Alaric unfurled his wings just as the assassins closed the distance between them. They slowed before Alaric, and each brandished a dagger.
Alaric drew out his own dagger from a pocket in his cargo pants. “There’s not enough room for me to take off, Evelyn. Run.”
The assassins inched toward Alaric, their fluid movements blending with the sway of grass and branches.
Fear welded her feet to the ground. “What about you?”
“I’ll catch up to you. Now run, Evelyn. Please.”
She couldn’t simply abandon Alaric, could she? She shifted closer, but Alaric’s voice stopped her.
“You’ll be more of a hindrance than a help, Evelyn. Now run.”
His words stung, but they were enough to propel her feet forward. She tossed a last glance over her shoulder before diving more deeply into the forest. Undergrowth clawed at her ankles, and frothy pine branches scraped her cheeks.
She slowed only when the stitches piercing her side felt like stab wounds, and a lack of air shriveled her lungs. Curse this altitude.
She stumbled behind a tree and collapsed at its base, trying to rein in her sputters and gasps. If one of the assassins came, she didn’t want them to hear her.
If one of the assassins came, that meant Alaric was dead. The thought made her shudder.
Leaves crackled behind her. She pressed the back of her head into the bark of the tree. If she kept still, hopefully she’d remain unseen. If it were Alaric, she’d call out to him when he passed.
More leaves crunched. A twig popped. Then the footsteps faded.
What if it had been Alaric? What if he’d just passed her? She peered around the trunk.
Fingers scraped her scalp as someone yanked her hair, pulling her away from the cover of the tree, and she fell to the forest floor. Leaves crunched beneath her, prickling her skin, and she stared up into a dark hood, beneath which shone two eyes.
The assassin planted his knee against her chest and unsheathed a dagger.
She squirmed beneath him, but his weight pinned her to the ground.
“Don’t touch her.”
The assassin stiffened and glanced up. To her surprise, he slowly rose to face the new attacker.
She scrambled away from the assassin and slipped behind a tree. Her savior was also cloaked in black. His voice was smoother than Alaric’s. He glided forward, a dagger in each hand.
The assassin dropped into a ready stance, leaning on the balls of his feet.
The other man moved so fast he seemed to blur. Daggers flashed and steel sang. Then he drew back, silently circling the assassin. “Not bad. But I was expecting more from a Scorpio.”
The assassin lunged forward, jabbing toward the man’s chest.
The man locked blades with the assassin. With a flick of his wrist, the assassin’s blade flew through the air.
The assassin lurched backward and darted back into the forest.
Her savior twirled his daggers before sheathing them at a belt on his hips. “Evelyn. It’s been a while.” He drew back his hood, his golden curls shining in the moonlight.
She caught her breath. “Draven?”
He bowed. “The one and only, my lady.” He straightened and strode to her side. “Are you well? Did he hurt you?” His hand brushed her hips, her back as he searched for injuries.
Her skin ignited beneath his touch, and she lurched back. “Draven. What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t honestly think I’d allow you to go gallivanting around Earth without me, do you?” His jaw tightened. “Especially with these assassins roaming about.”
“But… the dungeons.”
“All I needed to do was pick the lock and distract the guards.” He propped his hip against the tree, a lazy grin sliding across his lips. “No need to look so surprised. I’m a man of many talents.” He stepped forward, so the tips of their shoes brushed, and cupped her jaw. “Many talents.” Though a teasing tone lilted his words, his green eyes were dark and solemn. His warm breath dusted her lips before he slanted his mouth across hers.
She gasped, drawing his breath into her lungs. Even as warmth surged through her chest, her hand flew through the air before smacking against his cheek.
He ripped away from her, a look of genuine hurt flashing across his face. “Evelyn?”
She stepped back from him—something she should’ve done sooner. “Draven, I—we can’t.”
“Why ever not? Evelyn, you’re free. While Alaric’s distracted, we can run.”
