She’s about to deny it when she understands why he’s telling her. He wants her to know he doesn’t think badly of her. Doesn’t think she’s some coward, too, a coward who chose a missing bastard-born girl to take her place to die. Goddess, and she finds she cares what he thinks.
The syrupy tension in the room has a new texture and she needs to break it, needs to move them to safer ground.
“No, she didn’t. And I know your dad didn’t tell you about the dance.”
He barks a laugh, incredulous. “I don’t think the two scenarios are comparable. You had to dance with me. I got usurped from my throne.”
“No, you got out of having to duel to the death.Ihad to make a fool of myself in front of a crowd of people who’d watch me burn alive and complain about the smell.” Astrid smiles at him, and he shakes his head, eyes roaming her face.
“You’re right, I’m fortunate I don’t have to duel. How could I kill someone with dimples like yours?”
Okay, this is not the safe ground she was hoping for. She turns away, face hot, and her eyes land on the body. She grimaces. There’s a dead body in her room. How can she have forgotten?
“Ah, yes. That.” Zryan’s palm falls to the handle of his blade at his hip. “I’ll have one of the guards come help me get rid of it, and see about someone to sort your room.” He gives her a grim smile. “Hold tight, I won’t be long.”
He turns for her balcony, to Teleport away, and the thought of other people coming to her room and seeing it like this, seeingherlike this,has dread unfurling in her gut. The tether with Bastet pulls taut, more physical than she’s ever felt it, and she leaps up, running for Zryan, reaching for him. Her fingers curl around his forearm, a keening mewl escapes her familiar. But too late.
She’s swallowed into oblivion.
It’s like being battered by a blizzard on Stor Isfjell, snow and ice barreling into her, suffocating her, and she couldn’t scream even if she wanted to because there’s no air. The darkness is all-consuming; her skin is being ripped from her body.
And then it’s over, no sooner than it began.
She topples forward onto her hands and knees and retches into the long grass. Grass? A second ago she was on a stone floor. She raises her head. She’s out in the castle grounds. Above her, the balcony to her room. Bile rises again and she heaves, though nothing comes out. Slowly, she gets to her feet. Braces her hands on her knees and takes deep, shuddering breaths. She’s hollowed out, not just physically but emotionally, her tether to Bastet feeling raw and stretched.
Sensing Zryan, some connection to him, she follows it. He’s standing a few feet away, fists clenched, face drawn, looking at her like she just declared herself queen of the dragons.
“Did I just Teleport with you?” She pants. She’s not sure why he’s so tense.
He stares at her a moment longer before answering. “Yes,” he grinds out. “Please don’t ever do that again.”
What? Is he serious? “I didn’tchooseto do it. And I really don’t want to Teleport ever again—it’s horrendous.” Stars, how does he do it so easily? She heaves another breath. “I need to get back, before anyone sees me.”
The prince apparently takes pity on her, because the tension leaves his shoulders. He holds an arm out. “Come, I’ll walk you back to your room. In case someone else tries to murder you on the way.” While his words are light, there’s an edge to his voice.
“Just walk me to my corridor.” What will Fionn think if she turns up covered in blood with the prince of Vatra in tow?
He nods, then places a palm on her lower back, guiding her toward the castle.
Enemy, she reminds herself, as she leans into his touch.
18Skylar
Skylar climbs. The muscles in her arms burn and her hands are clammy against the side of the red cliff. Below her, waves crash against rocks, spray rising up to catch her back. She’s breathing hard, but it’s strangely comforting, channeling her energy into something productive and repetitive, perhaps because it helps quiet the crackling within her, the way juggling daggers did. She doesn’t even care about the sheer drop below her. Yes, she’s got the rope around her waist as a safety net, but more than that, she is used to being up high. She’s used to not looking down.
The only thing that’s making her slower than she thinks she could be is the pounding headache she woke up with. It must be the result of some training injury or other, though she can’t remember Axel trying to crack her skull open over the last few days.
She is nearly at the top of the cliff when she hears voices. She steadies herself and tunes into her senses to listen.
“Someone tried to kill her last night.” It’s Zryan’s voice, a low muttering.
“What?” Axel’s voice is sharp. “Where?”
“In her room.”
“In herroom? What exactly were you doing in—?”
“That’s not important. The point is—”
