The king was deep in discussion with one of his ministers, and the crowd was starting to talk among themselves more freely. Servers moved around the room handing copious quantities of champagne to the suddenly parched guests. The music slowly returned to its previous heady beat, even if the laughter of the crowd now sounded suspiciously forced.
They cleared the doors and into the quiet courtyard, deserted except for patrolling Blues. The fresh air blowing cold on Tristan’s skin made him realize, for the first time, that he was fully battle scaled. From his hip bones to his ankles, up his waist and chest, his back, along his arms to his fingers, over his face and around his eyes, he was covered. Ready for mortal battle. But with no one to fight.
Horror, rage, and grief coursed through his body as he strode past the fountain and through the arch.
As soon as they were on the narrow path, out of sight, Tor turned on him. “Put it on.”
“No.” Nim thought he’d betrayed her for that tunic. There was no way in any kind of hell that he was wearing it.
“Put it the fuck on.”
He had trusted Tor this far. He ground out a rough, “Fuck you,” but he reached for his stupid silver buttons anyway. Which was when he noticed that he had claws. Fuck. That had never happened before. The beast inside him was through rage and into incandescent, unthinking violence.
Anything to get back to the woman he had claimed. And it was taking everything he had to keep it in check.
He couldn’t get the buttons open, so he settled for tearing them off so that he could shrug out of the coat and change into the loathsome blue tunic.
And then they were moving again. Down the path, past the scaffolding and unfinished inner wall.
The carriage was waiting for him, Mathos and Reece in the driver box, but both now wearing their blues. Both rigid with tension, burgundy scales flickering along Mathos’s jaw as he and Tor hurled themselves up and onto the seat.
The infantry soldiers guarding the gate gave them a respectful nod. Gave their tunics a respectful nod, at any rate. And then they were on their way, over the bridge and back into the square, past the ominous shadow of the gallows and into a small side street.
And every second he got farther away, his mind played a reel of horrific images of what was happening to Nim at the palace.
As soon as they were out of sight, he turned to Mathos. “Stop. Right now.”
Something in his face must have warned his second-in-command, because Mathos didn’t hesitate; he simply pulled the carriage up to a wall and stopped.
“Out.” He pointed at Tor.
And then they were both out, and he couldn’t hold himself back for one more moment. He hauled his friend up and threw him against the wall. Flung himself forward and gripped Tor around his throat, pressed backward into the rough bricks, ready to kill him. Only vaguely aware of the blood running down Tor’s neck where his claws had pierced the skin.
“What the fuck have you done?” He almost couldn’t recognize the agonized rasp as his own.
Tor didn’t answer, but Mathos was there, scales gleaming and flashing, pulling him away. “Hear him out.”
He shook his head, unwilling, unable to let go of Tor’s throat. But he loosened his grip slightly. “Speak.”
Tor could have been an asshole. Fuck knew he had it in him. But something in his face softened, and without prevaricating, he spoke. “I’m trying to save her.”
“By getting her locked in a room with Grendel? Are you insane?”
“No. Gods, man, no. I don’t want her in a room with Grendel any more than you do.”
Tristan growled and retightened his grip on Tor’s neck, but the other man simply shook his head ruefully. “Fuck. You know what I mean.”
“Hear him out,” Mathos repeated, and Tristan knew it must be bloody serious when he didn’t even bother to crack a joke.
“They knew who I was,” Tor said, face grim.
“Who knew?”
“As soon as I got to the Constable’s Tower, the guards recognized me. Within minutes, I had that fucking sadist, Grendel, there. Then the soldiers from the market were called back, and of course they mentioned Nim. And you. Grendel knew it all. What was I supposed to do?”
Tristan grunted. It was a disaster.
“But then I realized. You were never going to get me and Val out of there. Not ever. Not even if they didn’t recognize you.”
