Page 94 of The Queen’s Bodyguard

He’d rigged the door, but the enemy would be inside within the minute with the right tools or a few good strong kicks. “Go,” he said, prompting Theora toward the closet as soon as she was dressed.

She rushed to it, climbing up without a word, and Argos followed. Together they pulled up the ladder and shut the door behind them.

Argos let his senses lead as he hurried down one of the corridors. Theora didn’t argue, thank the Sovereign. She was too terrified; he felt it in the scent of her sweat, her trembling grip on his shirt. They went through a few more tunnels before Argos halted, leaning his back against the wall with a groan. Despite the fact that nothing vital had been hit, this wound was draining him quickly. He didn’t know what sort of venom had been in the smoke of that explosive, but he needed an antidote quickly.

“Where are we going?” Theora asked, finally, leaning against the wall with him to remove one of her shoes. Her voice and presence were a comfort, even if they couldn’t stop the pain.

“Hell if I know,” Argos muttered. The pain was beginning to affect his focus, but he noticed her taking a folded sheet of paper out of the shoe and pulling her dress up to tuck it into her underwear. He could’ve sworn it was Apollo’s traitorous letter. This damned woman…“They’ll have all the main exits guarded, at this point, if they’re smart. Our best bet is to wait it out somewhere safe until we come up with a better idea.”

“Venita did this?” Theora asked, anger building. “You’re sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“How?” She blinked, as if forgetting the most important question. “Why?”

“You’d know better than me.”

“There’s no way she could ever seize control. She doesn’t have the mark of a ruler, and there are no chosen rulers behind me in the succession—” Her shocked gasp fell swiftly into a glare of betrayal. “Apollo.”

“Finally,” he grumbled. “We got there.”

She chewed on her lip, looking around in the dark. “So where do we go now? The market?”

“Pyre will help us,” Argos said suddenly, painfully, on the verge of wanting to tear out—

“Cease, Argos,” Theora said, cooling his magic yet again. “Even if she didn’t start the war, she continued it. And she tried to kill me the other day.”

“She had nothing to with the ringblitz.”

“You antagonized her like she did.”

“Well, I was wrong,” he snapped.

Perhaps delirium from the searing pain had him starting to talk crazy, but it was the only option he could think of. It was the only place he knew for sure he could locate again, and quickly. Besides, she’d said so herself: If she wanted to kill him, she’d use her bare hands.

She was a fighter who respected Honor, and though he wasn’t sure if they’d ever be allies, she was, at the very least, not their enemy.

He began walking down the corridor, just far enough to catch the scent he needed to head toward the Vespulan wing.

“This way,” said Argos, leading the way into the dark.

Chapter 27

Theora

Pyre’s handmaidens didn’t seem shocked to see her and Argos. Pyre, who was wearing a casual ensemble of shorts and a tank top, sweaty from some sort of workout, didn’t seem alarmed either.

Theora, however, was beyond alarmed. Pyre had a massive wound across her face, red and raw-looking. It had been closed by some sort of adhesive rather than an actual bandage.

Argos, she thought, what have you done?

She looked up at him, willing him to give her answers, but Pyre interrupted her thoughts with “Bring him in here.”

And suddenly Theora felt as if the walls were going to close in. Never mind what Argos had told her…It was a Vespulan stinger that had injured her that day, that had torn through Leveya. They were still the enemy, even if—and this was a massive if—they’d had nothing to do with that ringblitz.

Still, she had to be brave for Argos—she wasn’t sure how he could ever protect her in his current state. And if he thought Pyre was their safest option, well…she trusted him with her life.

Theora prompted Argos to sit on the bed, standing between his legs. He leaned his forehead against her stomach, a gesture that filled her with so much emotion she wanted to cry. She held his head in both hands, running her fingers through his hair.