“I don’t know what I believe of her.” Theo leaned back and slid his hand through his hair.
“Where did you get that?”
Theo hesitated before re-covering the gash on his forehead. “It’s nothing.” He wanted to ignore his father’s momentary attempt to be a decent father for once in his miserable life.
His father leaned back and smoothed down his beard as he sighed. “I want to keep this woman close. Regardless of whether she is to be incriminated as Lord Freville’s murderer or not, she might have insight into these nefarious deeds plaguing Duncaster.”
“Do you intend to keep her in the dungeons until her identity is irrefutable?”
“I’m not sure what her fate will be. I will assess after I’ve spoken with her myself.”
Theo released a breath, but it was immediately sucked back in as the door was thrown open. Theo stood and spun on his heels, his hand ready on his sword.
“You may drop the theatrics. It’s only me,” Luther said, waving his hand toward Theo’s weapon.
His older brother had a knack for intruding in others’ conversations.He was the closest resemblance to their father out of the Fastrada children, showing the predominant features of light-brown hair and dark eyes. His hair was even pulled back like their father’s.
“What are you doing here?” Theo asked, dropping his tense stance. He’d shifted himself in front of his father, but even as he settled on the corner of his father’s desk, his heart still pounded.
Luther was finely dressed, straightening his brown shirt, pressed free of wrinkles, and fussing with his golden waistcoat, embroidered with vines. He always preferred attire to make a statement rather than for function.
“I hear you’ve returned from your extended journey with a murderer,” Luther answered, his lips drawing into a grin. “I would much like to meet him.”
“Her,” Theo corrected, refraining from snapping as he dug his fingers into the fabric of his trousers, attempting to calm his quick pulse.
“Excuse me?” Luther responded in his pompous voice.
“The alleged murderer is a woman.”
“Alleged?” Luther tapped his long, pale finger against his chin. “Interesting, that isn’t what I heard Gerard and Bennet grumbling about.”
“Enough,” their father barked. “We’ve already been over this. Theodoric, see to your duties. Luther, we have business to discuss.”
Luther flashed his smirk at Theo, his dark-brown eyes matching their father’s in every way possible. It was only fitting Luther was to assume their father’s title. It suited his arrogant ass.
Theo nodded his head to both before making a hasty exit into the hall. The door closed behind him, but his feet were like Ms. Borstad’s evening stew, threatening to puddle beneath him as his heart continued to speed. He settled into a small alcove, hiding behind one of those ugly curtains.
His hand brushed the pommel of his sword. He was in his own home. He was safe. He slammed a hand over the talons threatening to claw at the edge of his mind. Kedes waited for him. He evaded him not once, but twice.
Theo opened his eyes and trained them across the wall. He stared atthe grout between the stones, tracing it along the wall. His breaths came in short pants as he pushed the memory away. In all the books he’d read, the hymns his mother had sung, all of them had one conclusion. No one had ever lived after crossing a god.
Chapter 11
Amaris
Amaris gripped hertemples, wincing as a massive headache ensued. She begrudgingly rolled over as she reached for her pillow, but her hand scraped against stone. Her eyes shot open, and her hand reached for her throat. She was back in the cell.
She dragged herself to her knees, scraping dust from the wall as she stood. All her pain was real. The dungeon wasn’t a dream. She wasn’t lying in a hospital bed with sweat dripping down her ass crack. They weren’t some back-country cult, either. The ocean outside discounted that theory. Amaris raked a hand through her hair, accepting the brief moment of numbness coursing through her right hand.
The reality caved in her chest. Before she could attempt another escape, the iron gate at the top of the steps flew open, the metal rattling against the wall. Their steps grew louder, or maybe it was the beating of her pulse in her ear. The lock clicked and the door swung open.
“You can’t keep me here,” she demanded for what felt the hundredth time. “I have rights!”
Alan stepped into the cell, his light-blue eyes striking a piercing glareas he strode toward her. He bent over, snarling in her face. “I don’t care what you think you have.”
Amaris recoiled, but he grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet.
She struggled.What was he told to do if I resist?Every moment of defense for her self-preservation proved futile. Maybe she couldn’t fight it.
