His breath left him heavy. “She turned and stood at the end of my blade.”
A chortle erupted from the men, some slapping their legs. “You’re fucked now,” one said.
Only Rhiannon did not laugh. Surprise crossed her features and those cerulean eyes shifted to me with new interest. “Is that so?” The fingers of her left hand began to tap on the gnarled wooden arm of the throne. “You’re sure it was this one?”
Another invisible cuff to the head. I found myself staring back at her, lips pressing together, fingers rubbing. Surely my knife wasn’t so blunt it couldn’t cut through her smooth skin.
Rhiannon’s eyebrows rose a degree, and I lowered my eyes.
This wasn’t the moment.
“Looks like she’d bruise from a harsh word,” one of the men said.
“Says the warrior who’s never set foot outside the gates,” Dorian said without moving.
I could not stop thinking back on that moment in the battle. It was hazy, and came only in flashes: Dorian’s footsteps behind me as I stared over the destruction of my home; his blade at my back; finally, the tip of it at my neck, and the sight of his shadowy form standing before me.
I must have stood. I must have turned. I didn’t remember why.
“Unexpected.” Rhiannon’s fingers stopped tapping; her deliberation seemed done. The edge of a smile took hold of her lips as she raised a finger, pointing at my chest. “But not unprecedented. We shall let the spiritstag have the final say.”
Dorian sucked in air. He didn’t seem to expect this.
I stared at her, uncomprehending.
Rhiannon stood, pushing off the arms of the throne. “On the morrow. It is late.”
Dorian opened his mouth to speak, but Rhiannon descended the dais and brushed past him. I was surprised to discover she was nearly as tall as him and all the other men.
“The girl will have accommodations until then,” Rhiannon said, heading toward the leftmost staircase. She flashed a look at Dorian over her shoulder. “Above, not below.”
He let out a breath that sounded almost like relief.
All of us kept our eyes on her as she ascended the stairs, right up until the moment she disappeared under the wide arch into the tree’s deep interior and her footsteps were gone.
Then, every gaze swung to Dorian and me. The room felt fuller with cocks and bluster.
A red-maned brute crossed his thick arms. “You deserve nothing less, Dorian.”
“Ah, the bramblesucker speaks. Must be a full moon.” Dorian set his hand under my arm and made to lead me through the throng; I jerked from his hold. “Shouldn’t the lot of you be tucked up in your beds with your thumbs in your mouths?”
They all laughed anew at this—aside from the red-haired man, who wore a scowl—and the jeers continued as we passed toward therightmost staircase. “Pettifey” was repeated like a curse, and my gaze fell on the men as we started up the stairs.
They reminded me of the guard who had attacked me in my bunk. Put them in a group, and men were half as intelligent and twice as rabid. Seemed that held true of these creatures, too, whatever they were.
Dorian and I ascended in silence, the jeers following us up.
At the landing, I said, “And now?”
He barely regarded me as he passed under the arch. “Now, we sleep.” His words sagged, tired, resigned.
I trailed a few feet behind, my gaze flicking from wall to wall and the arch above. Here, in this enclosed space, the purple crystals seemed to hang in the air without string or vine. Their luminescence was all the light we had. Patterns were etched on the walls, symbols I didn’t recognize. Those mauve blooms like lichen spread in trails, weaving their way up.
At the next landing, the passage branched in three directions. The one before us continued up, but the two to our sides were on the same level. I spotted closed doors before the passages curved away.
He nodded left without pausing, his stride quick and loud. I had to walk fast to keep up.
We passed door after door, each inlaid with the etchings I had seen on the tree’s entrance. At last he stopped at one as nondescript as the others.
