Something in his tone makes me pause. Something I’m supposed to read between the lines, and it infuriates me he might be right. I am uneducated. Poor. Nobody.
“She’s not supposed to be here,” Flori accuses. “Kasaros doesn’t like it when someone tampers with his game.”
“Apparently, anything goes this year.” The Baron gives me a pointed look.
Flori steps forward, her voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. “This is between us, Blackthorn. Leave Demaya out of it.”
“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” He tightens his grip on his hostage, eliciting another whimper. “I rather enjoy having a little leverage.”
My heart pounds in my chest, my mind racing for a way out of this. But every scenario ends with blood and pain.
The Baron’s eyes glitter with malice as he looks from me to Flori. “Now, let’s see how far you’re willing to go to save your little friend here.”
Chapter 16
Florienne
“Blood spilled in sacrifice brings roses; blood spilled in love brings change.”
—AMARA’S PROMISE
Something in me shatters when I recognize Demaya’s brown ringlets and large doe eyes. The Baron’s grip on her arm leaves angry dark marks. She trembles, tears streaking her cheeks. Still dressed in a dirty white ceremonial robe cinched around her curvy waist.
If she’s alive, perhaps others are too.
Heartbroken and desperate, I race through options and scenarios, anything with an outcome where my hope isn’t crushed.
Drayven’s jaw clenches, hands curling into fists at his sides. I know he wants to act, to protect me. Not her. But I must think of the other Vespers, all fertile women. This duty feels written in my blood.
I turn back to Demaya, but instead of finding her trembling and crying, she has a look in her eyes that gives me pause. It’sthe same look she’s given me plenty of times this past year in the Pen—the look after I give advice and boost her confidence. Confident, sharp, and ready to deliver.
She’s waiting for my signal.
Awareness prickles over my skin. My gaze drops to the badges she’s earned in the feminine mysteries. Of the three I know, only two are visible. The snake weaving around her shoulders and neck signals her talent for skillful movements and twists during intimacy. An hourglass on her forearm represents a mastery in patience and timing. But it’s the third badge, the one no one sees on her hip bone that I think of now—a dagger through a heart. In this lesson, brides are taught graceful and enigmatic movements to captivate those men with a roguish spirit.
When I noticed her natural talent in these three lessons, she confessed that the reason she had successfully hidden for six years since her first menstruation was because she was a thief—a misfit.
The Baron believes he has a victim, but he’s brought me an ally. At the very least, if Drayven won’t protect her, she’ll have a fighting chance of escape. She hid for six years. She can hide until the blood moon sets and the Hunt is over. After all, she’s not an official bride.
“Let her go,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Take me instead.”
“And why would I do that?” The Baron’s cold eyes dart between Drayven and me.
Drayven growls and steps before me, shielding me from view. “No.”
“This isn’t your choice,” I tell him.
“I’ll kill them all if I have to.”
“Even you can see we’re outnumbered.”
“Then I die fighting,” he counters.
The Baron’s lips curl into a cruel smile. “Listen to your champion, little bride. He knows the futility of defying me.”
“I’m not his bride,” I spit. “Not yet.”
I wrench down my collar, revealing the golden rosebud tip, still tight and unfurled—proof that I remain unclaimed. The Baron’s eyes widen with hunger, triumph, and then amusement as he faces Drayven. “Still can’t get it up to save her, can you, boy?”
