She admitted it so freely, so self-assured. Armand was almost certain that she didn’t calculate for him and Taghi leaving this room alive. Beside him, Taghi shuddered. The prince couldn’t have a clue what they were talking about. No one except for the ones who had been under Eedwood Castle and the Brenheran family knew what had happened in the caverns, what Linniue had done, how she had wanted to sacrifice Addie—
Armand screened the empty moon-lit space for the second woman again—finding nothing.
He took another step forward, his toes crossing the outer lines of the closest chalk symbol. Something inside of him revolted at the sensation that ran through his body like lightning.
He pulled his foot back with a hiss while Taghi stabilized him with an arm as he stumbled away from whatever it was that the symbol was doing.
“You will find there is no way to get to me without getting yourself killed, Lord Armand.” Isylte indicated a mockery of a curtsey before she stepped right into the circle of symbols that separated the room except for the clean band along the walls, which seemed to be the only route to get to Addie. Armand ground his teeth. Even if Isylte didn’t have magic, the Dragon King had left her some magic, which would make it impossible to touch his servant.
Time was what they needed. Time to figure out where the second woman had gone, time to get to the other side of the room and retrieve Addie. Time together to lure Isylte close enough to the sidelines to be able to land a strike. And yet, they had to be quick. Just in case Nehelon and Brax failed down there in the great hall and the Dragon King returned up here to do whatever it was he still needed to do with Addie.
So Armand gave Taghi a look that indicated he should let him do the talking, a plan already forming in his mind.
“The Prince of Sives invited you for the solstice celebrations, and that’s how you thank him?” Armand spat at the Lapidanian lady who had schemed in his own court to turn the hope of Sives into a future of certain bloodiness.
In between words, his eyes darted around the room, searching for the second woman, who seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Beside him, Taghi turned so he stood at an angle, protecting Armand’s back. He would thank the prince later if they ever made it out of here. Taghi had no reason to help. He could have run and left Joshua and Ackwood palace to its fate. Could have left Sives to its fate. His kingdom was so far south that this might not affect him for a long, long time. Armand made a mental note to ask Taghi the moment they had Addie out of this room.
“By helping him achieve his full potential?” Isylte responded, cocking her head as if she was already planning how to slice him apart with whatever magic she had—and if no magic, then the dagger she had produced from somewhere between the folds of her skirts was enough to tell him the woman was prepared to defend the Dragon King’s property with her life. “If that’s what you’re asking, then yes. That’s how I thank him. His mother gave her life so this could happen. So he could step up and become one with His Majesty, Raynar Lyon.”
One. “Does that mean Joshua is still in there?” The question was out before Armand could hold it back. If there was any chance he could get the Prince of Sives back, then he had to know.
Isylte laughed. It was the sound that he remembered from the past couple of years when she had walked the halls of Eedwood Castle during her visits. And it didn’t fit her vicious face.
“Joshua is so far gone you will never even see a sliver of him again. And the stronger His Majesty becomes, the less of your prince is left.” She glanced at the side where Addie had twitched as if in response to the lady’s words. “And once the transition is completed…”
Isylte didn’t need to finish her sentence for Armand to know exactly what would happen to Addie. And yet, he needed information. Every little detail the woman shared would be valuable to fight the Dragon King later—if there still was a later for any of them. If he believed Neredyn history, there wasn’t much that could be done once Raynar held his full power. Hundreds of years of terrorizing reign had proven as much almost a millennia ago.
He wanted to shout at her, leap across the room and grab her by the throat to force those words out of her, but he collected all the calm he could so he could continue making his slow progress, inch by inch, toward the lady who was now standing right beside Addie’s cot, one foot on the chalk-marks, the other one outside. “How long does that transition take?” he asked, his stomach already tight with fear from how close the dagger in Isylte’s fingers had gotten to Addie’s ribs.
