But as he rounded the corner to the Chamber floor, he found Draven and Aydra having a stand-off in the middle of the hall.
Shit.
“Drae!” he called out as he bounded to them, hoping to interrupt whatever argument the pair were having and hoping it was not Aydra accusing Draven of releasing Infi in their streets.
Because Draven wouldn’t.
If there was one thing that Dorian was certain of, it was that.
Aydra reached out for him as he caught up. “What happened?” he asked. “Where are they?”
“A few of the smiths cornered them, locked them up,” Lex replied.
“How did they know they were Infi?” he asked.
“I wasn’t told much,” Lex replied. “Just that they’d been found and the men were calling for support.”
“We need to hurry before word spreads,” Aydra said. “Guests will be here in the morning. We don’t need them knowing about this, nor do we need Rhaif to find out. Come—“
Dorian had stopped listening to his sister upon seeing the look on Draven’s face as he stared at the floor. Wide-eyed. Frozen. As though his world had just been put on pause.
“Draven?” Dorian managed to get out.
Color had drained from his face when he looked up to Aydra. He snapped out of his daze, rubbing his hands over his face, and he began to pace.
“I’m so stupid—“
Draven tugged the roots of his hair, wind picking up around them so forcefully that one of the windows burst open. Dorian jumped, along with Lex, and the rug beneath their feet started to billow.
“We need to go,” Aydra said.
Dorian had never felt such rage towards his own people as he felt that night.
Rage that nearly had his form rising and him taking someone by the throat. But as Draven was made to exit the tent, he pressed himself to the middle of the room and dared anyone else to speak.
The Infi were disguised well. Even the ones that they’d found in the Dreamer villages were not as well shifted as these three. Dorian wondered how the Dreamers had realized what they were—if perhaps one had slipped up when speaking or was turning into another being.
He became so enraged by his people that he almost made them stay and watch as he rid the Infi of their hearts.
Dorian pressed his hands into his eyes as he walked the halls back to his room in a haze. Every moment of the night poured through him as he replayed it over and over. The ear-splitting scream of the creature when he cut its throat. The black blood spilling out and covering him—blood that still remained on his shirt. How he’d struggled with the last two, leading to Aydra and Draven watching over his shoulder as he worked.
He could still feel the breath of the last one as it had jumped back to life and nearly bit his nose off.
He was exhausted to the point that he knew he couldn’t clean himself up. And every time he stumbled on his own feet, those yellow eyes flashed in his mind, and he jerked back to attention.
A suit of armor crashed to the floor when he staggered into it, falling to his knees as he tripped, and for a moment, Dorian simply held himself there.
“Dorian…” Aydra had said as the last Infi snapped its teeth in his face, clawing for his cloak.
“I’ve got it,” he said through clenched teeth, not willing to let the creature succeed.
Dorian’s fingers gripped into the black rug, chest heaving.
“Look at that,” Draven had said, clapping him on his shoulder. “A King worthy of the crown not yet on his head.”
Dorian vomited onto the carpet.
Picking himself up from the floor was like hauling the Infi bodies into the wooden cart. Draven had carried two, and he’d carried one, all the way from the blacksmithing shops to the stables. Draven had clapped his shoulders again and given him a shake when they wrapped up their duties.
