Page 15

AMETHYST

Just as it became unbearable to breathe, the world stopped spinning. I staggered as everything solidified at once. I had to shut my eyes to keep from being sick, my head throbbing with almost as much pain as the night before. Sloane’s knees gave out, and I fell on top of her, forcing us both into a wall.

No, not a wall. A set of gloved hands grabbed my elbows, steadying me, but I wrenched away from them, scrambling back even as I grabbed my sister. Large, cold raindrops pelted me, and I couldn’t help but shiver.

“The offerings,” the man said in an irritated, slightly disgusted tone.

“Thank you,” a low voice said from behind me. “You are free to return to your duties, Douglas.”

Wind whipped my hair before a low pop reverberated through my bones. I flinched away from the sound, grimacing as my head pounded even worse for a few heartbeats. Hands grabbed me again, more gentle than before, squeezing my elbows lightly like the person was trying to comfort me.

“He’s such a prick,” someone muttered. “They don’t even have their cloaks on.”

“You know he hates the Rite.” This voice was distinctly feminine.

The first person scoffed. “I think it’s a waste of time, too, but you don’t see me skirting the rules and risking the wrath of the Votarists.”

Votarists?

A droplet of rain hit my cheek, and I stopped caring about even more names I didn’t understand. I carefully eased my eyes open as I wiped away the raindrop. A roiling, gray-blue ocean stretched out in front of us, the waves choppy and capped in white. The sky was dark gray, darker than I’d expected even with the steady rainfall. It must be close to sunset, though it was difficult to tell with all the clouds.

The hands on my elbows fell away, and the person stepped around me. His hair was cut to his ears, the dark brown standing in stark contrast to his pale skin and green eyes. He turned, glancing over his shoulder, and his hair shifted, revealing rounded ears that had the same arcing scar as the guard.

Definitely an intentional mark of some kind. For some reason, I was reminded of the large piercing worn by bondservants in Ancient Rome.

I dropped my gaze before he caught me staring.

Two large swords were strapped to his back, and more sheaths hung around his hips. His chest was covered in a dark metal that didn’t reflect any of the dreary sunlight. His eyes grew cold as he took in the man that had spoken.

“Watch your mouth, Drake,” he said in a voice that cut like glass, “before the King hears you.”

“Or the Crown Prince,” someone else quipped.

The original man laughed. I turned toward him, clutching my cloak tighter even as I tried to keep myself between the armed man and Sloane. Another droplet of rain hit my cheek, and I flinched.

This man had black hair and the palest skin I’d ever seen—even paler than my own cool-toned complexion that often reflected blue from the veins just under the surface that were typically visible in the sun. His eyes were the same bright red as Lillian’s, and he had the same amount of weapons as the other man. In fact, every single person near us was dressed identically, down to the mass of swords and knives strapped to their hips and thighs.

Fear rose so swift in me, it stole my breath.

Even if we managed to break free of their hold, they’d be able to kill us with little effort.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Drake said, entirely unrepentant. “Luckily, though, the King isn’t here, and the Crown Prince isn’t allowed in this part of the camp for the rest of the night.”

Sloane shivered next to me. Without thinking, I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

“Valyn help me,” the first person groaned. Drake only grinned.

Part of me wanted to ask just exactly who Valyn was since no one seemed quick to respond to the request, but Sloane shivered again and leaned into me. I tightened my hold on her even as the rain fell harder than a moment ago.

“Here, let’s get you ladies in those cloaks before you get any more soaked,” a woman’s soft voice filtered over the chorus of laughs. “The Votarists are going to be here any minute, and they won’t appreciate if you’re shivering from the cold.”

This woman was tall, taller than Sloane and me and even the first man with the scarred ear. She was nearly as tall as the one they called Drake, and her eyes were the same bright red. Her hair was styled similarly to Drake’s, pulled back at the nape of her neck. Her hips were bare of extra weapons, but hilts ran down both sides of her ribs, blending with the dark material of her armor. As she offered a quick smile, small, dainty fangs flashed in the dim light.

Sloane gasped. The woman didn’t seem to notice.

When she reached for me, I jerked away, entirely unnerved. Her eyebrow slowly rose.

“Gods, they’re skittish,” the serious one complained. “Looks like Douglas didn’t explain anything to them.”