Tristan turned away and focused on Grendel. “What will you do with her?”
“Ah.” Grendel gave a slow, poisonous smile. “We wanted her as incentive for Lanval, to help him… remember. But when you had seemed to have failed, the king went ahead and tried the queen anyway. And now Lanval’s confessed….”
Grendel sounded almost disappointed, but then he ran his eyes slowly over her, lingering on the exposed flesh where her cloak had been pulled open by the rough handling of the Blues. “Oh well, I’m sure we’ll think of something to keep her occupied. Don’t worry, she’ll still hang with her brother tomorrow.”
Chapter Eighteen
Nothing he had ever seenor done, and there had been many brutal moments on battlefields and off them, had prepared Tristan for what it felt like to stand still and watch two thugs drag Nim away while she called for him. While she reached back for him. And he did nothing.
It slowly tore his soul in two. One part went with her, and the tattered remains stayed behind.
She would never forgive him. Not this time. Gods, he would never forgive himself.
Val was throwing himself against his chains, his face a rigid mask of anguish as he screamed at Grendel in his broken voice. It was a sound that burned into Tristan’s brain forever.
He had failed his best friend in every possible way. Failed Nim, in every possible way.
He could feel the blue tunic in his hand, its smooth fabric burning his skin, and he wished he could throw it far away. But he was committed now.
He turned his gaze to Tor, hoping to see something, anything, in his face. But it was completely blank. Was that what Nim saw? No emotion in either of them whatsoever? Fuck. Another agonizing shaft ripped through him. For a few beautiful hours, she had been his.
That was over now, but he would keep that memory forever. It would have to be enough.
A shudder ran down his back as his beast went insane within him, filled with the horror of standing still while every single muscle in his body screamed for action.
Tor’s heavy hand came down on his shoulder, almost as if he was giving him the support he needed. Almost as if he understood. As if he hadn’t just caused him to betray the most important person in his world.
Hardly moving his lips, Tor muttered the same two words that had started this disaster. “Trust me.”
The soldiers hauled Nim to the middle of the room where they threw her into the cleared circle. Without even hesitating, she immediately placed herself between Keely and the king.
Gods. Why did she have to always be so fucking brave?
Her chin was up as she stared past all the men ogling her straight at her brother. Her voice was clear and loud, although he knew her well enough to hear the tremor she was trying to hide. “I love you, Val.”
She pulled Keely to her feet and wrapped an arm around her. “I love you, and I will look after Keely. I promise. Please, don’t hurt yourself, we’ll be with you soon.”
Val stopped throwing his body against his chains and hung, limp and desolate, his ravaged body shining with an unhealthy sweat, blood dripping down his arms where the iron cuffs had cut through the skin and seeping from the wounds in his abdomen.
Ballanor laughed, and it sounded deranged in the appalled tension of the room. Every single person there was aware that one day it could be them on that wall.
The king laughed again and nodded toward Grendel. “Take them to my room and lock them in. But don’t start without me. We still have a party to attend.” He looked around at the frozen courtiers with a mocking smirk. “This is a party, isn’t it?”
Grendel gave a brisk nod and then took hold of Nim’s arm and Keely’s chain, gestured to the same soldiers that had manhandled her earlier, and dragged them out a back door.
Tristan had already taken a step when Tor’s voice pulled him back. “Don’t do it. Not unless you want us all to die.”
He stopped. And tried to focus through the pain pounding through his head as he overruled the most primal parts of himself and stood still.
The king waved, and the music started again, but it sounded discordant, the players missing notes in their shock. Ballanor flung himself back onto his throne, Val hanging behind him like a macabre canvas, and slowly, tentatively, a hushed whisper began around the room.
Finally, Val’s head dropped to his chest, and Tristan wondered if he was unconscious. Gods, he hoped so. What was happening to Nim? He didn’t think he could bear to imagine.
“One more minute,” Tor’s rough voice rumbled quietly.
Tristan stared at Val and counted the seconds. Nim was right; he was responsible for this. And, even though he’d lost her, he was still going to fix it. If it was the last fucking thing he ever did.
Finally, the minute was done. Tor gave a tiny nod, and they started to move slowly out of the room, doing their best to look relaxed and casual. Boring.
