He takes a jerky step forward. “Sarka, I’m so sorry.”
You’d better be.Her mental pout hums between them.I expect a lot of groveling. How long does it take you to travel from the coast anyway?
Rakos stumbles forward. Presses his forehead against hers and feels the warmth of her. The moment of connection is like his heart clicking back into place. He feels—
He should feel right. He should feel whole. But one more thing is missing. “Hey Sarka. So, I kind of met someone—”
The littlest Sandry.She sounds highly amused.I’m well aware.
Rakos collapses against her head. “Does everyone besides me know who he is?”
I smelled the plants on him from a mile away. He’s very cute.
“You met him?”
Yes. He’s also very brave. He almost shook off the blood magic.
“The what?” Rakos jolts to awareness. “Sarka, if he’s been captured, we have to—”
Obviously.Her eyes flash violet.Hop aboard. This horrible little creature knows where he is.
?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Bellamy
A rumbling impact like an earthquake shakes Bellamy awake. Everything hurts, from his throbbing headache to his lingering nausea. Fresh bruises announce themselves all along his knees and shoulders.
There’s no blood magic left in Bellamy’s body, and to his surprise, no null-collar around his throat. No cuffs or chains. Opening his eyes to slits, Bellamy takes in his surroundings. He expected to wake in a dungeon, but instead, he’s been laid out on a cushy chaise longue in a well-appointed sitting room.
No gilding or carved trees like a Silaisan castle, but the iron filigree is clearly expensive work. The narrow windows don’t have curtains. In lieu of tapestries and paintings, the walls themselves are carved with dragons.
His wyrmskin coat is folded on a nearby table.
Bellamy accidentally meets the gaze of one of the six drasgard posted by the door. No use pretending to be asleep. He forces himself to sit up, stifling his groan of pain. He hasn’t hurt this bad in a long time.
But he can’t allow himself to falter. He has to find out what has happened.
Where is Rakos? Bastard? Sarka?
Which of Draskora’s many dangerous factions has seized him?
As soon as Bellamy sits up, one of the drasgard leaves the room. They haven’t hurt him or killed him yet, barring the fight in which he was captured. Bellamy is very afraid of what they might want.
Bellamy stands slowly. The drasgard don’t stop him from walking carefully to the table. He isn’t entirely sure his knees will hold, but the risk is worth it. Retrieving Rakos’s coat is comforting. Slipping it on is like donning armor.
He retreats to the chaise longue before he collapses and demands of the drasgard, “Whose keep is this?”
The drasgard don’t respond, despite Bellamy’s best attempt at a glare.
Moments later, the door opens again. The drasgard returns with a woman Bellamy immediately recognizes. Jealous staring from across a ballroom can be useful after all.
“Your Highness,” Irenka says. “I apologize sincerely for the rough treatment by local forces.”
Her words tell Bellamy a few things. First, the minstrel gig is over. Second, Bellamy isthatsort of prisoner now. The sort where everyone pretends he’s an honored guest.
Bellamy’s done that before. Except last time, he was only eight years old, too young and naive to understand the threats behind the friendly words. He let Tesson Rue take him by the hand and abduct him from the heart of Sandrelle. Just another trip to his father’s barony, or so he thought at the time. He didn’t even know he had been kidnapped until years later.
