The leader smirks. “Slaves don’t ask questions. They do what they’re told.”
Slaves? Did he just call us slaves?
A soldier with bright pink eyes moves to the cell door and draws his pistol. I’m about to leap on top of Katya when he shoves the gun through the food slot and clangs it against the metal like a bell—cause that’s what my head needed right now, a bell.
“Hands in the pass through,” the leader says, but neither Katya nor I move.
Eyes on me, the fae leader gestures toward the guard. “You’ve been given an order, slave. I suggest you follow it.”
“There’s been a mistake,” I say, one hand on the wall for support as I attempt to stand. The room spins, and I think I’m just going to tip over and crash right back onto the floor. Then a smooth, warm hand wraps around my arm, grounding me.
“I’ve got you,” Katya says, repeating my words from earlier.
“Thank you.”
“You can thank me by getting us out of here,” she whispers.
We walk together to the bars, and I shove my hands through the opening. “I’m Lieutenant Aemon Cregg, head of Prince Troi’s personal guard,” I say as they secure cuffs over my wrists. A soldier with wary blue eyes slides the key into the lock, and the cell door opens with the shrill grinding of rusted metal on metal.
“Aemon Cregg?” The red-robed one taps his foot, eyes rolled back like he’s trying to look into his own brain. “Never heard of you.” He steps aside, and the blue-eyed soldier leads me out of the cell.
Katya lets out a sharp yelp behind me. I plant my feet and twist around to look at her. The pink-eyed soldier is holding her injured arm between his hands. She clenches her jaw and squeezes her eyes shut in obvious pain.
“Hey.” I jerk against the male handling me, ready to rip his buddy’s head from his shoulders, except the room starts spinning again, and I’m forced to grip the soldier’s arm and take a moment to breathe or risk passing out.
A smile curls Katya’s lips, and she opens her eyes. “Thank you,” she says, wiggling her fingers. The fury coiling in my chest unfurls.
A soldier-healer, that’s new.
The pink-eyed male leads Katya out of the cell, then steps up to me. He pops the cork from the tiny bottle around his neck and takes a sip of what looks suspiciously like blood. Then he raises his hands. I try to jerk away, but the other guard has my arms pinned to my chest. I stomp, hoping to crush some toes, but it’s no use. I’m just too damn weak right now. The pink-eyed fae lays his palms on either side of my head. They’re so frigid, I don’t immediately notice the way my skin tingles until the sensation burrows deeper and begins to spread. Ice-cold relief floods my skull, washing away the pain and dizziness before traveling south through my neck and chest and extremities, erasing my nausea and every bump and bruise on my body.
The guard steps back, leaving me a little dazed but feeling better than I have in days. I give him a curt nod of thanks, then turn back to their leader. “I need to speak to King Khalmos.”
And he laughs. He fucking laughs, the bastard. “King Khalmos hasn’t got time for slaves.”
“Listen,” I begin, still fighting against the gods damned asshole behind me. “I have a unit of Bellatorae stationed in Cozak that is expecting me to arrive this evening.” This is a blatant lie, but it’s the best I can come up with quickly. “If I don’t show, they’re goingto send people out looking for me, so unless you want to start a fucking war, I suggest you let me talk to your king.”
That sounded convincing, right?
The male narrows his eyes at me. “I will speak to his majesty. Now, come along.” He turns for the exit and waves for the rest of us to follow. I briefly contemplate telling him to go fuck himself when the blue-eyed soldier shoves me hard from behind. I jab him in the ribs with my elbow, and the soldier lets out an “Oomph.”
I’m not going to lie, that felt good.
Katya and the healer guard pull up next to me. He shouts something I don’t understand, then points. “All you had to do was ask,” I say, giving him a shit-eating smile and, ignoring the male doubled over behind me, I start walking.
We’re led through another door and down a hallway, the walls and floors all smooth gray stone, just like in the cell. We reach a second set of doors, each carved with the symbol of the blood court—a coiled serpent ensnared by a tangled black vine with bright-red flowers, its thorns tearing at the snake’s flesh. Katya is pushed through first, her gasp of shock registering just as I run into her back.
“What—” I don’t finish what I’m about to say. I’m too busy gaping at what can only be described as a massive cavern containing an underground city.
Buildings, that appear to have been carved from the charcoal-gray stone, rise three and four stories into the air where they meet a crystalline ceiling. The crystals emit a soft yellow light that illuminates the entire cavern and the multitude of blood fae moving about as if this were any other city and not something plucked straight from a dream. More crystals jut up through the floor incolorful bunches, some reaching far above my head and others so small they remind me of little flower gardens. Oh, but there are real flowers too, magnificent scarlet-red flowers as big as my hand, growing from inky-black vines covered in wicked-looking thorns. They climb the walls and dangle like curtains from the multitude of bridges, their clean, sweet scent hanging in the air like a freshly sprayed perfume. In the center of it all, a river gurgles by dotted with long, narrow boats ferrying people to who knows where.
One of the soldiers says something I can’t understand then shoves me, and by default, Katya, forward. We follow a winding path past shops and under the multitude of bridges that seem as though they grew straight out of the stalagmites and stalactites. The bridges crisscross the river at various heights, some twisting serpentine paths while others rise and fall at inclines so steep, I’m surprised the many fae crossing them don’t all slip into giant heaps at either end. It’s all so organic, yet not at the same time.
Much of what we see is similar to what you might have expected back home: merchants selling fabrics, ceramics and food, but there are little differences. Furnishings are more ornate, with intricate scenes or figures carved into marble or granite instead of wood. The fabrics are light and sort of iridescent, and instead of chicken or beef hanging in the butcher’s windows, there are giant lizards and snakes as thick as my bicep and little insects on skewers.
Gods, please tell me we aren’t going to have to eat those.
We’re taken down a short staircase to a dock where a boat waits without a pilot.
