No one said a word.
Pierce had lost his bloody mind. I suppressed the urge to shake some sense into him. “She’s just a shield. Shields exist to protect us, not the other way around.”
“Says who?”
“The king.”
Pierce rolled his eyes. “That’s bullshit.”
The silence stretched between us like a chasm. Years of brotherhood, and we’d never been this divided. Over a woman we’d known for days.
“Careful, Pierce. You’re flirting with treason.” I turned to Flynn. Had he also taken leave of his senses? “What say you?”
“She has a nice ass. If she doesn’t die, I want to fuck her.” Flynn’s words didn’t match the visible tension in his shoulders or the way he avoided looking at any of us directly.
“No!” I wanted to jam his head through a wall. But the walls were stone, and his head was so hard he’d reduce them to rubble.
“Why not?” He grinned at me. “She’s just a shield.”
Did he mean that, or was he using my words against me? A bit of both? The truth was, I couldn’t stop thinking about her laughter in the face of Carron’s rage. No shield had ever affected me like this. If she survived the pit, my feelings—I hated acknowledging them—might be a problem.
I gripped the nape of my neck and rolled my head until I heard a crack. “If she lives, we proceed with her training. She will learn to follow orders. She will learn to hold her tongue.” Gods above, the mouth on that woman. It was a wonder Carron hadn’t killed her for the things she’d said. “She will submit.”
Teal chuckled.
“Something funny?”
He smirked at me. “Do you actually believe any of that?”
I didn’t. Our shield pushed back, and sassed, and demanded respect. She would never submit. Not to us. Not to the general. Not to the king. “If she doesn’t submit, Carron will kill her.” That I believed without question.
Chapter
Twelve
HAVEN
Iknew there was a problem before I made the third chalk mark.
I usually healed quickly. But that wasn’t happening. If anything, my back was worse. The last lash, the one that reached from my shoulder down to my ass, felt like someone was pressing a hot poker into my skin.
I could endure and hope I got better, or I could ask for help. Given my rising pain level, if I waited too long, I might pass out and lose my opportunity.
I pictured the stack of stationery in Grandmother’s top desk drawer and the pencils in the cup that sat to the right of the blotter.
When I had paper and pencil in hand, I wrote three notes. My vision blurred as I wrote, and twice I had to pause to keep from vomiting.
I was whipped and am locked in a dungeon. My back is badly infected. I need your help. Haven.
Then I sent one note to the kitchen counter, one note to Grandmother’s desk, and the final note to herpillow.
I spent fifteen minutes trying to ignore the sensation of skin melting off my back, then called the notes back.
The page from Grandmother’s desk held a reply.
My sweet girl. We should have ignored my vision. I never should have let you go with them. You did it to protect me and the girls, but who will protect you? There’s a potion in a crystal bottle sitting on my desk, just to the left of the unicorn sculpture you made when you were a girl. Drink the whole thing.
A touch of emotion, then business. The note clutched in my hand was pure Grandmother.
