by Frost Kay
Eight
Tehl
Tehl shifted to his side so he could stare down at his wife’s face, the lone flickering lantern highlighting the contours of her skin. Sage’s eyes flickered behind her eyelids, but she didn’t otherwise stir. Even with dirt smeared on her cheek and a bruise forming around her left eye from a fight two days prior, she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
She whimpered softly, and he reached out his right hand, gently stroking the downy hair at her temple. The furrows between her brows softened and disappeared. She snuggled closer to him and sighed deeply, her breath heating the bare skin of his chest. It was moments like this that he cherished the most. The unguarded way she sought his comfort even in slumber gave him a deep sense of satisfaction.
He ran his hand down her arm and carefully slipped his arm around her waist, gently tugging her closer into the shelter of his body, his wound burning. It had taken a lot to get them to this point, but even love couldn’t fix everything. There had been some nights her nightmares were so vivid she’d attacked him. Her eyes had been open, but her mind was lost to the horrors she’d suffered in Scythia. His jaw tightened. The warlord had damaged her in a way Tehl couldn’t fix. An invisible wound buried so deep in her heart that he doubted it would ever fully heal.
Tehl had promised that he would never hurt Sage to the best of his ability.
Today, he broke that promise.
The look on her face when he’d woken had absolutely gutted him.
Being pinned down hadn’t terrified him, nor had the close call with destroying the war machine. It wasn’t until they’d escaped and made it back to camp when the terror had set in, almost knocking him to his knees.
If Gav and Raziel hadn’t taken care of the situation, Aermia would be down a prince and his wife would be a widow.
Guilt churned in his gut. The thought of death didn’t scare him as much as the idea of leaving his wife behind with no one to protect her.
His lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. She would probably stab him for even thinking she needed someone to protect her. He traced her left, arching eyebrow with his fingertip and then ran it down the smooth bridge of her nose. A small part of him missed the little bump she used to have—a training badge of honor—one that had been erased by the demon ruling Scythia.
His lip curled.
The rage he hid from Sage sparked, and he had to release a slow breath to contain the urge to scream. It was a difficult thing to control; one’s emotions. Over the years, he’d thought he’d mastered the art.
Sage taught him differently.
He thought he’d known anger when she disappeared, when the warlord sent his letter, or at the mockery of a peace treaty. But it all paled in comparison to the fury he experienced when he’d watched Mira pry the metal thorns from his wife’s neck. The devil had collared her—collared her—like an animal.
His gaze dropped to the silvery scars that circled her neck. She’d left Aermia bearing all the scars of her youth—accidents, fights, victories—only to return home with her past erased from her skin, and the warlord’s actions imprinted there forever.
Tehl glared at the scars. Stars, he hated them. He’d die before he’d ever see her chained like that again. And he’d be damned before he let the warlord win the war and enslave the people of Aermia.
Sage shivered, and he pulled their covers over her bare shoulder.
He lay his head down and stared at the wall of their tent, his gaze blanking.
Today, he’d almost died.
Nothing in life was guaranteed, but today, he’d been too reckless. That recklessness had almost cost him his life.
He glanced back at Sage’s face.
He’d let his emotions get the best of him. It was time to get them under control.
Tehl eased himself forward and pressed a soft kiss to Sage’s forehead, his eyes drooping.
It was too late for midnight musings.
Tomorrow was coming all too soon, and, on the heels of it, more death.
Nine
Sage
Sage pushed her legs harder, her eyes locked on Lilja. Her aunt smiled sadly.
“Finish this,” she mouthed.
A horrified scream caught in Sage’s throat as the warlord’s blade plunged through the Sirenidae’s chest. Lilja began to convulse, and all sadness was wiped from her expression, replaced with disgust and disappointment. Blood dropped down her pale chin as she glared at Sage.
“This is your fault,” her aunt spat, spraying blood. “You failed.”
“No!” Sage screamed.
“You’re worthless.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, stumbling closer. “I tried.”
“Not good enough.”
Lilja lunged forward with a snarl and stabbed Sage in the chest. She gasped and gaped at the Sirenidae in betrayal.
