by Raye Wagner
I smiled at him, a sad acknowledgment of my grim reality. “Thank you. That is kind of you, but we both know I won’t be leaving.”
I walked into my cell and sat cross-legged on the bed. The words escaped before I could stop them. “Is Tyr still alive?”
The Drae pursed his lips and gave a curt nod. “Toliko vam volim kraljicu.”
This time I snorted. “I have no idea what that means,” I said with a yawn.
But there was one good thing to happen in this never-ending nightmare, at least.
Tyr was alive.
30
The click of a key in a lock awoke me. I sat, disoriented, my sluggish mind dredging up awful images of Arnik’s death and a lingering nightmare of Irrik burning me with his terrible fire. But there were other images, too—like me kissing Irrik—that brought confusion. What was I thinking?
My thoughts dissipated when a hooded figure entered my cell.
“Tyr?” I whispered, certain I was still dreaming.
Instead of rushing to me, he waved me to the door, staying outside.
I crossed my cell, and he reached for me, pulling me to him, the bars between us. As soon as our skin touched, I heard his thoughts.
I’ve been so worried. He brushed his lips to my forehead. I have no time to explain. Please listen. When I said nothing, he continued. My love, you must escape.
My heart stuttered and I blinked several times. “You love me?”
I have loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you.
“In the torture room?”
He pressed a whisper of a kiss to my lips. Before that.
Tyr loved me. A fierce joy bubbled inside me, and a grin spread across my face despite my attempts to control it. I peeked up at him and lifted a hand to stroke his jaw.
“I love you, too, Tyr.” We shared an intense, desperate love born of the constant threat to our lives. My heart was full of this man, and my soul knew him. I sighed. “I’m not leaving without you.”
How was it possible that Irrik told me to leave and then maybe a dozen hours later Tyr showed up to let me out? Even in my exhausted stupor I knew they must be working together. “What about you and Irrik?”
Tyr stilled. What?
“You heard me. When are you and Irrik going to escape? And what about Ty? Or was he the one who betrayed me?”
Tension rolled off Tyr in waves. When he pulled me to him, I went willingly, though seeing the walls of his secrets more clearly than ever before. Putting my hand to his cheek, I pushed my thoughts at him. Do you know who betrayed the rebels?
He nodded, slowly. A clank down the hall made us both jump. Tyr let go of me, set the key on the floor, and kicked it to me.
I stared at the glinting object.
Holy-freaking-Drae. I had a key.
When I looked up, Tyr was gone.
I sat in the dark and counted to one hundred at least a dozen times. By then, I felt ready to crawl out of my skin.
I fumbled with the key in the lock for a minute before I heard it click open, and I let out a shaking breath when I stepped through the doorway. I passed Ty’s cell, a rumpled blanket on a mattress was the only evidence he’d been there. Curiosity seized me, and I stopped to see if the key would work on his cell.
It did. The door creaked as I swung it open, and I moved into my prison buddy’s abandoned space. There was no way to know how long he’d been gone.
I lifted the blanket and discovered a heap of rumpled fabric underneath. I reached down, pulled up the loose fabric, and stared at it in stunned silence. It was a navy aketon.
A Druman aketon.
Ty told me Jotun had poured acid down his throat, and that was why he rasped. But that wasn’t why at all. How much of his Druman throat was damaged? Which of the king’s Druman had played me the fool? Had he gone back to his Druman buddies and laughed over me pouring my heart out to him about my mother?
I dropped the aketon and nudged it over with my foot. Beneath it was a dagger, the small blade was still in its leather sheath, almost begging me to take it. I scooped it up and swung the belt around my waist.
I glanced down at my pale shift.
“Crap,” I muttered. There weren’t any female Druman, but the uniform would help me blend in more than what I had on. Disgusted by the thought of wearing anything that had belonged to him, I pulled Fake Ty’s navy aketon over my head. The aketon was long and provided plenty of concealment for the dagger belted around my waist underneath.
Perfect.
