Tavo whirls on his heel, his hand crawling toward the pommel of his sword.
When he unsheathes it, I scream, “Bronwen, shape a vine! Tavo’s coming—”
Dante slaps his palm against my mouth, muffling my warning, but I know she heard me because her eyes have grown wider and paler.
Come on, Bronwen. Come on . . .I hurry squiggling my blood on the chains. “Leever be and I stike a boggun wif you,” I yelp against his palm. “With bof o’ you. Jus let’er leeve.”
Tavo glances over his shoulder at Dante.
Please let their greed be greater than their cruelty.
Please—
The black studs crawling up the sides of Dante’s broad ears gleam like his single pupil. “I’ve no need for bargains. Or for her.”
Before my next breath, Tavo murmurs, “Buonotte, Bronwen,” and swings.
Eighty-Two
Istare in horror as Tavo’s steel sword penetrates Bronwen’s neck and comes out the other side.
This cannot be real. This must be another trick. Another illusion.
Bronwen cannot possibly be dead.
As though he weren’t enough of a fiend, Tavo wipes his blade on her frock.
Oh my Gods.
I blink and blink.
Swallow and swallow.
Cauldron, this cannot be real.
She saw us come out of this war victorious.
To think I wished this fate upon her so many times. Now I’d give anything to bring her back. But there’s no bringing her back.
Oh, when Cian awakens, when he realizes that his mate is gone . . .
My stomach spasms and bile lurches up my throat, but I snap my teeth to hold it in and saw through my shackles like a mad woman.
Plink.
The chain loosens.
I sop up more blood, tuck my fingers through the slit Dante made in my leather trousers, and draw the only sigil I can think of that will buy me a chance at saving the rest of them.
As Dante watches his friend stroll back to him, wearing the smug look of a psychopath, I wink out of sight and then wheel my body off the altar of ice. I shut my lids as I smash into the hard ground, the chain making a ruckus.
Before any Faerie can circle the slab and grab me, I pitch myself sideways and roll over and over until every last length of chain has unspooled from my body.
Dante screeches at his men to find me.
They drop the reins twisted around my mate’s wings and race around the butchering block they had me on. Two must step on the chain because they trip. Where one flails backward, the other smashes his forehead into the bladed ledge and drops. Both pass out, but unfortunately only one bleeds.
Not that blood or headwounds will kill these bastards. I need a sword, and preferably an iron one. Taking immense care not to step on the chain, I rise to my feet, leg muscles drumming, and tiptoe toward the fallen soldiers.
