Read Online Necropolis (Royal Sorceress Book 3) by Christopher Nuttall - Free Book Online Page B

Cossacks hold her down while they forced poisons or sedatives down her throat. They didn’t need to dupe her into taking the drugs herself.
    She found that she was ravenous as she devoured the bowl of dark purple soup, although she wasn’t entirely sure what it actually was. It tasted faintly of beetroot, she thought, with some additional flavours she didn’t recognise. But she felt human again when she had finished the bowl and decided to risk a taste of the brown liquid. It was a kind of beer, she decided, before she put it to one side. She’d never cared for alcohol on the streets and she wasn’t about to start now. The water tasted oddly flat, but it was definitely safe to drink. Or so she hoped.
    There was another knock on the door when she’d finished, suggesting that she was under observation. Olivia winced – she’d grown far too used to privacy in Cavendish Hall and she’d tried to stay alone on the streets – and then watched helplessly as the door opened. At least the Russians probably weren’t interested in her as anything other than a Necromancer. The streets were utterly unsafe for young girls and boys.
    “Good afternoon,” Ivan said, as he entered. “I trust you are feeling better?”
    Olivia nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The mixture of food and a hot bath had left her feeling pleasantly warm, almost completely relaxed. They might have put something in the food after all, she realised dully, or it could have just been relief at being out of the snowstorm and somewhere warm again. There was no way to know.
    “I’m glad to hear it,” Ivan said. He smirked, then held out a hand. “Please would you come with me?”
    Her body obeyed before Olivia had quite realised what he’d said. She cursed inwardly as she took his hand and allowed him to lead her through the door, as if he was courting her like a highborn girl. Outside, there was nothing but stone walls leading into the distance. The massive, solid walls helped keep the heat in, she realised, as he led her down the corridor. She listened as hard as she could, but heard nothing apart from their footsteps. The rest of the building was as silent as the grave.
    They stopped outside a heavy metal door, which opened slowly at an unseen command. A faint smell reached out towards her, one that made her recoil in sudden disgust. Ivan placed a hand on her back and pushed, forcing her into the room. There was no sign of anything that could produce the smell; the room was almost completely bare, save for a wooden table and a man standing behind it, wearing monkish robes. His beard was long, his face was pitted and scarred and his eyes glinted with a devilish insanity.
    “You must be the Necromancer,” he said, in cracked and broken English. His voice was curiously high-pitched, as if he wasn’t quite mature. “I am Gregory. You are the answer to our prayers.”
    Olivia shuddered as he came around the table and advanced on her. It was all she could do to hold her ground. She hadn’t felt so threatened since she’d been caught by a man who’d thought she was a young boy. Up close, Gregory smelt faintly of urine, as if he never bothered to wash. Once, she knew, the smell wouldn’t have bothered her. Few people on the streets bothered to wash. Now ... it disgusted her.
    “You will assist us,” he said, patting her on the head. She cringed away from his touch, feeling oddly violated. “Your gift will serve the Father Tsar.”
    “No,” Olivia said, gathering herself. “I won’t help you raise the dead.”
    “I can make you help us,” Ivan pointed out from behind her. “You would become our slave.”
    “Charm has its limits,” Olivia countered, remembering what she’d been told by Gwen, after one Charmer had played a nasty trick on her and the other girls. “You can’t push me too far.”
    “You’ll help us,” the monk said. The unshakable confidence in his voice chilled her to the bone. “If you refuse to help us of your own