I crept out of dungeon-buddy-traitor’s cell and headed to the stairwell. There, I stood at the bottom, heart pounding, listening for sounds of people descending. No hint of disturbance reached my ears. Swallowing back fear, I gave myself a stellar pep talk: Run, Ryn. Run.
With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I took the stairs two at a time. I ran for my life, forcing all the horrendous things that had happened to me—Mum’s death, Arnik’s death, Ty’s betrayal—to the side.
Until I reached the torture landing.
A scream echoed down the hall, one filled with pain and anguish. A scream of bloodcurdling loss, one that petrified me.
For one second too many.
A door opened, and Jotun stalked out of one of the torture rooms, a gleam of malice on his twisted face. Our gazes locked—his momentarily startled to see me—and abhorrence rose so strong I could taste bitterness in the back of my throat.
I smiled back at him. I’d killed his Drae side in the fields. Jotun was human now, and still recovering.
I yelled as I charged, dropping my shoulder to deliver as much impact as I could. I thought of Irrik’s strength and wished for it. I collided with Jotun, and the air rushed from my lungs as we skidded several feet over the rough stone. I landed on him, and my lip curled as Jotun absorbed the brunt of our fall.
He grunted beneath me, but I didn’t give him time to recover. I struck at him with my fists, and when that didn’t prove enough, I clawed at his face. Spittle flew from my mouth as I screamed a wordless tirade on him, the sound of someone who had suffered greatly and was bent on revenge. I cried as the nightmares he’d induced crawled and writhed to the surface. He whimpered beneath me. The only sound of pain he could manage—his equivalent of an agonized scream—but I had no pity for the monster who’d inflicted horrific torture on so many—inflicted it and found sadistic joy in it. He deserved to feel the same awful pain. I wanted to deliver it to him.
The dying light caught my tears on Jotun’s face and broke through my relentless attack.
I did want to deliver Jotun pain. I wanted to draw it out for days. Jotun didn’t deserve a quick end.
But I wanted my freedom more than I wanted vindication.
I shifted to pull the dagger from my belt. My eyes widened as I saw Jotun going for a blade at his side. I lunged for the hilt of his weapon, and we wrestled, falling back to the ground. His knee twisted beneath him, and his face contorted. His grip weakened, and I wrenched the dagger from his hands.
Placing my knee in the center of his chest, I drove the blade between his ribs.
Jotun bucked and threw me off. He was only human now and weakened, but he was still larger than me. Rolling away, I clambered to my feet and turned to run toward the stairs, picking up the sound of pounding footsteps.
I took two steps before slowing.
I was too late. Druman filled the passageway as I watched.
I should have run instead of wasting time in Ty’s room. Foolish girl. I’d lost my chance.
I glanced at Jotun’s writhing body, watching blood pour from his mouth as he flailed, until he stopped moving forever. My sacrifice hasn’t been for nothing. I tilted my chin, strength burning within. A monster was gone from the world, and I was the one to banish him to death.
I stood and marched to meet the Druman rushing toward me.
I expected to be taken to a torture room or my cell. But my blood chilled as the Druman corralled me the rest of the way up the stairs, herding m
e back to the throne room.
As we exited the stairwell, the ring of Druman surrounding me parted and I came face-to-face with Lord Irrik. The air sizzled between us as he stopped directly in front of me. His eyes flashed with a molten fire I couldn’t decipher.
He pushed past me and slammed his fist into the wall. He roared as he punched the wall repeatedly, and with his final blow, he simply asked, “How?”
The ground shook with the force, but his question wasn’t for me, or the Druman, apparently. He stomped off, snarling in his guttural Drae language.
A bruising shove had me dutifully following the mass of Druman into the throne room. As soon as I crossed the threshold, I knew something was different. It took me a moment to spot it.
The massive quantities of food were gone. The tables laid bare and pushed to one side of the room, stacked one on top of another, much like Dyter had stacked the stools at The Crane’s Nest. But the difference wasn’t just the lack of false gaiety in the ambiance or lack of food on the tables. The air in the throne room was heavy with a thick expectancy, a dark anticipation, a shivering tension.
