He’s not innocent anymore.
“Captain Irenka,” Bellamy says. “Am I still in Parsk?”
Irenka stops a polite distance away. She’s dressed in pristine wyrmskin and steel armor. “I was prepared to introduce myself. I didn’t expect Your Highness to know my name.”
Bellamy ignores her false modesty. “I appreciate the hospitality, but I demand my immediate release.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Irenka says, in such a polite tone Bellamy would think she was agreeing to his demand if he didn’t know better. “I’m awaiting word from House Dire as to how best to accommodate you. You must understand your appearance in the dragonroost took us by surprise.”
Nausea washes through Bellamy. He strives not to let his weakness show. If Irenka is awaiting orders, she isn’t highly ranked enough to murder a prince of Silaise without the crown’s approval. She doesn’t have the strength to play such a useful pawn herself. Not yet making international moves, she’s securing power within Draskora. Turning Bellamy over to the crown would surely help cement her position within the country.
Or she’s a clever actor, lulling Bellamy into a sense of security.
Bellamy has dealt with similar scheming nobles in Silaise himself, though not nearly as often as Julien and Audric. His family mostly sheltered him from that side of court life.
If Audric were here in Bellamy’s stead—well, Audric wouldn’t get himself captured twice by Draskoran forces. He would find a way to turn the tables against Irenka. Perhaps even negotiate a win from House Dire itself. And if all went disastrously, he’s powerful enough to escape with the barest flex of power.
Julien would pretend to cooperate, seduce the most amenable guard or three, and flirt his way to freedom.
The old Bellamy would sit here, scared and helpless, and pray for his family to rescue him. But Bellamy isn’t that person anymore. For one thing, his head hurts too much for him to think of polite things to say.
“Enough with the bullshit,” Bellamy snaps. He leans back against the chaise longue in lieu of standing up and collapsing. “Don’t pretend I’m a guest, and don’t pretend this is hospitality. I demand to see Captain Rakos Tem, followed by our immediate release. Otherwise, you will not enjoy the consequences.”
Unexpectedly, Irenka’s face lights up with unconcealed pleasure. “I wasn’t aware Your Highness was acquainted with Rakos. Has he been collaborating with Silaise?”
“Of course not.” Bellamy lifts his chin. “He’s been collaborating withme.”
Irenka’s eyes are practically sparkling now, and Bellamy has probably cemented any charges of treason against Rakos. Oh, well. That won’t matter when Bellamy has his way.
“I’ll ask my retainer to arrange a meeting at the earliest opportunity,” Irenka says. “Is there anything else I can help you with while we wait?”
“I don’t need any arrangements.” Bellamy rises to his feet—a mistake. His vision swims dark, and his demands begin to sound far too much like pleas. “I don’t care if he’s in a dungeon or strung up on a mountain peak. If you’re torturing him, take me to the torture chamber. There’s nothing that needs arranging.”
Bellamy sways, and Irenka’s smile hardens. Any chance of intimidating her is lost.
“You’ve had a difficult day, Your Highness,” Irenka starts, before her smile drops in horror. Bellamy doesn’t understand until something passes over the windows, blanketing the room in shadow. Something huge, teal, and glittering with magic.
An impact like a cannonball rocks into the wall. The castle jumps.
Bellamy staggers backwards as Irenka barks orders in Draskoran. Her own magic rises around her and her guards, shards of ice swirling from thin air, wide as shields and sharp as daggers. She lunges for Bellamy, trying to grab him, but the wall to the outside is suddenly ripped open by massive claws.
Irenka’s magic withers into shadows.
She changes direction, heading for the door instead of Bellamy. “Summon Miklan!” she barks to the drasgard following her.
Then Bellamy is the only one in the room, braced against the inner wall. His heart pounds in pure elation as a massive, ridged head looms through the new hole torn in the opposite wall.
There you are,Sarka says. She twists slightly, dipping her shoulder closer to the rubbled gap. On her back, Rakos is already unfastening harness straps. He slips from her back and leaps into the room, racing towards Bellamy.
Bruised and hurting, Bellamy throws himself into Rakos’s arms.
?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Rakos
Rakos sweeps Bell into a desperate hug, and the final piece of his heart slides into place. The wreckage of the tower room falls away. All that matters is here in his arms.
