Made From Death (The Darkest Queens Series Book 1) Read online

  Made From Death

  Copyright 2021 Nikki Hunter

  All Rights Reserved

  Imprint: Independently published

  Cover design by Seventhstar

  Editing by Your Editing Lounge

  The content of this book is protected under Federal Copyright Laws. Any unauthorized use of this material is prohibited. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without express written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales are entirely coincidence.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  A GUIDE TO THE GODS

  ALSO BY BEBECCA GREY

  ABOUT REBECCA GREY

  This book is dedicated to dreamers, fighters, and those who persist.

  Ace

  Today was Ace’s re-birthday. Rebornday? Alive-again-against-her-will-day? It didn’t matter. She tried not to think about it. Or about anything that led to that. To death. To waking up in a puddle of her own sweat and blood in a body she hardly recognized.

  Ugh, here she was thinking about it even after she swore to herself and the gods that she wouldn’t. Honestly, it was a miracle she could think at all with the commotion inside of her head.

  Near the crowded market, she could hear the people’s whispered requests to the gods in an overlapping chorus inside her mind. Answering prayers was almost like being able to read minds. Whatever people desired they spoke to the gods about. Often the girl with the scar across her throat and the hood pulled tight over her not-quite straight, not-quite curly brown hair could use those desires to her advantage.

  Mix those prayers with the mumblings of the gods themselves and she had herself a headache. To focus on one voice inside her head required more energy than she was prepared to offer so she tried to let her own thoughts get lost in the ruckus. Relentlessly, they would come back though. Stupid, morbid, unhelpful thoughts. She tried to lose herself to the prayers instead.

  Maipeg, the capital city of Pasia, was buzzing with excitement. It was always buzzing with something. Change nipped at the air like a late autumn breeze. The citizens there could feel it just as well as Ace.

  People were praying all over the place today, making her so-called gift hard to ignore. The gods wanted her to hear them, to act in their name. More often than not she didn't like to answer the gods and forbade herself from helping. Not that there wasn’t ever an exception but when those came along it was of her own free will to help.

  Carriage wheels ground rocks into the road; their horses snorted and whinnied as they forced themselves around the onslaught of citizens crowding the street. The busy market across the road was filled with people. Shoulder to shoulder people. She hated people almost more than she hated thinking about her new-not-really-a-birth-day.

  Using the shadows of the alley to her advantage, she made a show of cleaning her nails with a pocket knife she'd stolen weeks ago. Her body tipped with an easy lean into the nearest building, a relaxed apathetic pose. To the passing crowd, she was only lounging, waiting for a friend or some other trivial thing 'normal' people got to do. In reality, she watched her target.

  People walked in and out of Ace’s line of sight making it painfully annoying to watch the warlock’s stall, filled with large grimoires. The grimoire she'd been using before had been empty for a few days, the used pages withering to ash as the spells were used. She itched for another. She didn't have any magic of her own but that didn’t matter when the magic was in the books.

  Dark magic, specifically any spells that were actually fun in Ace’s opinion, had long since been forbidden by the four queens that ruled this very nation. All they allowed the citizens were the simplest of spells, such as those that helped with housework, quick cooking, or the most basic of body modifications. That didn't mean that dark magic didn't exist though. And breaking any rules set by the queens gave Ace the best sort of high that no drug or alcohol could compare to.

  "God rest the souls of the men that marry those wretched beings," a mother whispered to her daughter as she stared at the decrees littering every flat surface the queens’ watch had been able to pin them to.

  "I wish I could be a queen," the child said hopefully, to which the mother frowned. Ace assumed the woman was aware of how much a person could be affected by the power that came with a crown.

  No sane mother would wish that on their child no matter how much wealth came with the job. Not after the country of Pasia watched as four seemingly regular girls had fought off the Fae and became leaders practically overnight. But that's a story for another time.

  Playfully the mother tugged at the child’s hood before steering her away. They both wore cloaks, the same as Ace, but theirs were more brightly colored. The thin material was great for keeping cool while also protecting their skin from the blazing sun. Ace was just thankful it helped her hide.

  The girl in the alley took a deep breath trying not to think too hard on the details of the queens’ rise to power, because when she did it made the holy fire in her burn a little hotter. The thoughts could not be avoided today, no matter how hard she tried. The citizen’s prayers bombarded her, the prospect of a future king and heir giving them something to focus on other than their mundane lives. Some men prayed for their opportunity to be welcomed into the castle as king. Other men, the smarter ones, prayed the Queens wouldn't favor them.

  Pulling her hood closer to her face, she hid her features as she peered across the street and waited for her opportunity to come. Guardsmen patrolled the streets, or more so they idled around, eyes only searching the crowd for their relief. It was nearing their shift change and that was when she would strike.

