by Frost Kay
She stepped closer to him, her head tipped back so she could meet his dark gaze. “It brings me pleasure to say this to you, but you will never have that part of me. I am not yours. I gave myself away freely,” she paused, “eagerly, a long time ago to someone who is capable of love.” Her chest lifted and fell with her heavy breaths.
The warlord stilled at her declaration. It was as if his body was made of stone. The fingers around her chin dropped away and wrapped around her throat. Terror flooded her, but it didn’t take away the satisfaction of watching the warlord start to unravel.
His grip tightened, and he leaned into her face. “You would not do such a thing.”
Sage’s smile widened. “I was never yours. I belong to myself, but I gave my husband a part of me that you will never claim.”
The warlord’s gaze snapped shut. “You didn’t,” he whispered, pained.
His hand spasmed, and she wheezed for a breath.
“I know,” he snarled, talking to someone Sage couldn’t see. His eyes closed. “She’s ours.”
She grabbed his wrist when the pressure increased and his eyes opened, insanity shining through.
“You gave it to that mutt,” he said harshly. He bared his teeth. “If you’re so free with your body, you shouldn’t have any problem sharing it with me.” The warlord slammed her against the tree trunk, pressing his body against hers as she scrambled against his hold. “I’ll remove his stain from your body, from your soul, if I have to. You’re mine! You’re ours!”
The back of her head cracked against the tree, and she lifted her blurry gaze to the edge of the forest. Escape was so close. The war drums marched with the beat of her heart as the demon tore at her cape and shirt. Buttons popped and scattered across the forest floor.
Sage turned her gaze to the sky and blinked slowly. The moonlight cut out, and a flying figure formed. Her brows furrowed even as her monster pressed his cold hands against the warm skin of her bare back. The shadow was too large to be a fiilee. Her breath caught.
A dragon. A free dragon.
Its wings flared, and Sage smiled.
If the dragon had escaped the warlord, so could she.
She cocked her head to the side and latched onto his ear, biting as hard as she could while simultaneously slamming her knee into his crotch. The warlord gasped, and his grip on her faltered. Sage wiggled away as the warlord grunted. Dots crossed her vision. She fell to her knees and grabbed her cloak and a rock.
Get off the ground. You’re too vulnerable.
She stood and staggered as the warlord reached for her. Sage swung the rock with all her might against his skull, and he stumbled as she reached for the hem of her cloak. He grabbed her by the braid.
Sage screamed as he wrenched her body against him, her back against his front.
“Don’t worry, consort. We consider bloodshed part of foreplay.”
She didn’t think, just reached back and grabbed his crotch and squeezed. He yelled and flung her forward. She crashed to the ground, striking her head on something hard. The world tilted, and she curled into herself, her shaking fingers groping for the hidden blade in the hem of her cloak.
The breeze kicked up, blowing snow into her face. Sage squinted as the dragon landed, wings outspread before the opening of the forest.
A feminine figure slid off its back and down its wing, landing in a crouching pose. The woman lifted her head and smiled.
“Hello, brother.”
Maeve.
Forty-Five
Tehl
“I refuse to leave her for one more moment!” Tehl growled. He glanced at the men and women surrounding the war table. “It’s been long enough. The war machines are no longer a threat.” A pause. “Raziel.”
The Methian prince pulled his attention from the map on the table. “Yes?”
“Have all your fiilee been pulled from the coast and are ready to be deployed?”
“They are,” Raziel murmured.
“Good.”
“Do you think it’s wise to push forward without a signal from Sage or Blair?” Queen Osir asked.
“We can’t wait any longer. It’s been three days.” Tehl hadn’t slept since his wife disappeared into the storm. He stared stonily at the table. Something had gone wrong. He could feel it in his bones.
Hayjen pushed in through the tent flap, his icy blue eyes bright. “I have news. Blair’s warriors have arrived and are in position.” He rubbed his hands together. “It’s time.”
