“He won’t be expecting Librius’s final work of art,” I said, patting another pouch at my hip. “Take care of the bodies. I’ll let you know when I’m through.” I turned and sprinted back to Renwell’s office before she could argue.
I carefully fed spattersap—a highly flammable plant sap filled with fireseeds—into the door lock.
“Please, Holy Four, let this work,” I prayed.
I took up a bow and arrow and lit the arrow tip on fire. Holding my breath, I aimed and released.
Chapter 43
Kiera
An hour earlier. . .
Explosions startled me awake. Darkness met my eyes. My skin burned, and I couldn’t move.
For one, terrifying moment I thought I was back in Korvin’s torture chamber. Then the truth seeped through my soul like bitter tea.
Aiden had killed my mother. He’d taken the knife she brought with her for protection and used it to murder her before fleeing.
The nightmares I’d suffered. The grief I’d endured. The life I’d lost.
All because of him.
My body curled in on itself, straining against the ropes that bound it.
How could I have been so blind, so foolish? How could I have let my guard down? Renwell was right—I didn’t really know who he was. I thought Aiden had trusted me by showing me bits of his painful past when, really, he’d been hiding the worst secret of all.
Did he truly hate my father so much that he had to kill my mother? My sweet, gentle, innocent mother? The woman whocould barely bring herself to pluck the weeds from her garden because she felt everything deserved life.
Tears dripped from my eyes as if bleeding from my agonized heart.
Another explosion thundered over the building. Ruru.
I struggled to sit up. Fucking Four, was it time? Had it started? Gods damn it, he was out there alone. Would Renwell send his Wolves after him?
Groaning, I tried to wriggle out of my ropes, silently counting the seconds.
. . . seventy-eight, seventy-nine . . . where are all my gods-damned knives? Eighty-two, eight-three . . .
Boom! The third explosion made the floor tremble.
If that didn’t get the Wolves’ attention, nothing would.
Please don’t linger, Ruru. Run far, far away.
Growling in frustration, I rolled from my cot onto the floor and shimmied toward the door. Sweat snaked down my spine as I heaved to a sitting position, then hobbled to my feet.
Whoever tied me had done so with my hands behind my back, so I had to turn then hop several times to push the door handle down.
When the door finally opened, I fell through it on my ass.
Flopping around like a fish out of water, I quickly maneuvered to my knees to survey the room.
Everything was gone. Maz’s whistler, Nikella’s staff, all the knives—including my mother’s.
“Gods damn it!” I shouted at the ceiling.
Nikella had given me a bit of bread and water when I’d woken for a few minutes earlier in the day. But no utensils, and Ruru’s cot had been as empty, as if he were never coming back.