She shook her head, swishing her ponytail. “If he’s distracted, it’s because he’s trying to protect me. I can’t betray him.”
“Evelyn… there are too many assassins in this wood. They’re lying in wait around the portal. If you don’t seize this opportunity to escape, you’ll never be free again. You’ll either become the Scorpio’s captive or remain Alaric’s.”
“I’m choosing to stay with him, so I’m not his captive.”
“Do you even have the option to leave, should you want to?” He tilted his head, his gaze soft.
Had Alaric ever offered to release her? He’d said they could visit her mother occasionally or that her mother could come to Torva.
“He hasn’t, has he?”
She forced a shrug. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve made my decision.”
“And your decision is him. Why? Why sentence yourself to a loveless marriage?”
“It’s not loveless; he loves me.”
“If he truly loved you, he would have offered you your freedom. Evelyn,” he knelt on the forest floor, slightly lower than eye-level, “he hasn’t offered you your freedom, because he needs you. His love for you is more about himself than it is you—and that’s not really love, is it?”
Doubts flurried in her mind, and she folded her arms. “It’s still not loveless, because I love him, and I’m willing to love him without being loved in return.”
The words drove an ache into her heart, but they rang true.
Draven’s gaze sank to the ground. “Why, Evelyn? Why him and not me?”
“I do care for you, Draven, but Alaric’s been so loyal and patient. He’s given up all of his desires for the sake of the kingdom, and if the one selfish desire he succumbs to is keeping me, I understand that.”
“But do you ever think you’ll be as attracted to him as you are to me?” He slid his hand over her shoulder, his thumb resting above her collarbone.
Warmth shimmered across her skin, and as her gaze slid to his lips, her heart twisted with longing. “Maybe not.” She glanced away. “But what I feel doesn’t matter; what I choose does. And I’ve chosen Alaric.” She lifted her head, her gaze scanning the darkened forest. “Speaking of which, I’d best seek him out. If he hasn’t returned by now, I fear he may be captured or dead.”
“If you remain with him here, you’ll soon meet the same fate.” His grip on her shoulder tightened. “Please come with me, Evelyn.”
She stepped back, and his hand fell from her. “I can’t, but thank you for saving me.”
His expression twisted in frustration, rousing her sympathy.
“I’m sorry.”
He slowly lumbered to his feet, as if the movement caused him pain. “I can’t allow you to make this decision, Evelyn. It will be the death of you.”
“You can’t?” She released a shuddering breath. “So what will you do? Capture me? That would mean you’re no better than Alaric.”
His hand latched onto her wrist. “I’m sorry, Evelyn, but this is for your own good. I won’t lose you to him again.”
She clawed at his fingers. “It’s not your decision.”
Another voice interrupted them: “It’s Evelyn’s.”
They both whirled to face the newcomer. A man slipped from behind a copse of trees, his wings silhouetted in the setting sun.
Alaric. She tore away from Draven’s loosened grip and ran to him. How much had he heard? She glanced up at him, but his flinty gaze was fixed on Draven.
Evelyn slowed at his side, and Alaric nudged her behind him.
Draven’s eyes narrowed. “You would have her remain with you, even if she dies?”
“She won’t, and I don’t intend to either.” Alaric raised his dagger.
“No!” Evelyn clasped his wrist, trying to drag it back down.
Draven’s lips sharpened into a grin. “See? Even now she fights for me, dragon spawn.”
Alaric’s expression hardened. “Release me, Evelyn. Now.”
She nearly shivered at his frosty tone. “Please don’t hurt him. You’re the one I’ve chosen.”
“I don’t intend to fight him out of jealousy, Evelyn.”
Her grip on him loosened. “Then… why?”
“Think. How did he know we’d be here? How did he escape the palace dungeons—on his own? How did he scare your assailant away so easily?”
Her arms fell to her sides and she stumbled back, a cold knot tightening her chest.
“Because he’s one of them, Evelyn. He’s a Scorpio. If I allow him to escape, it would mean our deaths.”