I thought I was marching to my death, and I’d been at peace. But that was shattered as I saw who stood amidst another group of armed Druman.
I’d forgotten the king’s threats until my eyes locked on the only person I had left from my former life. I stared at my friend and mentor, lips numbing.
31
Unlike Arnik, Dyter was unmarred of any signs of recent torture, though he bore plenty of scars from serving in Emperor Draedyn’s war, scars I knew from memory. Dyter’s eyes widened as he saw me between two of the Druman surrounding him. Even with my silver hair and violet eyes, and in the enemy’s navy aketon, he recognized me.
My gaze shifted from him to his companion, and my mouth dropped. It was the twenty-something blond man from The Crane’s Nest. The young man who’d paid for his soup in coin.
“Ah, you’re feeling better,” the king said with a smile.
I turned to face him but blinked as I did so. I peered at the young man and then back at the king.
Even from across the room I could see the tightness in the king’s features. “You see the family resemblance, I gather,” he said, voice cold. “It seems my son, Irtevyn, hasn’t been fighting at the frontlines of the emperor’s war like I thought but rather plotting to overthrow his father, instead.”
His son was plotting to overthrow him? But . . . that would make the young man, Cal. I gasped, and something huge clicked into place. Cal was this man’s child?
I’d come here to face the music for trying to escape and for killing Jotun, but the king hadn’t yelled at me, and I wondered if he knew.
Dyter leaned forward. “Ryn?”
His tentative question and familiar voice were a crushing weight to my chest. Be quiet, Dyter, I begged him silently. I hung my head, squeezing my eyes shut, but when Dyter said my name again, I couldn’t ignore him. Everyone had heard by now.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to him. Sorry for Mum’s death, sorry I’d been captured, sorry Arnik was dead, sorry the rebellion had failed, and sorry Dyter was about to die now, too, because he had uttered my name and confirmed to the king that we knew each other.
“I see you’re acquainted, so introductions won’t be necessary. I’m sure everyone in my entire kingdom is aware of the penalties of treason.” He scowled at his son. “There are no exceptions.”
Cal raised his chin. “I wouldn’t expect anything else of you, Father. But know that it doesn’t end with me. The people are tired of your oppressive rule. You can kill me and my first today, but another will rise up tomorrow. Your time is nearing its end, and whether I watch it here in Verald or from the stars, I will watch you fall, and I will cheer.”
As the crown prince spoke, Irdelron’s face reddened, darker and darker. “You speak of fantasy and dreams, boy, and you always have. This is reality: There is no one with the power to stop me.”
The crown prince smirked. “You’re wrong, old man. There are Drae, besides the one you’ve poisoned and corrupted, as well as Phaetyn in hiding. They’ll join together, and they’ll destroy you.”
The king laughed, a harsh bray. “You know nothing. I have the only Phaetyn, right here,” he said, pointing at me. “And we all know Drae cannot harm their own, if indeed you have more, which I doubt. Your pitiful rebellion will be gone within the week. Lord Irrik will obliterate the rest of the peasants, and that’s all you’ll be seeing in the sky. You and your pathetic, decrepit first,” he mocked.
The insult to Dyter was enough to spark my anger.
“You believe your own propaganda. You’re—”
“Enough!” King Irdelron yelled.
The king was going to kill Cal. He was going to kill Dyter. It would happen in the coming minutes. When that happened, he’d send Irrik out and obliterate Cal’s rebellion. I wasn’t under the same delusions Cal seemed to be. If he died today, there was no tomorrow for the rebellion. He was the myth, the uniting factor, and if it was not him, it wouldn’t be anyone. If Dyter died today, I would cease to exist. I saw this clearly as calm acceptance settled over me. If Cal died, the kingdom of Verald died with him—what was left of it. My breathing became shallow, and the knife strapped underneath my borrowed aketon burned.
The doors to the throne room crashed open, and Lord Irrik strode in.
“My Drae?” Irdelron snarled, but his face paled as Irrik drew closer and what he was dragging became visible.
