—You will lay down your bow, or I will leave. But you should know, Jax: he begged me to come.
That hits the mark. My heart gives another tug, because it could mean so many things. I shove the arrow in my quiver, then bend to set the bow on the path. My breathing is shaking, rapid clouds forming in the darkness. I lift my hands and hope they’re not about to be ripped off.
“Why did he have to beg you?” I say roughly.
—Step into the woods. I cannot risk being seen. It was challenging enough to get this far.
I step into the woods, and again I wish for my crutches, because I’m slow, limping heavily between the trees. “Please,” I say, gazing up at the branches overhead, looking for the scraver. “Please just tell me if he’s all right.”
Another cold breeze swirls around me, but this time, there’s no answer. I don’t have any weapons other than the quiver of arrows at my back, but I feel increasingly vulnerable with each step.
“This is far enough.”
I suck in a breath and turn. The scraver is standing against a tree, his gray skin and black wings blending into the shadows so effectively that I must have walked right past him. His coal-black eyes catch a faint gleam, and his hair might be as long as mine is, but it’s tough to tell in the dark. He’s barefoot and bare-chested, but dark leather trousers cling to his legs. It looks like he’s wearing a few weapons, too, though one sheath along his thigh is empty.
I swallow hard, but my mouth has gone dry. Scravers may have come to our aid in Briarlock, but I’ve seen them do far more damage since then.
“There are so many guards surrounding the castle grounds that it took quite a while to determine a way in,” he says. “And then I had to wait a remarkably long time for you to be alone.”
I should be listening to what he’s saying, but my brain won’t stop focusing on the way his fangs glint in the moonlight. I can’t believe Callyn and I once read stories of these creatures and found them captivating. My eyes want to stare, but every muscle in my body is taut, begging me to run.
But then he says, “Do you remember me?”
That snaps my eyes to his. At first, I want to say no, because the only ones that really live in my memories are the ones I’ve seen tear people apart.
But then I remember fighting at the king’s side in Briarlock, watching as a scraver helped Tycho save young Princess Sinna, delivering her into the king’s arms. I remember watching the same scraver yank an arrow of Iishellasan steel out of Tycho’s shoulder so viciously that he vomited in the leaves.
I remember how Tycho was trapped by the bargain he made to save the king’s life. A bargain that’s being held against him.
Nakiis.
“You!” New worries flare in my chest, swirling with a bit of anger. I want my bow back. I’m tempted to stab him with an arrow. My fists clench and I take a step forward. “What have you done? Why isn’t he back yet? Where is he—”
His hand snaps out, and he catches me by the throat. I feel the point of every single claw. I gasp and grab hold of his wrist automatically.
He steps close and seizes my waist with his other hand, fingers pressing under my ribs so tightly that it’s possible he’s breaking skin through my tunic. It’s so surprising that I choke on my breath, and I can’t break his hold.
“Do you want to see what your liver looks like on the outside of your body?” he says.
I shake my head quickly, then wince when his fingers tighten.
“Then perhaps we can start anew,” he says. “Tycho asked for a favor. So here I am.”
I nod, and his grip loosens just enough for me to breathe, but he doesn’t let me go entirely. The air that swirls between us is so cold, but his fingers against my neck are warm. His other hand is still pressed against my side, and I can feel every single claw. My breathing is shaking, my heart pounding like a galloping horse.
“You said he begged,” I say, and my voice is rough. “You said hebeggedyou.”
“I didn’tmakehim beg. He pleaded foryou, Jax, because he wanted you to know why he has not yet returned. He was worried you came to harm.”
“Is he hurt?” I whisper.
“No. He has been detained in Syhl Shallow, and he is not allowed to send word. The king does not want to stoke panic. There are too many people working against the throne. He trusts no one.”
“Detained,” I say. “Why?”
“Because of the scraver attacks.”
“Those have happened here, too.”