“Why?” she gurgled, pain cutting deeply until she couldn’t breathe.
Her aunt’s magenta eyes darkened until it was the warlord’s eyes looking out at Sage from Lilja’s face.
“Because you’ve been found unworthy.” Lilja leaned closer, her black gaze holding glimmers of hate. “Because you’re mine.”
Her eyes flew open, and Sage gasped, clutching her chest, the phantom pain disappearing. Goosebumps ran along her arms and legs as she sat up and scanned their tent, the warlord’s presence still lingering in her mind. Nali huffed and snuggled closer to her left side between the mattress and the canvas wall.
She placed a sweaty palm on the feline’s head and stroked her soft ears with shaking fingers. That dream was a new one. In the weeks since her aunt’s death, she’d relived Lilja’s murder almost every night. But, tonight, it seemed, the warlord had deemed to visit her.
A shiver worked through her, and Sage clutched the blankets closer to her chest as she scanned their quarters once more for anything unusual. One chair in the left corner with their discarded armor. A small washtub to the right of the bed. Nothing else. No intruder.
Even though she could clearly see no one was there, it still felt as though she was being watched.
Tehl’s rough hand moved beneath the covers and squeezed her thigh.
“Nightmare?” he mumbled, still half asleep.
She swallowed hard and forced the tremble out of her voice. “The usual. Go back to sleep, love.”
He scooted closer and wrapped an arm behind her back, then one across her thighs, effectively hugging her. He pressed a kiss to the exposed skin at her hip.
“You first…” His words drifted off, and he released a snore.
A sleep-deprived giggle slipped from her, and Sage slapped a hand over her mouth. Tehl still never believed her when she told him that he snored. She pulled her hand from her mouth and gently combed the black hair from his handsome face. He looked tired. Dark smudges lingered beneath his eyes, and, even in sleep, his expression never slackened. It was as if he was still battling.
Her brow furrowed. She wasn’t the only one who had nightmares. He didn’t always thrash or call out like she did, but, in mornings, the haunted look in his face gave him away.
Nali plopped her head in Sage’s lap and purred. She smiled at the leren. “Are you jealous?”
The feline butted her in the belly with her head, encouraging Sage to scratch her ears. Sage touched Tehl’s whiskered cheek one last time before she wrapped both her hands around her companion’s pointed ears and massaged them. Nali’s purr rumbled louder in pleasure.
“Hush or you’ll wake him up.”
Nali and Tehl both had a way of calming her down and helping her fall back to sleep. In no time, Sage’s eyelids were drooping, and she found herself snuggling back into the blankets and her husband’s body, one hand idly running through her feline’s coat.
She was almost asleep when Nali’s purr cut off abruptly, and the fur beneath Sage’s palm stood on end.
Sage stiffened and slowly sat up, her ears straining to hear what the leren’s could. Wh
at was coming for them?
Her right hand squeezed Tehl’s shoulder, and she shook him. He jackknifed upward and blinked at her, sleep fleeing his eyes when he got a look at her expression.
“Something’s not right—” she began to say when the first explosion shattered the stillness of the night.
Tehl crashed into her as he threw his body over hers. Nali snarled and then whined.
Sage tampered down the scream caught in the back of her throat, her fingernails digging into his sides. She peeked around his shoulder as the second explosion went off. Immense light flared outside their tent, showing the shadows of soldiers running past.
“Get up!” Gav bellowed. “Fire!”
“Wicked hell,” Tehl muttered.
He jumped up, pulled Sage with him, and tossed his shirt over his head, then threw Sage’s leather chest piece at her. Hastily, she slipped her arms through the straps and scurried over the bed to haul Tehl’s metal breastplate from the floor. He moved to her, and they made quick work of his armor.
She jammed her feet into her boots just as Tehl tossed her cloak over her head.
“Put it on,” he said gruffly, already disappearing through the tent flap.
