“We’ve killed plenty,” I gritted. “Now let us go!” Both soturi burst into laughter.
“You? You killed one?” My captor laughed harder, tightening his grip on me. His hand snaked toward my waist, and pulled out the sword I’d stolen. He thrust it back into his scabbard, then did the same with his dagger. Then he opened my belt pouch, his fingers curling around the money inside. He was sloppy when he pulled it out, dropping some of the coins, and letting his hand graze against my hip too long. “Bad girl,” he crooned. “Taking what’s mine.”
The soturion holding Auriel was emptying his pouch, too. And I prayed that that was all this was. They just wanted their things back, wanted to save face after we beat and robbed them. Then they could let us go. Not ask questions. Not cause a scene. Join their comrades in the square and fight.
But any hope of that was dashed when Auriel’s captor stilled, his eyes widening. He lifted a hand, and pointed, looking right at me. Like he was just seeing me for the first time. “What the fuck!” he yelled.
Alarmed, I looked behind me. Nothing. My stomach sank, and I looked down. The silver of my armor was fading back to gold. The hair over my shoulder was dark brown, with just a hint of red in the setting sun. Auriel’s glamour vanished, and so did any hope of concealing my identity.
“Doesn’t Lyriana’s hair change color?” my soturion asked.
Auriel’s jaw clenched, his hands fisting. He was ready to explode, to kill these soturi.
“Ain’t it supposed to turn red?” his friend asked.
My captor spun me around so we were face-to-face. His beady eyes looked over me, slowly raking over my features, like he was hoping my name would appear across my face. Then his eyes dipped below my neck, settling on the shoulders of my armor. Two seraphim wings.
“She’s fucking Bamarian.” His eyebrows narrowed. “I don’t know what color your hair is supposed to be, but I know it ain’t blonde. You’re her, aren’t you?”
I pressed my lips together, my pulse racing.
“Are you her? Are you fucking Lyriana?” he asked again, shaking me. “Are you?”
I wasn’t sure what I was going to do next. Lie, or break out of his measly fucking hold and finally kill him for his silence. Because if he knew who I was, our entire mission was compromised. My pulse raced, beating like a drum in my ears. But a second later, any choice I might have made was gone.
Because a growl sounded from behind us, and a pair of red glowing eyes stalked forward. My stomach hollowed in fear, my heart leaping into my throat. It didn’t matter how many times I saw them. The horror was always the same. And now it was worse. Because every time I faced one, I was looking for him. For his face. For Rhyan’s.
The akadim bared his teeth, quickening his pace.
“LYRIANA!” Auriel screamed, breaking free of his captor. He knocked the soldier out, not wasting any time before tearing down the hill to me.
I broke free of the world, and jumped back, my stomach twisting with a vice-like pain.
Shadows moved in the distance, moving quickly, stalking toward us. Three more akadim.
They were different from the ones in the square. Which meant we were near a Godsdamned nest. Rhyan could be near. Or …
Panicking, I quickly looked them up and down—I hadn’t seen his face, but I had to double-check.
Not Rhyan. Not Rhyan.
I didn’t recognize any features. But one thing stood out. All three wore silver collars around their necks. The akadimin the square had been wearing them as well, but I’d been so preoccupied with the dual threat of them and the soturi, I’d barely noticed.
These three were also on the small side. Like the ones serving Morgana.
Maraaka Ereshya.
That’s what they called her. Queen Ereshya.
By the Gods. If these were hers …
She’d been there that night. The night Rhyan turned. Was it possible?
I brandished my sword, reaching on instinct for the blade at my hip. The akadim who approached me growled, his red eyes glowing as his claws extended. He swiped at my arm, trying to knock out my sword. I dodged, just barely missing his attack, and turned on my heels, reaching for my dagger and rushing to his side. Pulling my elbow back, I launched the blade at his face.
Teeth gnashing, he deflected with a snap of his arm, sending it hurtling back. I ducked. But there was a scream of pain behind me.
The returned dagger had sliced through the soturion’s arm. Though from what I could see, it was just a clipping— no major artery.
