Page 10

Lately, Cedric Thorne barely felt anything at all, save for the unfettered embers of rage constantly smoldering in his chest—a furious fire that was getting harder to contain the longer this went on.

The longer it took to find her.

It was only the feel of the bond, the tether wrapped around his ribs, that maintained any semblance of his sanity. Even without being able to sense where that tether ended anymore.

Even without being able to feel her on the other end of it.

The fact that it was there at all was what Cedric clung to.

It was what drove his fist forward into the sanguinagi’s face once more, the man’s nose crunching like dry bark under Cedric’s fist.

A small, shocked noise escaped the man, blood pouring from each nostril, a river of red filling the line between his lips, the gaps between his teeth.

“Think maybe he’s had enough, Ric?” Tristan’s voice was laced with humor as he came up behind Cedric, like the knight did not particularly want Cedric to stop, but common sense suggested it was time to do so anyway. “You might consider leaving him a few of his teeth, at least, just in case his conscience finally wakes up and he changes his mind about talking.”

“Consciences are rather hard to come by in the Cult of Malakar, I would imagine,” drawled Tenebris Nox from the wall to Cedric’s right, their crimson-black eyes still trained on the man’s wrists, bound to either side of the wooden chair he was sitting in. “Regardless,” they continued, “I do not believe this man is capable of revealing anything more than he already has.”

Cedric stilled, his fist halting in midair. “He has told us nothing.”

“Be-because I don’t know anything. Neither of us does,” groaned the man, spitting blood onto the hay-strewn floor of the abandoned storage hut they’d come across. A convenient interrogation chamber.

Red splattered across the boots of the cultist’s companion, unconscious beside him.

“How many times do I have to tell you that we aren’t part of the Cult? We have nothing to do with that!”

The room erupted with laughter.

“Sure ye don’t, laddie.” From Cedric’s other side, Thraigg Ironfist dragged a hand down his braided beard with a chuckle. “That certainly wasn’t a blood ritual we walked in on you two performing in the forest outside the village.”

“And you definitely didn’t try to run the instant we came upon you,” added Tristan. “You’re just a pair of utterly innocent humans who happened to wander all the way across both Chasms to set up shop here in Daeglen, is that right?”

“You’re one to talk, sir.” The man swiveled his head toward Tristan, his swollen eyes going from the knight’s skeptical expression to the rounded tips of his ears. “And anyway, humans aren’t illegal in Nyrundelle.”

“No, they certainly aren’t.” Kit launched herself off the wall she’d been leaning against and blew a lock of silver hair from her eyes. “Never have been. Humans are the ones who made the choice long ago to stay out of our lands—as well as to make Arcanians merely stepping foot in Havensreach a jailable offense.”

“Prior to the accords,” offered Tristan with a contrite shrug.

“Prior to the accords,” Kit repeated with a nod. “Still doesn’t mean we welcome blood mages here. Especially not ones who follow him.”

“But that does not describe you, correct?” With a feline tilt of their head, Nox took several graceful steps forward. The man sucked in a breath through his teeth when the nocterrian bent down, pulling at the sleeve of one of the man’s bound wrists to reveal row after row of thin, even scars peppering the skin of his forearm. “Clearly, we must have been mistaken.”

From the far corner of the room, Zephyr let out a quiet giggle, then quickly clapped a hand over her mouth like she couldn’t believe she’d made a sound. An amused yowl echoed from beside her when Sid lifted her small head to butt it against the sylvan’s knees before going back to playing with the laces of her boots.

Cedric shook off the dread lancing through his chest as he observed the playful shadowcat, her continued regression in size an alarming reminder that they were surely running out of time. His heart seized at the thought of waking up one day and Sid being gone entirely, the tether in Cedric’s chest having disappeared with her. Was he witnessing the erasure of his love—his entire life—in real time?

“I will give you one final chance to tell us where we can find your master.” The furnace inside Cedric was lit, rumbling. Steaming blood dripped from his split knuckles as he clenched and unclenched his fist. “Tell us where Malakar is.”

The man pressed his lips into a hard line. “As I’ve said, I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

Red edged in at the corners of Cedric’s vision. Heat flooded his veins. How many more lies was he to endure? How much more of this, the gaping hole in his heart caused by Elyria’s absence, by the thoughts of what could be happening to her right now, could he take before he combusted in earnest?

How long before he took down the entire realm with him?

After so many weeks on the road, so much fruitless searching, coming across these cultists brazenly performing blood magic had felt like a gift from the celestials themselves. There had been no coherent thoughts in Cedric’s head when he’d descended upon the fleeing pair, knocking the first one out with a single gauntlet-clad punch to the head.

That the storage hut had been nearby was another gift. Cedric hadn’t even bothered hiding his desperation at the chance to finally get some answers, to finally face some of the miscreants who did Varyth Malchior’s—and now Malakar’s—bidding.

He was, after all, nothing but a man desperate now. Especially after the disappointments they’d faced upon their return visit to Elderglade.