Draven’s shoulders heaved with each breath. “I would never harm Evelyn.”
“Yet you don’t deny it.”
Evelyn slid behind Alaric’s solid form, heart stuttering. “Draven? You’re an assassin?”
He met her gaze boldly. “He lies out of jealousy, Evelyn.”
“Then how did you escape? How did you find us?”
Draven’s jaw shifted, but he didn’t reply.
“You betrayed me.” Evelyn’s voice was soft, but judging from his sudden stiffening, he’d heard her.
“You betrayed me first,” Draven replied. “You chose Alaric.”
“How long have you been part of the Scorpio?”
Leaves crackled in the forest—somewhere behind them. Alaric drew Evelyn to his side, his gaze sliding toward the noise.
“Long enough to know when I can win a fight—and to know when I ought to stall for reinforcements.”
Alaric swore. “The others are near, aren’t they?” Without waiting for a reply, he slipped his dagger into his boot and gathered Evelyn into his arms. “We must leave.”
Draven shook his head slowly. “It’s too late.”
Alaric launched into the air, his powerful wings causing the forest floor to boil with blowing leaves. In the distance, silhouettes danced from tree to tree.
They were coming.
Alaric twisted and turned carefully, allowing them to slip past the forest canopy. Suddenly, he roared in pain. A quick glance to the left revealed why: a small metal hook dug into the webbing of his wing. An assassin yanked at the other end of the rope.
Alaric beat his wings harder, his expression churning with pain. A wet ripping sound stung her ears, and Alaric shuddered.
Something whizzed through the air, and another hook found its mark.
Alaric gasped and clenched her to his chest, his grip threatening to crunch her bones. More hooks flew through the air, piercing his wings.
What could she do? His wings weren’t sturdy enough for her to crawl across and pluck the hooks off him. Even if they were, she wasn’t sure she could; just looking at the metal carving into his wings and the liquid oozing from the webbing made her nauseous.
Alaric twisted, but the assassins below held tight to their ropes. His breaths fluttered with panic and pain. She clung to his neck. If only she could do something—anything—but she was helpless as the assassins pulled them down.
Though his wings sputtered out a few more flaps, he fell toward the ground.
Just before they slammed into the forest floor, Alaric’s body curled around hers. The impact jolted her, and her teeth dug into her tongue. Alaric’s head bounced against a root before his grip on her slackened.
“Alaric?” She wormed out of his arms and spat a gob of pink saliva onto the ground as blood oozed from her tongue. She ran her hands through his dark hair until she skimmed a wet spot. Her fingers came away red.
“It seems he had quite the fall.”
She whirled around, preparing to give the assassin a piece of her mind. If he so much as touched—
Shock rippled through her body.
She blinked, hoping the mirage of her father would disappear. He stared at her, his eyes two icy chips of turquoise.
He didn’t appear surprised in the slightest.
25
A Kingdom For a Life
She knew her father had some flaws—but this? “You helped the Scorpio track me down?” That explained how the Scorpio had a picture of her.
“I did more than that,” her father replied. “I lead the Scorpio.”
She stilled. That meant…
“In Torva, they call me Sephtis, Master of Poisons.”
Little pieces of the puzzle came together. Portals caused disturbances in the weather. Whenever he came and went, it would storm. He’d disappear for months at a time and return with large sums of money.
Tingles danced across her skin as the blood rushed from her face, her world toppling like a well-played Jenga tower. First Draven, then her father. “You’re the one who wants me dead? Why?”
“You better serve my purposes alive now. Quite fortunate for you.” Her fath—Sephtis—turned to Draven. “She didn’t accept your offer?”
Draven’s gaze dodged hers. “No, Master.”
“Master?” she asked. Did that mean Draven was her father’s underling? Or something more?
Her father grimaced and rubbed his ears. “You know how I hate that squeaky tone of yours. Now quiet yourself or I’ll have someone do it for me.” He clasped Draven’s shoulder. “And never fear, Apprentice Draven. I’m sure she’ll find your offer much more appealing once she has had a chat with the Scorpio Council.”
