“Princess. Are you safe?” His voice is strained, barely more than a whisper.
I steady his shoulders, bracing him against my own strength as the blood continues to mingle with the rain, pooling beneath us. “Yes, Arax. I’m safe. Now let me heal you.”
He shakes his head weakly, the defiance in his gaze clashing with the pain etched on his features. “I do not deserve a second mercy.”
Ignoring his nonsense, I lean closer, my voice firm. “Arax,” I command, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. “As your princess, I order you to sit still and be quiet while I heal you. Do you understand?”
He looks at me, the rain cascading over his brow, and a faint smile breaks through the pained line of his mouth. “Very well, princess.”
I slip my hand beneath his arm, feeling the warm, slick blood as I locate the wound. He winces, a sharp intake of breath escaping him.
“Don’t be such a child, old man,” I tease, forcing a brave smile as the rune around my neck begins to glow, casting a soft light amidst the storm.
Chapter 18
The throne room is far quieter today. The lords have been sent home, warned to stay there on pain of treason—punishable by death. And there is one less Reaper in the line.
All because of me.
I might find it flattering to be such a thorn in their side, if only my life wasn’t constantly in danger.
I sit silently on my throne, head bowed, hands clasped tightly in my lap, uncertain of what this meeting will bring. Daed is beside me, sprawled across his throne with his legs spread wide, his gaze fixed forward. He has avoided me since the conclave and it seems as if he has no intention of speaking to me today either.
Kaelus sits on his throne, a fist pressed to his chin, lost in thought, while Lanneth stands behind him, her nails drumming a restless rhythm against the stone.
“It isn’t safe for her here,” she says, her voice tinged with an anxious edge. “Now, not only do the thrall houses threaten her, but even our own Reapers cannot be trusted.”
“Frane acted alone,” Orios says from the line, his voice hard. “Not a brother or sister among us conspired with her.”
Daed’s head snaps up, his jaw tight with fury. “Maybe you should all share Frane’s fate, just to be sure.”
“Now is not the time to thin our ranks when warriors are already scarce,” Kaelus growls, still deep in thought. His eyes narrow as he finally turns his attention to Lanneth. “What do you suggest, my queen?”
Lanneth’s gaze fixes on me, and I catch a flicker of something glimmering in the corner of my eye—a trace of her magic, perhaps—but it vanishes just as quickly, like it always does. “She should be sent away for a time until the thrall houses are dealt with.”
A strange surge of excitement runs through me, chased by a bitter hint of doubt. To be sent back to The Grove—my home, the only place I have ever wanted to return to since stepping foot on this craggy prison of a castle—it’s everything I’ve longed for. But things are not as simple as they once were. I glance at Daed, my husband, his teeth gnawing on his bottom lip as he stares blankly ahead. No matter how he fights it, I know he feels it too, the pull of something dangerous and desperate between us.
“To the Grove?” he asks, his tone dismissive as he flicks his gaze down to inspect his fingernails.
“No,” Lanneth says, and the word doesn’t wound me as sharply as I expected. “The Legion awaits her to return to use her against us.”
“Then where?” Kaelus rumbles, his brows knitting together.
“Pariseth,” Lanneth answers plainly. The word makes both Kaelus and Daed turn sharply toward her.
“Who will take her?” Daed asks, leaning forward now, his casual disinterest gone.
“Isn’t it obvious, boy?” Kaelus groans, exasperation creeping into his voice. “You will.”
Daed stiffens, and I see the tension tighten his jaw, a lump forming in his throat. “You may take a maid for Amara, andOrios as your personal guard for protection, but anything more will draw attention. And that is the very thing we are trying to avoid.”
Daed rises to his feet, his loose black shirt swaying at his hips. “Would it not be safer to keep her here in Baev’kalath, under the watch of the Ebon Flight with all its might to protect her?”
Lanneth's fingers slither over Kaelus’ shoulder, and he slams his fist against the arm of his throne, cutting through the tension with a single motion. “I have spoken, Daedalus. You leave for Pariseth tonight.”
Kaelus steps down from his throne, his boots echoing against the stone as he strides toward the edge of the dais. “Arax,” he commands, and from behind the wall of Reapers, Arax steps forward.
He drops to one knee, head bowed. “Yes, my king.”