Sage hastily swung her cloak over her shoulders and bounded after him, her boots thumping against the hard ground. She burst from the tent and froze. The blaze raged in the not-so-far distance, flames dancing above the sea of tents in a pagan dance. The hair at the nape of her neck rose at the tormented screams that sliced through the air.
“Princess?” She slowly turned toward the speaker; Domin looked at her with concern. “What do you need?”
Her mouth bobbed and she scanned the pandemonium, her eyes snagging on Tehl’s wide shoulders. She shook her head and sprinted after him. Two soldiers flanked her as she barreled toward the blaze, her eyes locked on the light.
What had the Scythians targeted?
Her brows furrowed. There wasn’t anything on that side of the camp except… Her breath caught, and she stumbled a step before catching herself and speeding up, her heart in her throat.
The infirmary. Mira. Blaise. Her friends.
Her stomach twisted as the scent of charred flesh entered her nostrils. A flash of burned bodies and pale blue lips hovered in the forefront of her mind. Sage shoved the thoughts aside and pushed herself harder, thighs and calves burning. Sweat dampened her temples as the temperature increased. She swung around the last tent and skidded to a stop, a wall of heat and light slamming into her.
Sage raised her arm and squinted at the ball of fire, her clothes instantly sticking to her. Soldiers scrambled from the front part of the massive tent, carrying the wounded and sick. She frantically searched for a blonde braid or long, black hair. Her panic ratcheted up a notch when she didn’t see either. She had to get to them. Had to help.
She took one step toward the infirmary when a hand wrapped around her bicep. She glared into Tehl’s determined expression.
“You’re not going in there.”
Sage tugged her arm out of his grasp. “I won’t stand on the sidelines. They need our help.” They were wasting time. They didn’t have time to argue.
His gaze darkened as he pulled a bandana over his mouth and nose. “I’m not asking you to stand aside. Help those who need it.”
He swiftly kissed her on the forehead, tore his breastplate from his chest, and waded into the fray. The fire swallowed his form when he rushed into the blaze.
For one second, she pondered obeying him, but then the wooden support beams of the tent released a pained groan. The ground seemed to drop out from beneath her. It was only a matter of time before the whole thing collapsed.
Once again, she scanned the fallen. At least half the soldiers from the infirmary were still missing. Someone needed to start working from the rear before the entire thing burned. She ran around the side of the infirmary, and terror flooded her as she took in the mangled mess. The rear of the tent had been hit the hardest.
Oh god. Blaise.
Soldiers collected water from the nearby horse trough and stream and tossed bucketfuls on the inferno. Gav appeared at her side, sweaty and soot-smeared, his black hair singed at the front.
“It’s going to go any second,” he shouted over the cacophony.
Sage ignored him and climbed into the horse trough, cloak and all. Frigid water caused goosebumps to erupt over her skin as she leaned back to completely submerge herself. Her fingers curled around the trough’s metal edges, and she hauled herself from the trough, water streaming from her clothes.
“Have you seen Mira or Blaise?” she demanded and blinked the water from her eyes. They had to be there somewhere. Time was being wasted. Every second her friends were in the tent, they were closer to death.
“No.”
“They’re in there. I know it. Mira would never leave her patients behind.” She turned her eyes on her friend. “Help me.”
Gav cursed. “I’ll cut the canvas. You stand back.” He wrapped a wet scarf around his head and over his nose, then pulled his sword from the scabbard at his hip and pushed past the soldiers fruitlessly tossing water onto the inferno.
Sage shivered and pulled her soaking cloak tighter around her. Domin wordlessly handed her a wet piece of fabric to tie over her nose and mouth before doing the same to himself. Not once had he questioned or slowed her down. Only offered his aid.
Her legs tensed as she switched her attention back to Gav. They had minutes, seconds to help those inside. He sliced at the canvas and lunged back as a burst of flames, heat, and smoke billowed from the tent.
“Quickly!” he screamed. “Follow me and don’t touch anything.”
A flicker of fear flashed through her as she dashed into the tent after Gav. Her eyes immediately watered and then dried. The skin on her face and hands felt like it was cooking. She scrambled to the left, toward where she’d left Blaise, her Methian protector hot on her heels.
