“Their king claims to have no knowledge of the vessels.”
Theirking. A little slip on his part, but I don’t correct him. Maybe they have begun to trust me more than I understand.
“And what do you think?” I ask.
He opens his mouth to reply, snapping it shut when the general’s voice booms from behind the thick doors leading to the hall. He isn’t alone, and whatever they are talking about, it’s getting heated.
“Excuse me,” Riesh says, lifting himself from the chair and sliding into the hall, the door clicking shut behind him.
I reach for a cup of robustly flavored tea, now unfortunately tepid. The click of the door latch sounds behind me, and a chill seeps into my bones. Setting the cup down before it has touched my lips, I casually stand, back stiff, forcing a façade of disinterest as my eyes survey the shadows. My feet move across the room in slow sure steps, the air exiting my lungs the only sound I hear above the argument rising in the corridor. Hair stands on the back of my neck, and I spin on my heel, too late.
“Scream and I’ll end you,” the stranger says.
The man holding the knife to my throat is pure La’tari. Waves of golden hair frame his face, and the rounded shell of his ear isn’t the comforting sight it once would have been. For every step he takes forward, I take a step away, until my back is pressed against the tall wooden post at the corner of the bed. The tip of his knife pierces my flesh, coaxing a small drop of blood from my skin. The warm liquid flows down my neck to stain the fabric of my gown.
He’s a middle-aged Drakai, judging by his leathers and the way he holds himself. With his free hand, he lifts my thick tresses, scoffing when his eyes land on the tips of my ears.
“You look like one of them,” he spits the insult, “You might as well be, if you’re focing one.”
He steps in until his body is pressed against mine, tipping his head toward the door when he says, “Doesn’t sound like they’ll be coming in any time soon. Maybe I’ll show you what you’re missing while you’re busy snubbing your own kind.” He leans in close, his voice dropping to a whisper when he adds, “Before I leave you to bleed out on the floor.”
His free hand fumbles with the laces of his trousers.
If I try to speak, I have no doubt the man will slit my throat rather than risk alerting the others. After all, I am not the reason he came. It’s no coincidence the man found himself in the general’s room. And even if he would listen, what can I say? Very few know of my mission here.
I could disarm the man, grapple him into a hold and try to persuade him that we are on the same side. But my entire being rebels against the idea of letting him live. The man may wear the leathers of a Drakai, but his actions disgrace the name. The last merciful thought I have left for him is swallowed by my demon when he whispers the last, “I’ll enjoy killing him as he watches you die.”
A silence falls in the hall, as the general shouts an urgent command. As if in answer to the furnace of rage swelling inside me, Terr itself begins to shudder beneath my feet. It’s too easy to disarm the man when he’s distracted by the growing tremor of the land.
I grab his wrist, twist, and let the dagger fall into my free hand. Time seems to slow, and I grin, pleased with the shock overwhelming his features.He takes a step back, a mistake that will cost him his life. Not that he ever stood a chance of leaving the room alive.The simple move gives me the space I need to coil back and release a powerful kick to his chest, taking him off his feet.
The doors of the room groan and splinter in thundering cracks as the man falls against a small table, toppling a chattering vase that shatters on the floor around him. He hardly has time to collect himself before I’m sitting on him, his legs pinned between my thighs, his own knife flaying the tender flesh of his throat. His eyes bulge and my demon writhes at the sickening sound of the gurgling sputter I’ve heard almost every night for years.
Blood begins to fill the man’s lungs, and I lean down, willing him to understand his offense before the light leaves his eyes.
“Threaten what ismine, and I will hunt your very soul beyond the gates of haliel.”
The doors buckle and fly open, the shuddering of the earth ceasing as they slam against the walls with a force that cracks the marble. I pull the knife free of the man’s throat, a warm spray of blood soaking the front of my gown as I look up, locking eyes with the general.
There are many things I expect to see on his face as he takes in the scene. Disgust, fear, caution, shock, but nothing prepared me for the look of concern when his eyes fall to mine, and the rage that follows when he takes in the body.
He moves across the room at a clipped pace, collecting me into his arms, shouting orders at the guards that file into the room behind him.
“Are you injured?” he asks, voice full of concern.
I barely hear him above the ringing in my ears and shake my head.
Riesh surveys the carnage with a clenched jaw, eyes wide. He dips his head at me approvingly before the general whisks me into the washroom, closing the doors behind us.
Time slips into a hazy semblance of what I know. My teeth begin to chatter. My body is wracked with tremors as if I’d been submerged in ice for hours. The general turns a lever on the wall and a gush of warm water flows from a spigot in the ceiling, falling on my head like thick drops of rain.
He peels the blood-soaked gown over my head, throwing it to theground where it smacks against the floor. Discarding my pants, he pulls me under the water. He lathers a dark rag with a thick layer of soap and makes quick work of wiping every trace of blood from my skin.
Walking a small circle around me, he carefully checks every inch of my body. I bat him away when he begins to round me a second time. I’m not a child and do not need to be coddled by the male.
I snap up a jar of foaming cream and wash the blood from my hair, nearly dropping the jar when my hands begin to shake again. He makes no attempt to take over my task. He just stands back, giving me space to breathe, watching beneath a furrowed brow, his pants and tunic thoroughly soaked and clinging to his body.
I’m still filthy, I can feel it. I scour my body with another well-lathered cloth until the pale ivory of my skin begins to redden. Still filthy. I reach for another rag and he grips my wrist.