  She never quite understood why the guards' patrol was even necessary. All Fae were kept out of the country by the wall the queens had built around them, the stone all infused with their god-given magic. The most the guard did was take in anyone they thought could be infected by the Impelling—a poison to the mind that allowed the Fae to control the affected person's actions. No one came back from that. Not that she was surprised.

  She lowered her lashes as she scanned her surroundings, never letting her eyes settle on one thing or person for too long. Specifically, she tried not to let her attention wander back to the guards. That might only give her away. Though the men were just human she disliked them almost as much as she hated the queens. She didn’t have sympathy for those vile men who all too often took innocent people away.

  The crowd around her was relentless with their prayers. Desperate voices called out to the gods. Each time she could feel their desires as if they were her own, shaking her down to her very core. An eerie feeling that left a bitter taste on the back of her tongue. The first time it had happened it had been startling but after some time she'd gotten used to pushing those foreign desires away. Ignoring the gods wasn’t exactly a smart thing to do but she was mad at them. Mad at everyone.

  Make me king.

  Give me food.

  Provide me money.

  Send me help.

  Me. Me. Me.
That's all people care about. Themselves.

  The prayers weren't even the worst thing to have happened to her. Coming back to life after her throat had been slit had been the worst. She'd died. At first, she'd been upset about that fact but once she felt how peaceful the afterlife had been she no longer cared. If only those stupid, selfish gods hadn't forced her to walk through holy fire and back to the realm of the living to do their bidding.

  She was done doing what others asked of her without question, though. Anyone could break your trust. Anyone. And she had let that one festering thought fuel her every day. So she ignored the gods even when it wore on her will.

  All these prayers to be king or not to be king and not one of them is directly pointed to me. Sylik, the god of wealth and fortune, grumbled.

  How sad for you. Greshta the goddess of power purred in response. Ace had no doubt Greshta didn't mean a word she said.

  Sylik and Greshta were often the most vocal of the gods that lived inside of her head. The two of them were always at war with one another. Other gods, Fareesh, the god of healing and health, Tamar the goddess of beauty, and Nathalian the god of nourishment were pretty vocal too. Then there were the lesser gods with their specific niches that would occasionally reach out for her to do their bidding. It was always the smaller gods that got the angriest when she declined to answer.

  I have so many choices, Greshta continued, her accent thick. The girl hadn’t been sure if the gods truly had an accent or if she’d made it up in her head. Which lucky little peon should I grant this wish?

  Pick someone hungry. Let's get two prayers taken care of with one answer, Nathalian interjected, in his deep baritone voice.

  The girl pressed her fingers to her temples wishing they would all just shut up. If she could do anything she would find a way to make them as miserable as they made her.

  Oh, Ace, Tamar whispered, don't make that face it will give you wrinkles.

  Ace. The new name she'd given herself after she'd been reborn. She'd needed a new identity; she felt like a new person. Maybe she was. No, she definitely was. The gods used her name often and she regretted taking a name at all.

  She didn’t care about wrinkles or how she looked. Not anymore. The gods may have brought her back but they'd used the same body she'd been born into nineteen years ago. Her first living breath when she'd been returned to this world had burned all the way down her throat. An angry white jagged scar that looked like marble against her brown skin remained at the base of her neck. Her eyes, once brown, now glowed an unnatural orange. Just. Like. Holy. Fire.

  "Not now," Ace hissed under her breath drawing the attention of the mother and her daughter. When they caught her shadowy figure, the mother quickly pulled the child away. She'd have to keep an eye on them to make sure they didn’t stop to talk to any of the number of guards strutting around. Ace’s teeth dug into the flesh of her bottom lip as she watched them walk away.

  You'll wish you paid attention to the 'now' years down the road. Tamar's presence in her head disappeared with the breathy sound of her voice as she withdrew, undoubtedly offended.

  "Watch it!" A man shouted to a passing carriage as it barreled down the road. Dust flew behind it filling the air until Ace could taste it on her tongue and it burned her lungs.

  She snapped her attention across the busy street to the market booth she'd been watching. The warlocks in service to the queen stood dutifully talking to any person with interest. All their grimoires with otherwise meaningless spells were set out. Anything darker, anything forbidden, was behind the stand. If there were any.

  There is, Ramdon, the god of mischief confirmed. Of all the gods Ramdon might have been Ace's favorite. He didn’t bother her with silly requests to answer all of his prayers but he was always there when she was ready to get in trouble. Which was nearly all of the time.

  A large hungry grin split across her face as she searched out the guards no longer at their posts. Shift change! Gripping the material of her cloak to keep her hood in place, she made her move. With downcast eyes, she knew her window of opportunity was slipping away. Time weighed down on her. She’d have to be swifter than ever before. In the early months after her resurrection, she would have panicked over the odds stacked against her. Now, something more akin to enthusiasm raced through her as she neared her target.

