He didn’t know where he fit anymore, but it sure as fuck wasn’t with these people. He was done with them. As finished as they had been with him.
He had no home. No squad. No friends. Nothing. Even Nim seemed more at home with the Hawks than she was with him. All he had left were his honor and his duty.
He would eat because he had to. Then he would go back to the palace and free Alanna. Finally keep his promise. And then he would go away. Far, far away. Alone.
He lifted his head and saw Jeremiel watching him with that famous Nephilim focus. Val turned his head and looked out into the darkening forest. He didn’t need anyone trying to read his mind—or whatever the hell truth seekers did.
By the time the food was cooked his head was pounding more than ever, his skin felt tight and hot, and his wings hurt every time they touched anything. But he forced himself to sit quietly and not snap at Mathos’s stupid jokes or break Tristan’s hand for the inordinate amount of time he spent touching Nim. Val’s baby sister. Fuck it all.
Jos handed around hot flatbreads filled with roasted carrots and crispy partridge meat. The rich aroma floated through the air as everyone settled down quietly and focused on their food, and for the first time since he woke up, Val thought he might be interested in eating something.
Mathos took a huge bite of his, chewed with relish, and then grinned. “I swear, we’ve only been mercenaries for one day, and the food is already better.”
Mercenaries? The food went dry in his mouth. His sister was living with a bunch of mercenaries.
He swallowed heavily and turned to Tris with a raised eyebrow. “What the fuck?”
“What?” Jos chuckled. “Did you think they would give us a prize for ripping you out of the palace? Bring us all back for medals and champagne?”
“Hell, mate,” Mathos added with a grin, “they might have given out prizes for us dragging away your ugly carcass, but the ever-delightful Nim and Keely? Not so much.”
Tristan leaned over and smacked Mathos on the head, to the amusement of everyone else. Even Reece snorted, which was a surprise given the intensity of his dedication to the wineskin in his hand and the surly looks he’d been giving out.
But the childish banter just made Val want to start punching people. “Someone tell me what the hell happened.”
The laughter around the fire died away as a grim silence descended, and everyone looked to Tristan, who merely grunted and ignored them. Finally, Nim nudged him with her elbow, and his former friend sighed heavily before starting to explain. “We planned to sneak into Ballanor’s banquet and rescue you, but we were exposed and Nim was taken.” Tristan faltered for a moment and Nim wrapped her hand around his arm reassuringly. “When we got to the Palace, Nim and Keely had already escaped from Ballanor’s room—”
“What?” Val interrupted, his stomach clenching in a wave of nauseating horror. His baby sister in the king’s room. Gods. Fuck. He knew exactly what went on in there.
A heavy hand dropped down on his shoulder, jarring his wounds, and he whirled to face its owner. Mathos, no trace of amusement remaining on his face, gave him small shake. “Listen to what he’s saying, Val. They got out by themselves, before we even got there.”
He flicked his eyes to Nim, who gave him a sad smile. “We got out, but….” She looked down at her hands, almost as if she was ashamed. “We had to leave Alanna behind.”
“Why?” The word was torn out of him. He didn’t know what to think. The horror of imagining Nim in that room was overwhelmed by a torrent of guilt and despair. Alanna had been abandoned to face Ballanor and Grendel’s wrath on her own.
He couldn’t have imagined that Nim would be so selfish. That she would sacrifice someone else to her own benefit. Not just anyone else. Alanna.
His wings spread out behind him as his body flooded with rage, and he would have stood if Mathos hadn’t held him down.
It was Keely who answered, and by the look on Nim’s face, it surprised her as much as him. “Don’t you dare. You don’t know what happened. Do you think we would have left her if there was any other choice?”
No. He didn’t accept that. “There’s always a choice—”
“Shut up.” Tristan’s voice had a deep growling edge to it, his scales flickering. “You will not speak to your sister like that. We pulled her out still chained to Keely with iron manacles. They had been sent up there stripped down to their shifts. There. Was. No. Choice.”
Val’s wings shuddered as goose bumps spread over the back of his neck.
Chained. Stripped.
Gods.
But before he could say anything, Tor’s deep voice rumbled over the group, tight with anger. “Actually, I do want to talk about choices. Val’s choices. How he chose not to warn any of his friends, his squad, about what was going on in the palace, and how we were all punished for it. Let’s talk about how his choices landed Nim and Keely in that room in the first place. Nim, show him the burns on your wings, or better yet, the bruises all over your throat.”
Fuck. The buzzing was back in his ears. He ran his fingers slowly up and down the middle of his forehead, trying to rub away the pounding. Burns? Bruises?
“Come on, all of you, don’t you think he’s been punished enough?” Nim’s soft voice broke into the tense silence. “We’re all tired and upset, and we’re taking it out on each other.”
Nim turned to face him, and his heart stuttered in his chest as a tear tracked slowly down her too-thin face. “I’m so sorry, Val, but we didn’t want to leave her, I promise. We have to work together so that we can get her back.”
