Chapter 41
Forty-One
SENAN
That fucking bastard.
Windell is lucky he’s walking so far ahead; otherwise, I’d bash his head into the stone wall. I should’ve killed him the moment he mentioned Allette.
Every few steps, he glances over his shoulder with a sneer, and if I were quick enough, I’d steal Bell’s sword and run the prick straight through. Hell, I’d love to kill them both.
So many innocent people are dead because of me. When I saw them grab Dahlia, I knew I couldn’t hide anymore.
Now I’m being frog-marched out of the burrows, my eyes burning from the smoke pouring through broken windows, consuming peaceful homes. The people who wail at the cavern’s entrance aren’t pretending anymore.
The guards look as if they cut and burned their way into the underground paradise even though I’d bet none of the dead Tuath put up a fight. How could they? They have no weapons.
The man who sold me oranges lies next to the carpenter who made the swords, their limbs akimbo, staring up at the ceiling through sightless eyes. Such senseless violence all because of me. At least Bell and Windell don’t know Allette still lives. I only hope it stays that way.
My former guard lifts me into his arms like a damsel in distress.
I’m in distress all right.
“Just like old times,” I quip, racking my brain for some way to escape. But even if I manage to, I cannot come back here for fear of leading them straight to my girl or the Tuath hiding in the back cavern, their skin almost as tanned as the guards’.
Eason’s eyes narrow and he tugs down his mask, his smile beneath a vile twist of his lips. When his glamour drops, his gray wings spread wide from his back and we take to the skies.
“What? No, ‘Welcome home, Senan. I’ve missed you?’ No hug?” Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll drop me. Not that I have a hope of surviving a fall from this height, but at least it would be better than whatever fate my dear brother has in store for me.
No words pass Bell’s tight lips, but his working jaw proves he heard me over the roaring wind.
The clouds seem heavier as we pass through them, the familiar sweet smell more pungent than I remember. I hope the Tuath will continue to find ways to rise above them. That they’ll reclaim the power that has been hidden from them for so long. That they’ll fight for the life they deserve.
And Allette…
I only wish we left on better terms. I’ve been avoiding her since our conversation about me becoming the next king. Not that any of it matters now. Once Boris gets hold of me, I won’t be anything.
In no time at all, the castle comes into view.
Part of me wondered if they’d bring me straight to the pit. Unfortunately, it looks like I’ll be paying my brother a visit before passing beyond the veil.
Boris waits on the balcony outside his office, his hands resting on the balustrade and eyes blazing with fury. Bilson stands at the door, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Hello, brother,” Boris says with a victorious smile.
I straighten my shirt to keep my bound hands from bunching into fists. From letting him know how desperate I am to flee. “Fuck you.”
“Is that any way to greet your king?” The chiding way he clicks his tongue makes me want to cut it off. “It’s been far too long. I’m surprised you aren’t happier to see me.”
“After you sawed off my wings and threw me into the portal?” What a fucking joke. What I wouldn’t give to throw this chain around his arrogant neck and twist until all the air left his body and he died on this floor.
Actually, no.
That’s too quick a death for him.
I want to watch ravens pluck out his eyeballs, see his entrails spilled and then burned while he remains conscious. To see the life fade from his eyes as I regale him with exactly how much darkness lives within me.
Darkness he sowed.
Boris sniffs, flattening a hand over his collar. “Ah, yes. That. Well, it is unfortunate, but all’s well that ends well.” He snaps his fingers, and a maid slips through the door, head to toe in white, brandishing a golden tray of drinks. “Champagne?”
As if I’d take a glass of what is more than likely drugged champagne. “Pass.”
Boris picks one up by the stem, turning the glass between his fingers. “Do you not wish to celebrate the good news? Oh, wait. You might not have heard. Thanks to your little shenanigans with the princess, our baby brother was kidnapped by the Nimbiss minister. Can you believe that?”
We both know that what happened with Leeri wasn’t my fault, but there’s no sense correcting him.
