Swallowing the hurt, I pushed soaked hair back from my face. “Let him die,” I hissed, trying to claw my way toward her. Crawling through dirt and glass, over rings of gold and the ancient, dormant Lotus passed through the ages from one High Priestess to the next. “He deserves so much more for all he’s done. Please,pleasedon’t do this—”
“Do you think I haven’t destroyed him a thousand times in my mind? Do you think it’s easy to smile? To pretend I don’t remember the Goddess’ touch as I watch my Priestesses being abused, day and night?” she hissed, hands whipping over victim and torturerboth.“No one currently breathing wants to watch this man fall more than I do, Mila. But my wants and needs are not my birthright. You must set your hatred aside andthink. Harper Tilcot isoneman. One whose earIbend. Whose thoughts I guide and whose vicious impulses I temper, however possible. His death will be an inconvenience to the Empire, but his replacement? What will he be?”
An unknown brand of evil,yes, but… “I—I’m—You can’t—”
“You, my reckless, wild girl, willlive.” She glanced up, shimmering blue eyes meeting mine for an instant before returning to her macabre work. “You willbothlive. Now go,” she said, balanced on her haunches when the general drew a great, rattling breath. “Get out of here. Theycannotsuspect you, do you hear me? I can make this look like natural causes. At least until he wakes.”
“And when he does?” I asked, staring at hands stained with blood and dirt, speckled with shards of glass and the shadows of Glaith. “What then?”
“Another war story for the book.”
Chapter 12
I don’t recall hearing the High Priestess calling for help she didn’t need. Don’t have a clear memory of her office-turned-crime-scene filling with soldiers, for I’d been left dangling on the edge between conscious and not. Head throbbing from blunt-force trauma, she’d left me with scarcely enough ki to keep my eyes open, let alone contend with darkness or do as she bade, and run.
But when one of the general’s men stepped over me—kicking a golden circlet and ancient shriveled relic to the side—I cringed. Pressing my back to the furthest wall, I bumped the back of my head and the wound seeped in dirt and bits of shattered clay.
The other soldier, the softer one whose name had been purged from memory, stooped before me. His brow furrowed, lips moving, though they couldn’t be heard over the ocean roaring and sloshing inside my head. Instead, deft fingers snatched the ends of my torn dress, concealing my chest and fresh bruises, both.
But I couldn’t be bothered with modesty, not after what the High Priestess had taken. Not now, while she wielded the power ofthree, and used it to save GeneralfuckingTilcot.
My bleary gaze drifted to the fiend in question—and found him returning to wakefulness. Dark eyes glassy and rolling, yet open.
The realization sent adrenaline surging through my overwrought body, and I struggled to sit. Pulling from reserves I probably shouldn’t, I pushed at Aiden’s hands. Demanding space enough to breathe.
“…need supplies,” the High Priestess barked, her voice tinny and distorted, peeking above the waves of absence. “Get whoever is available at this hour and help me lift him. Oh,” she added, jerking her chin toward me, “and get her out of here, Aiden. The girl is in shock.”
I shook my head, scrubbing glass-speckled hands over my cheek before I registered the pain.
“Goddess,Mila,”Alicia breathed, appearing in the doorway. “Lass, what happened?” The green-eyed traitor extended a hand that shook, taking a step toward me. “I can escort the lady—”
“No,” the High Priestess snapped, head jerking up at the sound of Alicia’s lilting, accented voice. “I need competent handshere. Aiden will take her to Captain Rawlings. You will stay. Reese—get me a stretcher.”
I didn’t wait to see what glittered in her eyes. Didn’t want to see her victory reflected on Alicia’s pretty face, or see how deep their duplicity ran, so I allowed Aiden to help me stand, shucked his touch, then turned to flee.
The general’s lips gaped, bewildered scowl spinning around the cramped room, until it landed on my face. For a moment, he seemed to chew on a sentiment lodged somewhere between hate and terror, lips moving around a single, damning yet unspoken word.“Bitch.”
Before he could muster the strength to condemn me, I shouldered my way through the crowd of Elites and Priestesses alike. Stumbling. Shoving onlookers aside with palms full of glass, the torn edges of my dress flapped in the breeze, drawing shocked murmurs and helpful, cloying hands.
Chest too tight to draw breath or sustain my flight, I rejected them all, not stopping until I burst onto cobbled streets.
Bright morning sunlight seared my eyes, and I cried out, scarred fingers raised against the assault.
“Priestess!” the toy soldier called, catching up.
But I swatted at his touch, blind. Swinging. “Don’t touch me, peasant. I’mfine.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he returned, and captured the torn fabric in one hand, my left wrist in the other. Moving my bleeding fingers to tangle in the ruined dress, he covered my breasts, and said, “Let’s get you back to the captain, hey little Priestess?”
Even without the darkness thick in my veins, I knew that tone. Recognized that emotion for what it was.
Pity.
This Caledonian toypitiedme.
Lips tingling and numb, I scowled, glaring down a tunnel of narrowed vision. And why shouldn’t he? What had I, but gooseflesh and shivers?
“Fine,” I said, hardly aware of my feet on the cobbles. Unconcerned when all at once I became weightless and the entire world spun off its axis. “But… but I’ll not be coddled.”
