17
Malik paced nearby, stress and anxiety a steady rhythm to the king’s steps. Alastair was crouched before her, rolling up his white sleeves, displaying marble-white arms, with tattoos winding flora and fauna across his skin. Sarim had moved next to Valine, clutching her hand in his, and saints his skin was hot. Was he running a fever? Or was Valine turning into a corpse already?
“I really fucking hope this works,” Alastair muttered as he pressed a hand to Sarim’s chest and the other to Valine’s. As he did so, he let his sapphire light leech into them.
Suddenly, that light that had felt so warm and buzzing before was hot and electrifying. Valine felt her spine arch up from the floor, a gasp releasing from her blood-crusted lips. The pain was exquisite. It was the worst agony she’d ever endured. She felt as if she were being flayed alive, that someone was peeling her skin back, layer by layer. She felt as if someone was carving her fingertips with a scalpel, over and over, quick and precise. Her blood was charged, like fire and starlight were racing through her, burning her out.
Sarim let out a low grunt, breath hissing through his teeth. Valine’s mouth opened in a silent scream, her heels digging into the dirt, her chest still arching to the heavens. She wondered if this would kill her, if dying were better than this torment. For a moment, she felt so weightless, and the euphoria struck her as odd, but before she could contemplate it further, the feeling of weight returned, and she slammed onto the ground. She felt as if thousand-pound chains were bearing her down. She didn’t think she could move.
And then she took a breath and it was fire and pain, but it was life.
Valine blinked rapidly; her breathing hitched. Sarim’s hand was still in hers, and she clutched it desperately. It was sweet relief when he squeezed her hand back. She wanted to laugh, and so she did.
“Valine?”
That voice. That daemons-damned voice. Valine turned her bloody gaze over to the king—her king—and found herself not filled with wrath as she should be but yearning.
“Hello, Your Majesty.” Her voice was wrecked, but her humor was not.
A delighted, wicked smile crossed Malik’s face, and he dropped to his knees before her, capturing her jaw in both hands, cupping it, and pressing his forehead to hers. He was safety, hope, and her future, and he didn’t care that she was covered in blood.
“I am so sorry, Valine. I didn’t know. I thought your magic would protect you. I was wrong, and I am so incredibly, deeply sorry for everything I put you through.”
Valine couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but the scent of black orchid and tobacco and cinnamon was so potent in her lungs, so heady in her mind, so hypnotizing to her soul, that she couldn’t fathom anything beyond the man—the king—kneeling before her.
“What happened to what you said about—”
“Fuck what I said,” he growled. “I was wrong, and next time you tell me an idea is mad, I will listen to you. This I vow.”
Her heart lodged in her throat. “Okay.”
Malik nodded and released her. Next, he turned to Sarim and took his forearm in his hand and brought Sarim into a hug. The embrace was emotion-filled and tension-wrought.
“I am so sorry, my friend,” Malik murmured into his shoulder. “I made an error, and I apologize. I never wanted to risk your life. I thought wrong, and the fault is mine. Do you forgive me?”
Sarim hesitated, pulling back, but he nodded, clapping Malik on the shoulder. “I forgive you, but I swear on all the saints and daemons, on Mrithun and Vitus themselves, that I will not forgive you if there is a next time. If you ever send us in blind with half a plan again—we are finished.”
Malik ducked his head. “I can accept that. And I thank you for keeping her alive, and for everything you did.”
Sarim nodded. It seemed words were beyond him, and ‘you’re welcome’ wasn’t enough.
“Alastair, can you tell Freyja to escort the prisoners this way?”
Alastair nodded and did, and suddenly, Freyja appeared with two death row prisoners being prodded before them. One was a pale-skinned, dark-eyed, and dark-haired female. The other was a tall, bearded man with bronze skin, brown eyes, and black hair. At a glance, they resembled both Sarim and Valine. Valine recognized them from their venture to the dungeons where they’d begun to plan the Luneth-Talloh plot.
Sarim and Valine were needed in Luneth but could not be spotted there as anyone but the crown princess and her bodyguard. It was why Malik had offered a form of freedom to the two prisoners. To be decoys, body doubles for Valine and Sarim in the carriage through the pass. That way, the two of them would be accounted for in Malik’s retinue at the checkpoint when they were not truly present. These two prisoners were their alibis.
Presented before the king, they both raised their chins in deference. Malik made a grand gesture to the gap in the pass. “There is your escape. If you wish for freedom, you must brave the Twilight Sands. If you survive it, you earn your life. If you don’t, you receive your sentence.” Malik’s voice was hard, his eyes cool. “I thank you for assisting your kingdom. May the saints and daemons give you the justice you deserve.”
And with that, Freyja pushed the two forward, out and into the Twilight Sands. Two more victims for the sand serpents to devour. Once they were two paces out, the two prisoners looked back, and Freyja waved with her fingers, before she twirled them and brought down the stone between them. Sealing up the gap in the Muravo Mountain Pass for good.