By the maker...
Her eyes start to bulge, blackened blisters forming on her skin that bubble and expand, moving horrifically across her flesh. And then she explodes, leaving Darrius covered in the remnants of her blood, organs, and shattered bits of bone. I hear one of the few remaining men behind him vomit and the sound of horses galloping away. Rakh, if I had to guess.
Darrius cocks his head like a gore-covered fiend, silver hair scarlet and dripping. My heart pounds, but not with fear. He’s a monster to everyone but me.
“One traitor down,” he says softly. “One to go.”
The ties around my ankles loosen, but then my body whips sideways as Masišta grabs me like a rag doll, pressing his knife to my jugular. A hundred ice shards dance in the air around me, ready to pierce every vulnerable point. “Move and she bleeds.”
A bloody Darrius prowls closer, his face a dead mask, eyes empty like the abyss. “For every second of pain you cause her, I will exact a hundred times its measure from you.” Magic pulses from him, his voice hypnotic with compulsion. “You will release her and turn that blade upon yourself.”
Masišta barks a laugh, tilting his arm to show a rune carved into his skin. “My mind is guarded from manipulation.”
I blink in shock. Is that the work of the psionic magi, too?
“You will suffer, I promise you, for touching what ismine,” Darrius snarls, rage bleeding from him as his shadows form pointed spikes.
“And yet you have made no claim upon her,” Masišta says, lowering his head to drag his nose down my neck. “Your bond is unsealed.”
I have no doubt that Darrius can breach the walls around Masišta’s mind, but he’s careful now, unwilling to risk my safety.Dare,I tell him,my simurgh will protect me from the worst of it. I will survive. Do what you must.
But the king paces like a territorial animal, eyes locked on us, and I can feel the wrath emanating from him in malevolent waves. That black gaze shimmers from ebony to gold and back again, evidence that the curse of the manticore is riding him hard. If he changes to the beast, he will be without his magic. Not defenseless—the manticore is lethal—but in that form, he will be an easier target. His lips part and nostrils flare as he gulps air, striving for calm, but it’s not working. His facial bones are sharpening, a feral look overtaking his expression.
Darrius, control.
I. Am. Trying.The growl in my head sounds savage.
Masišta snickers. “Ah, yes, I see it. The beast comes. I always thought that was a rumor. If I cut her, will that make you angrier?” The blade slices into my skin, blood dripping down my throat. I stiffen and try to keep any expression of pain from my face, so it doesn’t send Darrius into a tailspin. But when the knife wedges deeper, I can’t quite keep in my whimper.
“I will rip the limbs from your body and feed them to you,” a seething Darrius promises.
“Temper, temper. Perhaps, but not before I carve through her pretty neck,” my captor taunts. “Choose wisely, Your Majesty.”
I exhale. My simurgh can’t save me from a severed neck, but maybe I can hold Masišta off long enough for the king to strike. I’m no stranger to pain. I gather my magic, watching as Darrius splits into six identical versions of himself, surrounding us.
“Kill him!” Masišta bellows to his remaining men, at least the ones from Karkad who haven’t fled yet.
The copies of Darrius might be illusions, but it’s a testament to his vast wellspring of power that they are also able to wield magic. I’ve never seen anything like it as they take out the remaining Karkad warriors in a combined attack that is almost too quick to watch. Then they surround us in a menacing semicircle, looking so alike that I’m not sure at first glance which is the real king.
“Stay back or she dies!” Masišta bellows, panic lacing his tone as if he knows there’s no way out for him.
Fingers tighten at my throat, and I conjure a magical shield inside me, turning my skin diamond hard. It won’t last because of the cuffs, but it’s something. Masišta snarls and squeezes harder as he drags me backward toward the cliff’s edge. More ice spears form around me in every direction. I brace. Those are going to fucking hurt.
The standoff is interrupted as a popping noise bursts through the air and the smell of ash and ozone of a portal fills my nostrils. I frown when a nearby small army appears out of nowhere in my peripheral vision. But whose?
Don’t the wards prevent portals into Everlea? Then again, Laleh came through as well—so maybe the wards are somehow vulnerable?
“Took you fucking long enough,” Masišta crows.
I turn, the movement of my wounded throat making me yelp. And freeze as a familiar face comes into view. Gladness fills me to see my best friend alive and well, even though she, too, had been poisoned with the basilisk venom.
Laleh doesn’t look too sickened, though her complexion is oddly waxy and those purplish lines beneath her eyes are evident in her ashen skin. Possibly, a reaction to the venom. I’m so busy checking her for signs of injury, deliriously grateful that she survived, that it takes me a moment to notice the imposing, gorgeous man standing beside her.
A man with a golden crown on his dark hair.
A rush of unexpected feelings invades my chest, tightening it impossibly.
So much love... and so much heartbreak. I wheeze a breath as a strange pressure around me builds and pops. Runes on the underside of my cuffs flare and the persistent fog in my mind fractures into stardust. It feels like a spell or enchantment has been lifted. And suddenly, a flood of memories rushes in to fill all the gaps in my brain.