She didn’t laugh this time. No. Her face turned into a solemn expression as she said like in a chant, “After seven-hundred years of being bound by Fae magic under an untamed, ancient tree, His Majesty will need a while. And once he is ready”—she glanced from Addie’s bloodied back to Armand and Taghi—“nothing will keep him from taking all of Neredyn.”
They were halfway along the stone wall when the second woman appeared before them as if out of thin air, her delicate frame rising from a cluster of chalk marks. She cocked her head at Armand and, without warning, attacked.
It wasn’t the longsword in her slender hands that made her so impressive but the glowing turquoise fire that ran along the blade, ignited by some magic that had to have its source either in the girl or in the runes on the floor.
Armand didn’t have time to consider before the girl brought down her first blow, and he buckled under the weight of the steel that hit his own sword full force. He cursed under his breath as steel hit his arm and checked for stains of blood where the flat of the girl’s blade had hit him.
No blood. Thank Vala. This was going to be even more difficult than he had expected. The space they could use for footing around the edge of the room was limited, and their opponents were free to move as they wished and reinforced with magic—otherwise, that girl wouldn’t have been able to lift that sword even an inch. She wouldn’t have been able to appear out of thin air like that, move like a ghost—
Taghi whirled around him with a shout of warning to get out of the way and lashed at her with his scythe. But the girl was fast … unnaturally fast.
Her face, a younger version of Isylte’s, was smooth and composed … no hint of fear of the two trained fighters before her. If anything, it showed a morbid kind of excitement. He had seen that look before when he had fought the fanatics in central Sives, when he had been doing damage control whenever his father sent out mercenaries to turn the people of Sives against the Brenherans.
Armand straightened, ignoring the pain in his forearm, and placed himself at Taghi’s flank, readying his sword to strike the moment the prince’s scythe was out of the way. As if Taghi knew exactly what Armand was planning, he turned slightly as he brought down his weapon, making way for Armand’s sword to hit where the scythe had just failed.
The girl, however, was faster, twirling away across the chalk drawings, and danced to her mother’s side, who gave an appreciative nod.
“You will find that the powers of His Majesty are already strong enough to enhance his guards and his fortress.”
Beside her, the girl grinned viciously, her calm mask dropping. Selloue Grenta. Isylte’s daughter with the Lord Grenta of Ilbroit. Armand knew the face from the solstice celebrations … and there was nothing that reminded him of the lovely girl who had smiled and curtseyed to the Prince of Sives.
Beside him, Taghi cursed, probably realizing to whom they were fighting.
“And what is his grand plan?” Armand spat and prepared to dart along the wall to where Selloue was pulling something from her sleeve.
He didn’t even want to think about what she could do with another weapon in her hand when one sword was almost too much for him and Taghi to fight off. For a moment, he was grateful for the icy air that at least kept the sweat at bay that would have been pasting his clothes to his body had he been fighting in the warm summer breeze. But the gratitude didn’t last long.
Selloue produced a stump of chalk from the seam of her sleeve and doubled over, braci
ng herself on the floor with the sword while the other hand started leading the chalk over the dark stone in exotic patterns. Her mother held up the knife as if daring them to attack again.
“Oh, my dear Lord of Eedwood.” Isylte’s voice reminded him of honey and poison. “You didn’t think His Majesty doesn’t have a plan for how to deal with boys like you.” She turned to Taghi. “Or you, Prince.” A chuckle. “You’re but tiny gravels in his path to greatness.”
Armand wasn’t sure whether to look at Isylte or keep an eye on Selloue as she kept drawing and drawing, wound patterns already covering half the area before the cot.
He wanted to whisper at Taghi that they needed to attack before it was too late, before the Dragon King could make his way up here. But Taghi seemed to have his own agenda.
“May I remind you of the agreement my house has with Raynar, Lady Isylte.” His words were curt and harsh, his accent thick as he addressed the woman who was now blocking Addie’s head from view.
