley (great novels to read txt) 📕

voice was quiet and deep. Calm. Nothing that had any business coming from a man who had just been stabbed.

She scrambled back against the wall again, her heart pounding in terror. The man was handsome, but his pale skin and white hair coupled with his clothing made him resemble a statue more than a man.

He took a step closer to her. It was then that she noticed the writing on his face—white ink in strange patterns ran down his face from hairline to jawline. His eyes were a pale blue that was almost as snow white as the rest of him.

“Don’t—” She held out a hand to stop him from coming closer.

He held his hands up in surrender and retreated the distance he had crossed. “I am not sure how you have come to be here. But I mean you no harm, young one. My name is Lyon. I am the lord of this place. I will not hurt you.”

She couldn’t help but glance at knife sticking out of his stomach.

“Ah. Yes.” He grasped the wood handle and pulled. The blade slid out of him without resistance. Crimson dripped to the carpet. She watched as he tugged a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped the knife clean before offering it back to her, handle first.

She had stabbed him. Stabbed him! And it did nothing! She was shaking now in fear. This was far more than a simple swarm of corpses trying to kill her. This was something else entirely. With a trembling hand, she took the blade from him.

Even though it had done nothing, she held it in front of her just in case.

“What is your name?” Lyon was still smiling gently at her.

“Ember…”

“Ember. I must ask. How is it that you are here?”

“I—I don’t know. I fell asleep, and then I woke up here. It felt like I…I don’t know. It felt like everything—” She broke off nervously. She shouldn’t be talking to him—it—whatever Lyon was. But what else was she going to do?

“Fell?”

She nodded.

“As did we all. I fear I am just as confused as you are.”

“None of this makes sense. None of this is possible. You’re—I stabbed you.”

“Yes, you did. And I have had far worse done to me by mortals in a fit of panic, trust me.” He smirked briefly. “One blade to the stomach is hardly notable. You are not armed with guns.”

Ember wasn’t usually one to consider herself the type to panic. It wasn’t really a helpful emotion. Fear led to adrenaline, which was useful. But panic made for stupid decisions and rash choices. And that almost always led to death.

She’d never panicked once in her life. She figured she was immune to the emotion.

But right now?

Right now, she was really considering changing her mind.

“I need to ask—I need to ask a really weird and stupid question.” She cleared her throat, trying to sound firm. And not nearly so squeaky and afraid, even if she was.

“Of course.”

“This isn’t Gioll, is it?”

His forehead creased and then smoothed again. “I do not know that name.”

“My—my world—doesn’t have two moons. Or any city like this. Or people who can get stabbed and be fine—or statues worshipping terrible monsters.” Ember felt her fingers begin to go numb. “This isn’t my world…is it?”

“No.” He bowed his head. “Welcome…to Under.”

2

Ember clutched a mug with shaking hands. It was filled with hot tea. Something she hadn’t had in a long time. Her mouth watered…especially because of the jar of honey on the tray in front of her. But she refused to drink it. She knew she shouldn’t trust the tall, pale statue of a man she had stabbed and who acted as if it were nothing more than a slap on the wrist.

Could be poisoned. She couldn’t identify the smell. She knew every herb and every root there was on Gioll, and she didn’t recognize whatever was in the tea.

More proof. Not like I needed more. But here we are.

It had taken Lyon thirty minutes of quiet coaxing before she put down her knife and agreed to go anywhere with him. But as the minutes had stretched on, her hands were shaking worse, and she felt weaker and more useless. The man in front of her had brushed off a wound that should have killed him without the help of a surgeon. How could she fight someone like that?

And on the walk away from that room to…wherever else, she learned she was significantly outnumbered. The people in the cathedral, all with strange white marks or masks, had hovered nearby and watched her pass with wide, frightened eyes.

She had stayed silent, clutching her spear, and followed the strange man in white. Lyon didn’t seem to mean her any harm, but how could she be sure? He had led her through dark hallways. All with the strange candelabras that illuminated as they approached and extinguished themselves as they passed.

He had brought her to a room with chairs and tables and had asked her to sit. Not knowing what else to do, she obeyed. The only time she had taken her eyes off the man was to study her surroundings. One door in. Two doors out. Two windows. They were on the second floor now, so escaping out that way might not be viable. There was no telling where the two extra doors led.

Artwork was hung on the walls, some with flaking paint. Some had darkened with time, and the figures were barely visible in the dim lighting. Some of the frames held old documents, their pages stained with age.

When he had opened the door again, thanked someone quietly, and walked back with a tray of food with a large, steaming teakettle on it, she hadn’t known what to do. He had poured her a mug of tea and handed it to her.

Only then did he sit down in the chair across from her and make himself his own mug. “Apparently, we’ve had a bit of a crisis with our teacups. They