The green-eyed guard’s hateful face drenches the backs of my lids, and I almost wish he was still alive just so I could have the pleasure of sinking my sword through his chest. As I picture the scene, I stare at Dante’s plain white uniform. Did he lose his gold armor during his great escape or did he dress like the others to blend in?
I’m about to ask when I notice that he’s the only one with spurs on the backs of his boots. A smile worms itself across my mouth as I understand why he’s without armor—because he was incapable of reproducing it for the rest of his little brigade. This must also be the reason why he’s down an eyepatch.
Oh, Dante dearest, not the sharpest icicle in the cave, are you?
“Fallon, what’s going on?” Bronwen’s tone crackles with nerves.
“The venereal fungi want to use Lore’s body to snip my veins and bleed me dry.” To the Lucins, I say, “I’ll need my hands freed to wake Lore.”
“Wake him?” Tavo sputters.
“Well, youdowant him to kill me, correct?”
Dante snorts. “You seem to have misunderstood us.” He taps the blood-soaked dagger against the side of my throat. “He needs not be awake to cut through your artery with his beak or talon.”
Eighty-One
My chest prickles as though my heart had jumped ship, abandoning its task of pumping my blood. As I lay there, absorbing Dante’s Machiavellian plan, the cold seeps past my skin and fills my veins with slush. “If I die, so does Meriam, Dante.”
“Yes. I know.” He looses a deep sigh. “And if she dies, I lose my immunity to Shabbin magic and my ability to blood-cast. A shame, especially since I’ve yet to enjoy the skill, what with my inkwell going rogue.” He sighs. “But I’m a pure-blooded Fae, and a king to boot. Like you once so rightfully pointed out, I don’t actuallyneedmore magic.”
I scrabble to find an argument that will put an end to his madness. “Technically, you’re of her bloodline as well, so you’ll die too.” I’m bluffing, but hopefully he doesn’t catch on.
He makes a little humming noise. “If that was the case, then we’d all have perished along with my father, but here we are.”
I lick my lips and try again. “You’re aware the Shabbins will come for you the second the wards collapse.”
“I’ll be ready for them.”
“They will murder you.”
“Perhaps, but at least I’ll have rid the world of the abomination they created.”
After playing dead, my heart fires off so many beats that the inside of my mouth tastes like copper. “You’re willing to die?”
“Yes, moya. I’m willing to die a martyr, for martyrs become legends and legends last forever.”
“The only thing you’ll become is a cautionary tale.”
Tavo rolls his neck. “You weren’t jesting when you said she’d turned cynical.” He claps, and the sound echoes far and deep. “Shall we get this party started? I’ve a date with a warm bath and my favorite lady atFrosties.”
I take itFrostiesis a local brothel.
“Slide over the iron monarch.” Dante’s command dispatches six identical copies of himself toward a part of the cavern that’s drenched in shadows.
Like chalk on slate, a slick scraping sound reverberates through the cave, pebbling my skin.
Skrrrr.
Skrrrr.
Skrrrr.
“Godsdamn it, Fallon, use your blood to break free!” Bronwen’s harsh tone snaps my gaze off the leather ropes they’ve slung over my mate’s deployed pewter wings. “Come on, girl!” She stands, but the bastards hooked her shackles onto the sleigh’s tow hitch, and she slams back onto the wooden bench. “Come on!”
I dip my fingers in my leg wound and begin to paint blood around the links of my chain. “Bronwen, if Lore kills me without intent, would he still lose his humanity?” I know I speak in Shabbin because, not only do the syllables hiss from my lips, but also, both Dantes narrow their gazes on me before exchanging a look.
One that freezes my fingers and heart.