Armand felt his blood ice over at the words which sounded a lot like Taghi Saza Brina had betrayed them.
Chapter Forty-Three
Earth and wind and fire were racing through Nehelon’s veins—not blood. There was enough of it splattered over the marble floor to drown someone in it. The gods knew he would happily let Raynar Leyon suffocate in it if he could only get his hands on the Dragon King.
But all he could do was watch and wait for his magic to rally while Raynar ran his finger along Gandrett’s sternum as if probing where to best drive a knife into her heart. Two guards had stepped up to his side, one of them Kyle, a man whom he had trusted to escort Gandrett to training every morning at dawn during those first weeks at Ackwood—it seemed like a lifetime ago. Even with his immortality.
Kyle was watching Gandrett closely, her arm draped over his shoulder and one hand banding around her wrist to lock her there. In the hand which was tensed between his hips and her waist, he was holding a sword, ready to use it at her slightest movement. The other guard, a tad older and with more blood on him than on Kyle, was mirroring Kyle’s posture.
Caught between the two of them, Gandrett wouldn’t get far even if she woke and tried to escape. And if Nehelon made one wrong move in his attempt to free her, the two blades would cut into her sides so fast that the only thing he’d be able to do was cry out to Vala to cradle her soul.
Kyle gave him an unreadable glance before he tugged Gandrett’s arm a bit faster over his neck, leaving her head in an uncomfortable-looking position.
“You know what to do,” Raynar murmured as he stepped away from the throne, giving Nehelon a moment—just a heartbeat to breathe—before the guards hauled her up, each by one arm, and dragged her to her feet.
But Gandrett hung there between the armed and armored men, unconscious, her split tunic cleaving open at the front, exposing her bare chest, her skin pale where it was usually covered along the planes of her stomach and—
Nehelon tried to ignore the firm roundness of her breasts—mercifully half-covered by the torn fabric—that was luring his attention. It would have been easy to steal a peek, but no. Not like that. Not with her life in danger. Not with the Dragon King hovering behind her on a dais, staring down at Nehelon with the emerald eyes of Joshua Brenheran and smirking with the promise of revenge for what Nehelon had done seven-hundred years ago.
He swallowed hard and lifted his gaze to Gandrett’s face and was surprised to find her meeting his gaze.
Gandrett couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or hours that she had been missing, but when she was dragged upright, air much colder than when she had blacked out and biting into her chest where someone had severed her clothes, she found Nehelon’s gaze on her, his eyes full of some emotion she couldn’t quite place … rage was only one piece in the puzzle of his expression. As for the rest—
Gandrett suppressed a groan of pain and left her full weight on the guards who had draped her arms over their shoulders.
The Dragon King was going to sacrifice her, too. It was the only thing she could think of. He would drive his knife into her chest, into her guts, into her heart, tearing out whatever he needed to worship Shygon. She was going to look like the young man they had found at the river: little more than birds feed.
“What are you waiting for?” Raynar asked from behind her, his voice velvet like Joshua’s but laced with violence of the sort that made Gandrett wish she was already dead.
The guards hesitated as they sized up Nehelon, his glamour melting away like dew. His eyes, blue and solid as diamond once more snapped away from hers to the side where Brax was readying himself to attack, face bloodied and a black eye blooming.
She should have been able to defend him. She was Vala’s Blade. No other fighter could defeat her by sword. But the guards here were certainly more than just normal guards. They had cut them down again and again, and they were still standing … at a good distance from Nehelon and Brax, but still a threat that she couldn’t allow.
Her magic grumbled in her veins as it awakened. She needed something to contain the men while Nehelon took care of the Dragon King, but her magic was still new, and even if she could control it in basics, she didn’t know what she was truly capable of. Wind, she hadn’t mastered. Earth—if she destroyed the palace, Brax would never forgive her, nor would Mckenzie. Or Joshua—if he was still in there. Gandrett didn’t dare let her thoughts wander there right now. She needed her focus on any detail that may help, any weakness that she might use against the guards holding her up or the undead king behind her.
