55. Dimitri
55
DIMITRI
S erpentine fear slithered through him, sending his nerves on edge and making it almost impossible to stand still. But Dimitri had a role to play. So, like a statue, he stood at the fringes of the hall behind Saradon, not letting the chasing trepidation take him—or allowing Harper to see him. He lurked beyond her perception behind a column. It cut him to see her, but he knew that all would be lost if she saw him, for she was painfully transparent to a flaw. She was in no true danger, whether she knew that or not—yet. He would intervene if that threatened. His own skin be damned, Dimitri knew he would not hesitate if it came to it.
Harper and her companions lay upon the floor, bound where Saradon had restrained them with invisible bonds of magic after the hulking Aerian and the feisty nomad had tried to attack him. Dimitri knew it would have been fruitless. It irked him. Were they so ignorant as to believe such folly had any chance of success? They should have protected themselves better—protected her better. He despised them for placing Harper in more danger. Yet he could not miss the desperate glint in their eyes. They knew what they faced, but it was not within them to die anything other than a warrior’s death. He respected them for that, as futile as it was. They were better, braver, nobler individuals than he.
Not like me. Skulking in the shadows, playing games of intrigue and deception. Coward.
He shut down that critical voice without mercy. He could not afford to falter—if he broke now, he would endanger her, and he found himself caring for that as much as saving his own skin. He knew Saradon’s intentions, but he could do nothing as Saradon advanced on Harper, raising her with his magic so she hovered before him, though she could not move a muscle. Harper glared at Saradon with defiance—a brittle mask over the fear Dimitri sensed lurking beneath. Pride and respect soared in Dimitri, that she could somehow scrape together bravery in such a moment, but all the same, his nails bit into his palm as he fought the urge to interfere.
“I will have the truth, girl,” threatened Saradon. “Better that it be what I seek, for if not, none of you are any use to me.”
Harper went rigid, her muscles cording, eyes bulging, and nostrils flaring, as Saradon dove into her mind. Dimitri stiffened, barely stopping himself from taking a step toward them, from raising his own powers against Saradon. Partly in defence of Harper. Partly because he feared what Saradon would see in her mind of him. Of them . He held himself ready—to attack, to flee, to react in whatever way he needed to.
After several moments, Saradon laughed delightedly. “It is as I suspected! She is my kin!” He whirled on Dimitri, baring his teeth in a wild grin.
Dimitri gave him a tight-lipped smile in return, relieved that Saradon had not seen anything to incriminate him. Yet.
“I have seen. She holds a vision of it from the dwarven hag seer. This girl is my heir.”
Dimitri wanted to crumble—now Harper was in danger, as the sole focus of Saradon’s attention. Now, Dimitri dreaded that he would not be able to protect her.