“Let me see,” Ava signs, suddenly replacing Isobel.
I step back from her, one hand desperately trying to suppress the pain, the other stretched toward her. Subtle shadows thread unbidden through my fingers, but I don’t bother to rein in my control. “You let him take the fall for me. Youknew.” Tears spill down my cheeks.
“Durvla, we can discuss that later.”
I want to scream at her. She let Tiernan take the fall. She let him be snatched from us. Fromme. Sardonic laughter claws out of my throat, but another stabbing sensation cuts it off. I lift my hand from my side and my palm comes away bloody. There’s a slash through my leather armor.
“I know you hate me right now,” Ava signs. “But we need to see how injured you are.” This time I don’t resist. She unfastens my armor from over my shoulder and lets it drop to the cave floor. She tugs my tunic up to reveal a bloody gash against myside. Ava waves her hand to draw my attention from it. “You’re losing a lot of blood. You need to sit down before you faint.”
So, I do, since it would be better than cracking my head on the stone floor if I collapse. It isn’t a moment too soon either. I’m no outsider to darkness or its tendency to forcefully close its arms around me.
But I’m too overcome to fight, so I surrender to nothingness.
Chapter 45
As I’m hurtledthrough the shadows, I can’t stop thinking about the wounded look on Durvla’s face. I’d bet my ass that whatever these people do to me, nothing could ever hurt more than seeing that look in her eye. When my feet hit solid ground again, I blink a couple of times until I can make sense of what I see. My wrists are still shackled, and the man who apprehended me still grips my shoulder as though he intends to break it.
Beneath my feet is a red carpet.
Marble statues of the gods and goddesses all around.
I know exactly where I am, even before I drag my eyes up the carpet-covered stone steps to the throne. And there’s the bastard in all his newly crowned glory. He doesn’t need an actual crown on his head to exude terrorizing dominance. Arrogance practically leaks from his pores, surprise, confusion, and intrigue in tow. Someone stands beside him, dressed in all black save for a red cape and the golden accents on a bizarre face mask. There is something dizzyingly familiar about them, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
I don’t have much time to dwell on the masked person before Lord fucking Commander Rheon, thesovereign,stands andsteps toward me. My entire godsdamned body shudders against my will, and from the gleam in his eyes, I know he notices.
“Youare the Shadow Wielder?” he asks.
“Why does that surprise you?” My words fly out, unbidden.
He’s close enough to practically share a breath, his eyes raking over the side of my neck with a sickening sort of satisfaction. At the scar thatheinflicted. Pride pulses from him in overwhelming waves. Sick fuck. As much as I want to appear unaffected, my knees are quaking and sweat beads on my palms. My chest expands only after he takes a step back.
These shackles may dampen my Wielding mimicry, but my Empath powers seem intact. I have yet to decide whether that’s a good thing. I need to keep my wits about me.
“Remove his weapons,” Rheon says to the man at my side.
My eyes flick to the man. There’s a flowy, luminous air to him—Waterweaver. A short Zenith member who I hadn’t noticed before, is the exact opposite, an unyielding, ponderous ambience within her. Damarlach be damned, she’s a Terraforger. I’ve never encountered such an aura, but I’m certain of it. Somehow.
The Waterweaver tugs my swords from the sheaths on my back. They clatter against each other on the carpet. He pulls the visible dagger from my hip next.
Rheon, the leech, sets hard eyes on me. “Do you have any hidden weapons?” he asks.
“Didn’t you train me, sir?”
The corner of his lips twitches up into a sneer. “Where?”
I clench my jaw to keep from telling him that he also taught me not to reveal any hidden weapons to the enemy. It’s hard to believe I once considered this asshole to be a decent human—my godsdamned mentor. And now I consider him my greatest enemy.
“Pendry,” says Rheon, and the woman hesitates before she exhales audibly, her anxiety and remorse worming their wayunder my skin. She lifts her hand, palm up, and I suck in a sharp breath as the dagger in my boot slices through my sock and grazes my ankle. The other two hidden within my vest, luckily, do no harm.
All three daggers hover in the air in front of the woman before she lets them clatter to the floor just beyond the carpet.
I’ve never seen a Terraforger at work before, and I hate to admit it, but her abilities are impressive. I try not to think how easily she could transform any metal into a weapon. How easily she could probably slit a man’s throat without even being in close range. She’d sent these manacles onto my wrists from quite a distance.
Yet she seems unwilling. Grudgingly doing Rheon’s bidding. I know that feeling.
“Lynx, confiscate the weapons,” Rheon says, though he never takes his eyes off me.
Who in hells is Lynx?