Dressed in his black aketon, the muscles of Irrik’s bare arms were taught as he hauled Jotun’s body behind him. The dead Druman’s face was still covered in dried rivulets of blood. The red moisture was splattered on his skin. In Irrik’s other hand, he carried a round object wrapped in black fabric. As he stepped up to the foot of the king’s dais, next to me, something dripped from the bottom of the makeshift bag and puddled on the floor.
“What is this?” the king demanded.
For the first time since I’d been in the castle, the king’s voice quivered.
Irrik threw Jotun’s body, and it came to land sprawled across the bottom two steps of the raised platform. “His body was in the passageway of the interrogation deck.”
Irdelron narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips as he studied Lord Irrik. He glanced at his son and Dyter and then the Druman around me. They melted back several steps.
The silence in the cavernous room added to the weight surrounding us, and the very walls seemed to be holding their breath.
The king turned to me after several moments. This time there was no superficial smile of friendship. The intensity of his fury radiated across the space, and the glower he wore twisted his face beyond the realm of anything I’d ever seen.
I knew he knew, and the calm that had settled over me didn’t waver in the face of his wrath. His rage was almost as sweet as nectar.
He continued to glare at me, but his question was directed at Lord Irrik. “A good try, my Drae. You cannot kill your own blood. My Druman are compelled not to hurt each other, so tell me . . . how did she get loose?”
My heart stopped, and I prayed the consequences of my escape would fall to me.
Irrik dropped the parcel in his other hand next to Jotun’s body. “It appears someone was helping her.”
Lord Irrik pinned me with a dark, veiled look. But my eyes fell to the dripping black bag in his hands. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even breathe because . . . because . . .
Only one person had helped me.
“Tyr,” I choked on my strangled whisper, dropping to my knees.
The king’s growing smile froze. “What did you say, Phaetyn?”
His question rolled right past me. I brought my bloody hands to my lips, eyes fixed on the blood dripping from the saturated material Lord Irrik held. The bag hung with a round weight inside, and I groaned low from my stomach as it occurred to me what and who was inside. My heart would know it. I began to shake. My soul would know it!
; By now, my head knew better. Souls only existed so men like the king could destroy them.
“What did you say?” the king screamed, standing up from his throne. His voice rang to me as though from far away, but my eyes lifted to him as he stomped down the first step toward me.
Tyr was gone.
His head was in that bag. His blood was on this ground. And it was this man’s fault.
Something deep within me snapped. I was done being a victim of this man’s brutality. I was finished having him steal everyone I loved.
Five steps stood between us.
My hand grasped the dagger, pulling it from the leather sheath underneath my stolen aketon. Irdelron was still moving toward me.
Four steps away.
Three steps.
He stood over Jotun’s body, screaming profanities.
Two steps.
I stood and lunged at him, shrieking at the top of my lungs, half in anticipation of killing and half in soul-deep pain.
I thrust.
The blade slid into the king’s abdomen like it was butter, and he stiffened, gasping in shock. His hand wrapped around mine, his grip crushing my fingers to the hilt of the blade, but I barely felt it. My wild gaze was fixed on him, lapping up the pain in his eyes with desperate hunger.
Grasping my hand in an iron vice, he forced the dagger out, with me still attached.
He dug his thumb into the groove of my wrist, and a stabbing pain shot up my arm, causing my fingers to reflexively relax. I would not let go of this weapon until he or I died, or both of us. I owed it to Tyr. For what could have been.
Irdelron torqued my wrist, the pressure driving me to my knees. “How dare you?”
His blood oozed from the wound I’d created, saturating his white aketon. This time it was his own blood. And I had drawn it. Panting, he struck me with his other hand. My stomach churned, and bursts of white exploded behind my eyelids.
“Irrik!” Irdelron growled. “I require your talons, my Drae.”
I stared at the seeping red spot on the king’s side, willing it to grow faster, to drain him of his strength and energy, to end his life. But if will alone was enough to make things happen, I would have been gone from this place long ago.