Tehl sagged in relief. A turn of luck. Finally. He glanced around the table, his heart heavy. It was too empty. Sage, Gav, Lilja, William, Blaise, and Garreth were all missing. This could be the last time he stood with what currently remained of the war council.
He smiled at them all. “Thank you,” Tehl said softly. “Your dedication, sacrifice, and hard work will not be forgotten.”
“It’s no more than you have done,” Rafe said gruffly.
“This is our last stand. Be safe and give them hell. I’ll see you on the battlefield.” Tehl locked eyes with each person before they filed out of the tent.
All except Hayjen.
Sage’s uncle moved closer to the crown prince’s right side.
“Are you ready to go get our girl?” Hayjen rumbled.
Tehl lifted his head and wiped a hand over his mouth. “I am.”
“But?”
“I’m not ready for this next leg of bloodshed.”
“Lilja and I have been fighting for a long time.” Hayjen paused, his face creasing in pain. “We fought for a long time. Many lives had already been lost before you or I were even born. This fight isn’t just about our people now, but for the ones who didn’t get justice in their time. Today, we serve that justice.”
Tehl nodded. “May vengeance be served.”
“May the warlord die a horrid death,” Hayjen snarled.
The men shared a smile.
The end was upon them.
Forty-Six
Mira
Mira sat wearily beside Gav’s cot. His fever had spiked once again, but it wasn’t as terrible as it had been a few days prior. She pulled back his bandage and hummed. It didn’t look better, but it looked no worse.
“Gav, I think we’re through the worst of it,” she mumbled. Her friend didn’t answer her, likely too lost to his fever dreams. Her mind flashed back to the kiss. Mira blushed and then scowled. “Leave it to you to steal my very first kiss and think I’m someone else.”
She rewrapped his wound and pulled the blanket back over his bare leg. While Mira had managed to keep his leg, Gav would never walk normally. He would walk, but with a limp.
Laying her arms on the cot, Mira pillowed her cheeks against her hands. Stars, she hoped he didn’t blame her. At least he was alive. The war had already claimed so many lives. War was a brutal, ugly thing.
Her eyelids began to droop, but then a hand settled on her left shoulder, startling her. She glanced up, meeting Raziel’s eyes, concern plain on his face.
Mira smiled at him and patted his hand. “I’m all right,” she whispered.
He nodded and absentmindedly ran a hand over his face, uncharacteristically serious.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Had something happened to one of his family members? One of his friends? Mira gasped. “Is it Sage?”
Raziel shook his head. “Nothing like that, love.” He held his hand out. Mira took his hand and stood, her body complaining. She groaned and stretched. No good deed went unpunished.
“Tonight, we attack,” he said softly, pulling her toward the piping-hot woodstove at the rear of the tent.
Mira shivered, despite the heat. More men would be entering the infirmary. Raziel brushed a damp curl from her cheek, his fingertips lingering on her jawline. He scanned her face.
“I may not come back,” he said bluntly.
She blinked slowly, and a fist seemed to tighten around her lungs, making it difficult for her to breathe. Mira shook her head. “Don’t talk like
that. You’ve made it so far, and there’s no one stronger than you are.”
A half smile curved his mouth. “What an extraordinary creature you are.”
Mira slipped her hands into his. “The feeling is mutual. Be safe tonight.”
The Methian prince nodded, his smile fading away too quickly. “Do you remember what I said?”
She gave him a silly smile. “That you’ll force feed me if I forget to eat?” It didn’t lighten the mood. He moved in closer.
“I already spoke of my intentions before. They have not changed. Goodness and kindness radiate from your soul and touch the lives of those around you. I admire and respect you.”
Mira swallowed at his sentiment and tipped her head back to stare into his eyes. “I care for you, too.”
He paused, tenderness playing across his expression. “I like you, and it will be easy to love you.” Raziel released her fingers and slid his hand behind her neck, cupping the back of her head. His fingers tangled in the soft, tiny hairs at the nape of her neck. He leaned closer. “If you’ll let me.”
