“I’ll have a bowl of that hash, Alicia,” the captain said, tracing my nape with his thumb. “And one for Mila.”
My lip curled, but I did not acknowledge my parasite further, for my every available sense was fixed upon the kitchen door. On theclomp clomp clompof boots in the hall. The whine of a squeaky hinge as it swung open to reveal the very man whose screams I’d serenaded myself with when the nightmares had been too much.
General Tilcot. A scowling tower of muscle surveying the room with stormy eyes, his gaze landing first on the captain before falling on me.
I ground my teeth, blunted claws pressing into my palms. Meeting the general’s glare with my own, muscles coiled. Tight.
The captain’s fingers tightened on my neck. A silent warning—and one I would abide.
For the Trila-Glís and the rebels.
For Kas.
Again, my eyes fluttered closed.
Play the part.
Taking a breath, I tucked a knotted length of caramel hair behind my ear, bowed my head, and said nothing. Did nothing. Painting a gory mosaic of death and destruction as I stared at the floorboards.
Alicia cleared her throat, drawing my eye and breaking the terse silence with a brittle smile. “Good mornin’, sir,” she said, scooping greasy muck into a bowl. “May I offer bit o’refreshments or—”
“Leave,” the general barked.
Caught in the middle of her task, Alicia froze, mouth agape. Looking to her master for direction, color staining bruised cheekbones.
The captain nodded. “Thank you, Alicia.”
Pressing her hand to her heart, Alicia fled, followed a moment later by Marco as General Tilcot filled the small kitchen.
Something wicked plucked at the general’s lips as he approached, coming to a stop directly before me. “So.”
The captain cleared his throat, palm clammy on the back of my neck. “May I introduce my Priestess, Mila. She doesn’t talk much, but—”
“Explain yourself, soldier.”
“It was an accident—”
Head thrown back, the general laughed. “An accident, was it? You slipped, fell, andoops,bound a Priestess to yourselfwithout permission?Do you have any idea how angry the curator is? This little trollop should be on her way to the capital, ready to take a bastard in her belly for the Empire. But she’shere,bound toyou.”
Forced pregnancy? My eyes flicked to the captain’s profile as something sickly squirmed in my chest.
“I am prepared to answer for my mistake, sir,” the captain said. “But itwasan accident. I acted on a little too much whiskey and a hunch I got from Jasper’s ramblings about forest demons and dark magics. Who could have expected the wood’s menace was actually a Priestess?”
“Who indeed,” the general drawled.
“When I saw her at auction,” the captain continued, tucking a length of knotted brown hair over my shoulder, “I put the chains on her, thinking, ‘wouldn’t it be something if this little hellion was of the Blood?’”
The general sneered, eyes roaming my face. “My,my.Howconvenient.”
“Believe me, sir, I wasn’t expecting—”
“To be clear,” he said, and seized me by the throat, ignoring my startled yelp. “You saw this…thingon the auction block and all the pieces just fell into place, did they?”
“No—”
Teeth bared, I tried to wrench free, both hands on his wrists.
Goddess, burn these Elites and their fascination with my airway! I’d make him suffer the pain of all the refugees I’d freed before he begged for death on his knees like the parasite he was! Muscles coiled, I reached for my ki—but his touch gave me nothing. Not a spark, not a tingle.
