Ramona…
Dread fills me; cold, heavy dread spilling through my veins.
The breath I utter is a whimper.
The sound of it draws in the stares of the two warriors in front of me, but only Samick tenses—
He traces my hooked gaze to the rusty warrior.
I look at him now, and I remember. I recognise the flare of fire in his eyes.
He killed Ramona.
TWENTY-ONE
Too much happens in a single, heavy heartbeat.
Glass throws back from the campfire, her hand reaching out for the rusty one, as if to stop him.
Arwyn whips around to watch the sudden commotion.
Warriors inch away from the path, a curiosity prickling through them.
But I am frozen as Rust shoves past Glass—and heads straight for me.
Blood gleams in his eyes, a thirst for mine.
Back then, on the road, he hungered for our deaths on his hands…
Now, he gets a second shot at it.
At me.
I stagger back a step, all that the rope will allow, and the moment I do, the cold one moves.
He plants his boot on the gravel, shifting his weight to block me—and in that alone there’s a message.
I can’t see through the bulk of his body to Rust, but I hear the faint whisper of murmurs rippling through the fae. More draw closer. Boots flatten on grass all around me, slow and curious steps.
I lean my weight to the side, not daring to move my boots over the coarse path, and as I do, the light of the nearest campfire arches over the cold one’s profile. It sharpens his cheekbone, pales his full mouth with the hue of frost, and the faint blond of his hair still wears the dried streaks of crimson blood from the city battle.
Rust marches down the path—
Then stops.
That same searing rage in his eyes swells his chest with deep inhales, and he takes a stance across from Samick.
Gazes locked, Rust is motionless, but there’s nothing calm about it. It’s restraint, taut like a bowstring—one ready to snap.
His eyes reflect the flames as though they live inside him. Then they tug away from Samick before landing on me, unwavering.
My shoulders bolt under the assault of his stare.
It’s being touched without being touched, and everything in me whispers to turn on my heels and run, to cower behind the muscle of Samick’s body, to burrow into the earth and join the dead.
But I can’t move more than step away.
Samick’s fist is tight on the tether, and it flexes when a hoarse shout jolts through Rust.