Her heart thundered as he breached the tiny gap between them. Warm lips brushed her own. Her breath shuddered, and the world stilled as Raz kissed her. It was so light, a ghost of a touch, the whisper of silk against her skin. Mira’s lips parted on a gasp, and, as if that was all the permission he needed, his hands cupped her face and mouth covered hers.
The prince kissed her slowly, as if they had all the time in the world, like she was everything he needed and wanted. The first brush of his tongue caused Mira to shiver. Her hands rose to his chest, hesitating. What sort of madness was this? She never felt like this—all hot, shivery, and weak.
“Please kiss me,” he whispered against her lips.
His plea destroyed any hesitation inside her. Mira seized the front of his shirt and kissed him back, brushing her own tongue with his, tempting him to play. She jerked when he groaned, her eyes flying open.
“Did I hurt you?” she squeaked. He was the first man she’d ever kissed, other than Gav, and that didn’t count, because she hadn’t kissed him back. Had she done it wrong?
Raziel smiled lazily and brushed his nose across hers, then pressed a kiss to her temple. “No, love. It was perfect.”
Her embarrassment disappeared at his praise, and she sank into his embrace, enjoying the wonderful hug. He felt… safe.
“I need to go,” he said.
She squeezed him tightly once more. “Please be careful.” Mira pulled back reluctantly.
Raz touched her cheek and gave her a charming smile. “I’ll be back to annoy you before you know it, Mira. I’ll see you soon. We can talk then.”
It was more difficult than it should have been to watch him walk away. She lifted her hand over her mouth, her lips tingling from his kisses. He’d become her unlikely friend and suitor. And while she did like him, there was no future for them; he was a prince, and she was a healer.
Tears misted her eyes. She should have told him the truth. Babies weren’t in the cards for her. A crown prince required an heir, and Mira couldn’t give him one.
She’d tell him when he returned.
If he returned.
A lone tear ran down her cheek, and she closed her eyes.
Please, please stay safe.
Forty-Seven
Sage
The world tilted and spun.
Maeve strode forward, her expression as serious as ever. The warlord’s boots entered Sage’s vision, and she shied away. Who knew what he’d do to her in this state? She angled her head to get a better view.
He straightened his rumpled clothes and brushed his black hair away from his angular face. He cast a glance down to her, his gaze calculating. “Don’t move.”
She shivered as he moved away and held his arms out, moving to meet his sister.
“You finally arrive at last. Do you have what I asked for?”
“I oversaw the fermenting myself.” Maeve smiled and pulled a small glass bottle from her pocket. “I came as soon as I could.” She approached him, all lethal grace and power. Sage blinked. Their features weren’t too similar, but their mannerisms were, so much so, it was eerie.
Sage lay on the ground, trying to make the earth stop moving. She pulled her cloak closer to her body and tried to crawl to the nearest tree. The warlord embraced his sister, and Maeve looked over his shoulder, locking eyes with Sage. An eternity seemed to pass between them. Sage owed the woman so much for getting her out of Scythia.
Maeve nodded subtly and, in the space of a second, she released a hidden blade from her sleeve and stabbed her brother in the neck. The warlord bellowed. Sage’s jaw dropped as the warlord’s sister jerked the blade forward. His shout turned to a gurgle. He yanked his own weapon from his thigh, and stabbed Maeve between the ribs. Maeve jerked but never lost eye contact with Sage.
“Run,” she mouthed.
Sage stumbled to her feet. The world rolled and lurched. She touched the lump on the back of her head and used the tree to catch her balance. She glanced toward the dragon—toward her best chance of freedom—then back to the tent in the distance. Leaving Lilja wasn’t an option.
She crashed toward the tent, well aware that there were four Scythian guards. Time to come up with a plan quickly. Surely, they’d heard his scream? Sage exaggerated her limp and let her sobs break free when she rounded the last tree.
“They attacked,” she sobbed, and purposefully tripped over her own feet. “Please help him.”