  Still, she didn’t go directly to the grimoires. That’d be too obvious. Passing people brushed against her, the occasional shoulder jostling her, followed by an insincere apology. They were all just a haze around her—obstacles to be avoided on her way. No matter where she went in the market she kept her eyes downcast, hiding the inhuman coloring.

  Next to the warlocks was a stand covered in trinkets of the gods. Small blown glass creations, metal forged into the shapes of what their faces may or may not look like, lawn statues, and smaller statues for placing in personal worship corners. Ace struggled not to roll her eyes at what had once been her own devout faith. Now she didn’t believe in much of anything. Even though she knew the gods were real she still chose not to put her faith in them. Never would she offer them another day of worship.

  The woman selling a necklace meant to bring beauty from Tamar didn’t notice Ace slipping by or how Ace knocked her dust-covered boot into the stand. One swift kick sent the cheaply made booth crumbling as the leg that held it up bent at an odd angle. Ace continued onward, not looking behind her to watch the chaos.

  Ramdon smiled down at her.

  Glass, metal, and stone hit the ground creating a cloud of dust. The glass shattered with a sound that pierced the market and drew attention. Multiple shouts of dismay echoed from the people around the stand as they were showered in shards of the useless trinkets. Both warlocks, though busy with customers, rushed to aid their neighboring booth. They waved their hands over broken things, making them whole again.

  A crowd gathered around them watching them with excitement. A free show, that's what she'd given the people. And no one was even going to thank her for it.

  With both men occupied Ace easily slipped behind their stand, hidden by the rows and rows of thick books. She was shaded under the large awning that protected the grimoires from the sun. Boxes with extras were stacked where customers couldn’t see. They were smart enough not to have left the money they earned back here, which was only a disservice to Ace who liked to swipe the coins at any opportunity. And to steal from the warlocks in service to the queens, that made her especially happy.

  Heart pounding in her chest, Ace felt the high of her wrongdoings building inside her. An addictive thrill that made her want to do stuff like this again and again. Licking her lips, she sought out the tote shoved to the farthest corner of the booth while her ears listened carefully to the crowd’s oohs and ahhs. Their attention focused on the magic they hadn’t been born with.

  Precious seconds ticked by, working against the speed of magic was never easy but Ace had done it before. Gritting her teeth she rifled through the tote, not knowing exactly what she was looking for. She didn’t need to know because Ramdon would guide her. He always spoke when she got close to something she really shouldn't be messing with.

  The covers of the books ranged from sleek and smooth, rough and jagged, to soft and fluffy. Her hands had barely begun to sort through her options, eyes scanning the fanciful scroll of the titles before Ramdon spoke.

  Not there. He encouraged. Hidden.

  Hidden? Where? Ace stifled the growl that wanted to bubble over her lips. Staying low, she took a step back looking over what little space she had.

  So many books. Too many. This was the mother-fucking-load of grimoire stands.

  There. The dark god suggested as her eyes skimmed over a notebook. A small journal nearly hidden under a stack of unorganized papers.

  She took a shaky breath, her hand brushing over the book as she shoved away the papers. The wind caught the edges and blew a few loose pieces away, leaving the journal uncovered and in her grip. Her thumb traced the simple leather bindi
ng and the fraying bit of rope that kept it tied closed. No title. No looping cursive to suggest what may be underneath the cover. A mystery, Ace liked that.

  The air was crisp with the tang of magic, nearly sweet but slightly bitter. Ace sent a fleeting glance over the stand, both warlocks still in her sight several feet away. She took a large step back, knowing she could melt into the shadows of the long building behind them and take the stairs to the roof. She'd planned the perfect getaway days ago.

  She twisted—

  Fingers curled around her wrist.

  Her gaze followed the hand that held hers, up the fingers to the hand and the rounded muscles of the arm…then shoulders…of a very male body. With a very deep voice.

  "What do you think you're doing?"

  Ace

  Without thinking, Ace brought her eyes up to meet the man that held her arm within his solid grasp. Her attention traveled from his broad chest and up further to his scowling face so high above her, which meant he was truly very tall. A fucking mammoth of a man who now had a death grip on her arm. Frustration flared behind her eyes.

  Ace struggled to catch her breath as she took in the sight of him. His complexion was a rich brown several shades darker than her own. The width of his face was an odd contrast to the sharpness of his cheekbones. His full lips arched down in a disapproving scowl and his thick black brows pulled low over large hazel eyes. For lack of better words, he was gorgeous. Her pulse quickened at the rare physical contact.

  What a shame that he was the one thing standing between her and a new grimoire.

  Cursing herself for getting caught—how could she not have seen this colossal man?!—she forced herself to stand to her full height, which put her roughly at his armpits. To his credit, the man did not balk at the sight of her, the orange eyes, the white scar…all of it wrong.

  He was the first person to truly look at her since she'd first awoken and scared the people in the first home she'd come across. After she'd seen herself in the mirror, she hadn't let anyone get a good look at her.