“Blaise?” she screamed, eyes stinging.
Steam began to rise from her cloak. Bloody hell. It was way too hot.
Her heart bottomed out as she found a cot with a charred body lying upon it. As much as she wanted to look away, Sage forced herself to look closer. The physique was too masculine to be her friend.
She swung around and carefully maneuvered through the disaster zone as the flames hungrily licked at everything they could get to.
“Blaise!” Her eyes skipped over the still bodies that she couldn’t help. Please let Blaise or Mira not be among them. “Mira!”
“Here,” a strained voice called over the roar of the fire.
Sage spun, her damp cloak slapping her leather breeches. She squinted, desperately searching.
“Got ‘em!” Gav bellowed.
She scrambled toward his voice and winced as she passed too many unfortunate souls.
Domin ghosted beside her, checking for pulses as they quickly moved deeper into the room. Sage skirted around a collapsed beam and coughed as the smoke thickened. Where in the hell were they?
“Don’t step on me,” a dark, rough voice rasped.
Sage dropped to her knees and reached through the swirling smoke toward the familiar voice. “Blaise?”
The Scythian woman lay across the floor, her leg pinned beneath the beam. The burning beam.
“Oh, god,” Sage whispered as the Methian warrior knelt and began to pull fabric from his pockets and wrap them around his palms.
“When I lift, you pull her out,” Domin commanded.
She crawled around him and grabbed Blaise beneath her armpits. “Gav?”
“Right here,” Gav huffed from behind her. “Found Mira. She’s not well.”
“Get her out,” she commanded, her attention focused on Domin.
“I can’t leave you,” Gav snarled.
“You can and you will. We’ll be right behind you.”
Gav rushed by their side, his clothes steaming. “I’ll be back.”
Domin braced his legs and cast a glan
ce over his shoulder. “Ready?”
“Do it,” she gritted out. She stared down at Blaise, determined to get them both out. “This is going to hurt.”
“I can handle it,” Blaise growled. “Get me out of here.”
The warrior grasped the wood and heaved. Blaise screamed as Sage pulled as hard as she could, dragging her friend out from beneath the beam. The Scythian shuddered, and her eyes rolled into her head.
“Damn it.”
Sage pulled Blaise a few more inches and lifted her head to check on the warrior. Domin set the beam back in place just as the room groaned and let out a horrific shudder.
Their eyes connected as the burning roof gave up the fight.
Ten
Dor
Her life seemed to change by the hour.
A week prior, she’d decided that there was no chance in ever catching her breath. Dor had to run with it. But the dark, creepy tunnel was sending chills down her spine. She eyed the soaring ceiling that hosted a number of ominous webs. Wicked hell, she hated spiders.
“Are you coming?” a smoky, feminine voice asked. She turned her attention to Maeve, who hovered a few paces away. The woman’s eyes danced in amusement.
Dor shot an annoyed glare in the woman’s direction. They’d only spent a few weeks in each other’s presence, but it felt like she’d actually known Maeve her entire life. Even so, Dor was still wary of the warlord’s handmaiden. It was uncanny how the Scythian princess could go from laughter to bloodshed in the blink of an eye.
With that in mind, she slowly trailed behind Maeve. The tunnel sloped downward, and she cast surreptitious glances at the silent warriors who formed a loose circle around both women. They’d been trailing her since the day she’d stumbled into the stone room with Ada. She should feel safe, but they put her on edge. They were too silent, too big, and they’d always been her enemy.
Dor quietly followed Maeve deeper into the earth, the air cooling as they descended. It didn’t bother her skin. After spending her whole life in the Pit, the cool, humid air felt like coming home. Her heart squeezed. The Pit. She’d unintentionally helped start a rebellion. In her mind, it had seemed glorious—romantic, even. In actuality, it was bloody. Blood was spilled on both sides daily, and while the Scythian society as a whole was corrupt, what went down in the Pit wasn’t innocent. Every death weighed heavily on her conscience. How much blood would need to be paid for equality and freedom?