Todos os capítulos de The Necromantress and the Blood Princess : Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

Chapter 2: Echoes in the SilenceEverything is wrong.The air tastes like ash and iron. My hands won’t stop shaking. I can feel the tremor all the way up my arms, into my teeth, but I can’t hear it—no sound at all, just this deep, hollow buzzing that lives inside my skull like trapped bees. My ears are broken. The world is broken. And I think maybe I am too.I’m still curled between them. Mother’s arm has fallen across my back; it’s heavy, cold, wrong. Father’s cheek is smeared with my blood—my blood mixed with his—and the black smoke that brought him back for those few terrible seconds is gone now, leaving only the shell of the man who used to swing me in circles until I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe.I want to scream. I open my mouth and push until my throat burns, but nothing comes out that I can hear. Only the vibration rattles in my chest like something trying to claw free.More footsteps—big ones—shake the floorboards. I feel them before I see anything. I scramble backward

Chapter 4: First Light, First CommandDawn creeps through the oak’s hidden seams in thin silver threads. I wake with the book still open across my chest, pages pressed to my skin like cold fingers. My dreams were full of smoke and silver eyes watching from the dark—no faces, just the sense of being measured. Judged. Found… acceptable.The vibrations have stopped. No boots. No war-horns. Just the low, steady pulse of the tree itself—roots drinking deep, leaves whispering secrets to the wind I can’t hear. For the first time since the contract, the silence feels almost peaceful. Almost.I sit up. My body aches in new places: shoulders stiff from crawling through rubble, palm throbbing where the scab has cracked again overnight. The black threads in the wound have spread a little farther, delicate veins curling toward my wrist like roots seeking water. I stare at them until my eyes blur, then force myself to move.The satchel waits by the bed. I repack it carefully—food, waterskin, the bl

Chapter 6: Eyes Without EarsThe firelight paints every face in flickering orange and shadow, turning strangers into masks.I stop at the edge of the camp—far enough that the sentries notice me but not so close they feel threatened. Elias is already inside the ring of tents, surrounded by three soldiers who clap his back and press a waterskin into his good hand. He glances over his shoulder once, finds me in the dusk, and raises his spear in a small, careful salute. Stay, the gesture says. Safe.But safety is a word that died with my parents.I watch them all.A woman with cropped red hair and a healer’s green sash kneels beside a stretcher, stitching a gash across a boy’s forearm. Her mouth moves fast—orders, maybe comfort—but her eyes flick up to me every few seconds, narrow, assessing. Not kind. Not cruel. Calculating.Two archers perch on a fallen log near the biggest fire. One has a fresh burn across his cheek; the other’s left hand is missing two fingers. They stop talking when

Chapter 8: The Gift of AlabasterThe world tilts without warning.One moment I’m perched on the wide stump behind the healer’s tent, the black tome open across my knees, sunlight filtering through the pine needles in thin golden spears. The next, everything collapses inward—colors bleeding to gray, sound (what little vibration I still feel) dropping away entirely. Darkness rushes up like cold water.I’m back in the void.The same endless black that swallowed me when the estate burned. The same place where the contract was signed.He approaches without hurry. Black robes trailing mist. Boney hands empty this time—no scroll, no scythe. Just the slow, deliberate stride of something that has all eternity and knows it.I don’t flinch. I lift my sleeve instead.The black veins that have been creeping up my arm for days are stark against my skin—dark roots spreading toward my elbow, pulsing faintly like they have their own heartbeat. I hold my arm out, palm up, offering the proof of what the

Chapter 10: The Crag and the CrowThe invisible crag is a narrow slit in the rock face, hidden behind a thick stand of young pines whose needles brush the stone like soft fingers. Kael found it—said he used to play here when the world still had parents and warm suppers. The entrance is so tight we have to turn sideways to slip through; once inside, the space opens into a shallow cave, dry and sheltered, the ceiling low enough that even I have to duck. Moonlight filters through cracks high above, painting silver bars across the floor.We don’t speak much. Kael unrolls his stolen blanket, curls up against the wall with his stick-sword clutched like a talisman. His breathing evens out quickly—exhaustion claiming him faster than fear can hold on. He looks smaller asleep, just a boy who ran after a ghost because he believed she wasn’t one.I sit near the entrance, hood up, satchel in my lap. The black tome rests against my chest like a second heartbeat. I don’t open it. I watch the night i