The fingers banding around her wrists were uncomfortably tight, but that could be used to her advantage if she chose the element of surprise. Her swords were long gone, somewhere in the bloody mess on the floor where they had fought the guards who seemed to be as resistant to staying dead as their king was.
From under her lashes, she measured the distance to the door—too far to break free and run. Even Nehelon and Brax were too far away to reach before the guards or Raynar could cut her down. The icy steel grazing her waist on one side was indication enough just how close death was.
Hidden behind her limp figure, her magic was welling up, dampened by something—probably the same thing that was keeping Nehelon from going berserk with his own powers—and it was all she could do to remain calm, think, and assess each little thing that could help them escape. Help Brax and Nehelon escape was more like it.
Brax’s emerald gaze lingered on her as she let her own gaze wander through the room, marking all windows and doors, the crack in the floor that Nehelon had created, the thrown over chairs by the long table, the silverware that sat among sprawled remains of food. Every little thing. His face was unreadable behind the horror that filled his features. Nehelon eyed him sideways as if following Gandrett’s gaze, studying and measuring the room alongside her, readying himself for whatever plan she had—not that she had one—or for his own.
Whatever it was, she couldn’t afford to worry about her torn tunic or that she would be fighting half-naked if she as much as twisted in the grasp of the two men holding her up. She needed to buy Brax a chance to run and, for Nehelon, a moment to work his magic.
Meanwhile, her own magic had filled most of her chest and was searching its way along her arms into her palms when the guard to her left squeezed her wrist as if trying to get her attention.
She didn’t move her head though she turned her gaze to the side enough to find Kyle’s tan face above hers, his eyes alert, unlike the other guards’. He didn’t say a word that she had woken up, that she was faking to be still asleep. The guards on the sides of the room who were slowly scrambling back to life weren’t paying attention to her—at least not to her face, she noticed with a stomach-twisting disgust, and quietly thanked the Dragon King for creating this little diversion for his own men.
Kyle, however, didn’t say a word about her open eyes. Instead, he said to Nehelon and Brax, “Out of the way,” but he kept his gaze locked to hers as if he was trying to t
ell her something.
In her peripheral vision, Gandrett noticed Nehelon plant his feet even more firmly on the ground while Brax seemed unsure what the right way to approach the reaction to the guard’s demand was.
“Not a chance in Hel’s realm am I letting you out of here,” Nehelon growled, the sound like the violent purr of a desert lion. The cold around Gandrett lifted the tiniest bit as she realized that Nehelon did have a plan—not to give her up without a fight.
The guards pulled her forward, and she let them … let them believe that she was still unconscious, let her magic spread and grow denser inside of her, patiently waiting for her palms to tingle again.
It took all of five steps before the sensation hit her like a blow to the head. Wind, warmer than that glacial air that the Dragon King’s presence seemed to induce, enveloped her in a gust, blowing open her tunic and baring her chest before the entire room. She bit back the instinct to cover herself and used the moment of confusion to push off the ground, using the two guards’ grasp on her wrists to balance her own weight against their necks. Like a swing, her legs went back and forth once before she swung herself around and twisted out of the surprised men’s hands. The moment she landed with a thud on her feet, she pushed herself forward again and grabbed Kyle’s outstretched arm, ready to rip his sword from his hand … but halted as she found something like hope on his face.
He hadn’t been corrupted. He was still Kyle. So she told him to fight with her and used him as a balance to bring the second guard who had restrained her to his knees with one well-placed kick in his chest.
Kyle brought down the sword she had left in his hands on the guard on the floor, and with a blow that sent blood splattering across both him and Gandrett, he severed the man’s head. Gandrett swallowed the bile that rose with the view.
Wicked Crown (Shattered Kingdom Book 2) Page 32