Warriors emerged from the tent, and all four entered the forest silently.
I’m sorry, Maeve. Please be safe.
Sage waited until she heard shouts from Maeve’s direction and rushed into the tent. She panted as she pocketed as many sharp tools and weapons as possible, shoving them into every available opening.
A small blade made its way into her hands, and she set to work on unlocking the cuffs encircling her aunt’s wrists. It was tedious, and every sound Sage made ratcheted up her nerves. Sweat dripped between her breasts when the first cuff released. She moved to the second one. It was stubborn.
Each second felt like a year. “Please work,” she whispered. The final lock clicked, releasing the cuff around Lilja’s right wrist.
A hand seized her by the hair and yanked her back. Sage screamed and dropped her blade, clutching at the hand.
“Did you think you could run off that easily?” the warlord spat. “We will always be able to find you. You belong to us. There’s no escape.”
Sage released his arm and pulled a dagger from her pocket. Twisting, she slammed it into the inside of this thigh. He grunted and tossed her to the ground. Her head collided with the floor, and her vision danced. The air in her lungs fled as he threw himself on top of her, pinning her to the floor.
Revulsion struck her, as blood dripped onto her from the ghastly wound at his throat.
“Look at me,” he roared, his spittle and blood spraying her face.
Her gaze snapped to his face, and Sage swore she was looking into the pits of hell itself. This was it. The end. Her monster bared his teeth. “I will not let you ruin everything. Why can’t you accept me?” he demanded, his tone changing. Something vulnerable fluttered across his face. “Does no one care for me?”
She flinched as if struck. All she could see was him telling her about his past. About the monsters his parents were.
Don’t let him fool you.
“You’ve brought this on yourself,” she whispered. “You have had many chances to love, but you’ve chosen power, hate, and violence over and over. How can anyone love a monster?” she spat.
He leaned closer and ran his lips along her cheekbone. “’Til the bitter end, you defy me. Why do I still want you?”
“Because you’re sick.”
The warlord lifted his head as Maeve burst through the door. He sprung up just as his sister slammed a rock over the back of his head. He dropped to the ground, moaning. Sage scrambled back on her hands and knees as his arm
s clawed at the dirt. How was he still moving?
Maeve let the rock fall to the ground, and tugged another bottle from her trousers. She jogged to Lilja’s side and pinched her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. Quickly, Maeve uncorked the bottle and poured the liquid into Lilja’s mouth.
“You need to get her out.”
Sage shook from head to toe and nodded. Her eyes widened when Lilja’s lashes fluttered and her gorgeous eyes opened up. The warlord’s sister cupped Lilja’s cheeks as her eyes opened and locked on Maeve’s.
“Old friend, it is time that you go,” Maeve said. “I know you’re hurting, but you need to gather your strength. I’ve given you something. Leave with your niece.”
Lilja nodded, her pupils blown wide. “Ruuuunn,” she slurred.
Sage forced herself to her feet, her gaze darting to the warlord who was trying to stand. Sage and Maeve each took one of Lilja’s arms and stumbled to the first tent flap.
Maeve released Lilja and met Sage’s gaze. “Go. I will stay.”
Sage swallowed. Determination was clear on Maeve’s face. She didn’t plan on surviving the encounter. “Thank you,” she choked out, knowing it wasn’t good enough to express how thankful she was.
“Traitor,” the warlord hissed.
That was her cue.
It took everything she had to leave Maeve in the tent, but the slither of the warlord’s voice made her flee. Sage and Lilja stumbled down the path, her aunt dragging at her side. Sage gritted her teeth as she tried to balance both of them. She didn’t examine the carnage of the dead warriors they passed. Silently, they moved toward the immense dragon twenty paces away.
Sage hesitated and eyed the surrounding forest. It was thick. There was no way she’d get Lilja through that to get around the winged beast.
“It’s just a dragon,” Sage mumbled. He was Maeve’s friend. He wouldn’t hurt them. Hopefully.