“Thankfully, Prince Kyffin was returned—along with annulment paperwork from Nimbiss Castle.” He stares into the bubbling golden liquid, a frown tugging at his lips. “Such a pity. The two of you made quite the match.”
His throat bobs when he takes a sip, and all I can think about is dragging a blade across his gullet the way Bell killed Dahlia’s father. Boris finishes the drink and returns it to the tray, sending the servant away with a wave of his hand.
“Oh, Bilson?”
My former guard steps forward, chin held high, and gaze fixed to mine. “Sire?”
Boris rips his dagger from its scabbard, whirls, and carves the blade across Bilson’s throat. Blood sprays from the gash, and he crumples to the marble. None of the other guards move a fucking muscle.
Boris plucks a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing the blood from his face and hands, then cleaning his blade before letting the stained cloth fall into the puddle of blood. “Do you remember when I asked what happened to my brother, and you swore you burned his body?” He digs his boot into Bilson’s ribs, and Bilson lets out one final watery gurgle. “I think that might have been a lie.” Boris turns to the rest of his men. “Let this be a lesson to all of you. Betrayal will not be tolerated.”
Bilson’s gaze meets mine once more before his eyes fall closed forever.
I’m sorry, my friend.
He put his life in jeopardy to save mine—and for what? To be murdered in cold blood a few weeks later?
Boris steps over my guard’s fallen form, waving for me to follow. “Let’s go inside, shall we?”
Bell shoves between my shoulder blades, and I stumble forward, somehow managing to move my leaden limbs.
The brightness inside Boris’s office belies the darkness lurking within the king’s soul. Familiar shelves rise toward the ceiling, the golden text adorning the spines glinting. In the corner stands an ornate cage that wasn’t there the last time I came into this room.
Dread tightens like a noose around my neck as Boris withdraws a key from the desk’s top drawer and fits it into the cage’s lock.
The hinges creak as he swings the door open with a gallant bow. “Go on. In you go. Can’t have you flying off on me again.” He snorts.
Shame burns through me as I duck beneath the bars, what’s left of my wings aching from his cruel joke. When I go to turn, my arm bumps against the bars, and my skin burns like the fires of the sun.
Boris kicks the door closed, locking it once more. “Fine workmanship, isn’t it? Made by the kingdom’s finest craftsmen.” His lips twist. “I borrowed it from someone who no longer had any need for it.”
I don’t give a shite where he got the fucking cage. “What do you want from me?” If he wanted me dead, I’d be lying on the balcony next to Bilson. If he wanted me punished, he would’ve sent me to the pit.
Boris’s dark brows climb his forehead. “From you? Oh, nothing. Not anymore at least. No, you have proven yourself quite useless.”
“Then why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?”
His eyes narrow but his smile remains, twisted and vicious. “Make no mistake, you will die. But after your little foray into the burrows, too many people have seen you of late. Meaning we must do this the correct way, with trials and such. Must appease my people, you see. Although, I doubt any of them will be too sad to see you go.”
At least this gives me some time to escape. And I will escape.
Boris practically skips over to his desk, returning the key to the top drawer. Fool . His own arrogance will be his downfall. All I have to do is convince a servant to retrieve it for me. As far as I know, my blood will still give me access to the wards, and I can slip through the servants’ caverns once more.
“Before I forget, I have a gift for you.” Sauntering back toward the cage, Boris unsheathes his dagger. I retreat until I have nowhere else to go. Unfortunately, it’s not far enough. A terrible hiss screams through the air when he thrusts his blade between the bars, tearing through my shirt and skin. The explosion of pain sends me to my knees. Blood gushes from the wound, soaking my shirt and trousers, pooling on the white marble floor.
From his pocket, Boris withdraws a glowing vial of stardust. I’m in too much agony to fight as he thumbs off the cork and dumps the contents over my wounds.
Heat replaces the cold, racing through my bloodstream toward my thundering heart. I don’t need to ask to know if the vial was poisoned. I can feel each drop stealing away the life the antidote returned to me.
My head spins, and the last thing I see before my eyes close are the king’s shiny boots as he turns and walks away.