Apprentice? She was going to retch.
“Now, someone bind this dragon spawn in chains. And remember to have the Achilles Gems on hand once he awakens.”
Chain links clinked as a half-dozen assassins neared Alaric’s prone body. One of them held a faceted black rock, its darkness seeming to suck the light around it. An Achilles Gem. Draven sucked in a breath and stepped several paces back, apparently content to let others do the dirty work.
Evelyn swiped the dagger from Alaric’s boot. “Don’t touch him!”
Sephtis’ laugh crackled. “Quite the impressive show, my dear. But the King is unconscious. There’s no need to perform anymore.”
Perform? Her lips parted.
“Yes, I know all about your little act.” He chuckled. “Convincing the King you cared so you’d be presented with the opportunity to escape. Quite clever.”
She blinked in surprise. “I had many opportunities to escape—like when you poisoned him.”
“Ah. Then you do, indeed, want to be queen and rule over Torva.”
“No. I want to be his wife.”
His brows furrowed.
“I’ve never cared for power… unlike certain members of my family, it seems.” She shot him a heated glare.
He tapped his chin, recovering from whatever had so shocked him. “Seeing as you’re not my daughter, I don’t know who you could be referring to.”
He’d said it so many times, so why did it still tempt tears to well in her eyes? This was the time to face her father, not collapse into a sobbing heap.
“Enough chattering. The Council is expecting us.”
The assassin closest to her lunged with blinding speed and coiled his fingers around her arms. He twisted her wrist, and the dagger thudded to the ground.
“No!”
Sephtis heaved a sigh. “Gag her.”
Even though she thrashed, the assassin pinned her to the ground, pressing his knee to her back. Leaves scratched her face as she twisted in his grip, though she knew it would prove fruitless.
The assassin wound a gag over her mouth, shoving the cloth between her teeth, and tied it behind her head. He caught both her
wrists and tied them behind her back, the rope so tight that her hands tingled from a lack of blood.
Her father nodded. “Very good. Assassin Calad, you’ll carry the Queen.”
The assassin pinning her down stiffened. “With all due respect, Lord Sephtis, Lady Raina charged me specifically with the delivery of the Queen. If it sits well with you, I request that I carry her.”
“It does not sit well with me, Assassin Maiko. As stated previously, Assassin Calad will be the one to carry her.” Sephtis’ gaze grew chillingly cold. It was a look he’d used when lecturing her. “I’m the head of the Scorpio, and in the future, Lady Raina would do well to remember that.”
“We’ll see how long that lasts,” Assassin Maiko muttered, his tone low enough that only she heard him. Then the assassin stood.
Before Evelyn could struggle to her feet, someone else yanked her into a standing position before tossing her over his shoulder.
It didn’t seem likely she’d escape anytime soon, but at least she knew something that might be of use: not all of the assassins were on the same side.
More stairs. More long, dark hallways. Every so often, stones and gears screeched in the distance.
She’d tried to keep track of where they were headed, but they’d taken so many turns, her head was spinning. She knew they were back in Torva—they’d crossed the portal hours ago—and that they’d entered some sort of underground passage. Somehow, they’d kept Alaric unconscious during the entire journey by pressing the Achilles Gem to his spine.
Finally, the miniature army of assassins slowed. She squirmed, but no matter how she shifted, the assassin’s shoulder still dug into her stomach. If only he would allow her to walk.
Two slabs of obsidian-carved doors blocked the middle of the cavernous tunnel. The guards on either side shoved it open, revealing an entire room of polished obsidian, from the ceiling to the floor. Torches layered the wall, heating the air until it felt sticky. Sweat plastered her shirt to her torso. The black flooring, walls, and ceiling seemed to absorb all light, making the room appear dim despite the many torches
They marched into the room. Without warning, the assassin shrugged her off.
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