Chapter 1 #2
He’ll have some idea of how to help us. How to fix this. He must.
Belatedly, I realize I could reach Aldrich in my mind if I wanted to. Anassa said we could reach all the Bonded now—and he’s Strategos pack anyway; I’m his Alpha. I don’t trust myself to communicate precisely at this moment, though.
Helene bows quickly and pivots, racing away from the dungeons. I watch her go, unsure if it’s the order from me or fear of my sister or the dismal surroundings that’s lending her such speed.
Grigore says something to Stark. He nods, braces, and lets go of Saela. My sister slams her bound fists against Stark’s chest, but he just winces and maneuvers her so that she can’t find any purchase.
Grigore yanks the cell door open with a screech, and Stark steps inside, lowering Saela onto a cot. He leaves her there still bound because removing her chains would risk lives.
Stark backs out of the cell, eyes warily trained on Saela as he moves. As soon as he’s out, Grigore slams the cell door shut again, grabbing the key to the door from a ring mounted on the wall opposite.
The sound of the key thudding the bolt into place echoes in my ears.
Saela fights to her feet and staggers over to the bars. Grigore jumps away as Saela throws her small body against them. Metal groans and clangs.
She slams herself against the bars again and again, and the sound yanks my heart from my chest. I wish I could hold her as I did when she was in the king’s prison.
But if I reached through, she’d rip into my arm and drain the blood from my veins.
“Stop,” I beg weakly, taking a half step forward. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Saela’s eyes are wild and frantic, darting to and fro. Never meeting mine, not even acknowledging that I’ve spoken to her.
The girl I love isn’t there at all.
Anassa’s warmth is at my back, and I let myself lean into her. Her heat settles over me. She keeps me upright when my legs grow weak.
By the time Aldrich finally appears, I feel separated from myself.
The older man surveys the scene in front of him, his bearded jaw momentarily dropping open in shock before he composes himself. What a sight we must be.
Especially me, still wearing a ridiculous fucking gown, a crown atop my head.
Aldrich opens his mouth to speak, but I step forward, reaching out a hand to stop him. Anassa helps me shore up the energy that I have left.
“How do I do this?” I ask her quickly. Somehow, she had been the one to share the memories with Helene and Grigore before, but I know I need to do this now.
“Find the river in your mind that connects you to the Bonded, and search for him among the Strategos pack. Form the connection with Aldrich alone, and ensure you focus on him, then push your memories toward him, as if placing them on a boat down current.”
I do as she says, and simultaneously reach my hand out again, laying it on his weathered forearm. His concerned eyes meet mine, and I have to look away to stop myself from breaking down. The skin contact helps solidify our mental connection. Then I focus and push my memories toward him.
My head instantly aches, and sweat starts to bead across my scalp from the strain.
But it works.
I grant him knowledge of my royalty, of the curse, of what’s been done to us.
How Alistair Brightbane stole the throne from my ancestors, how he’s used his line to stay in control all these centuries.
How a Siphon blood curse locked away the truth.
How Stark helped me uncover it all, and how Killian fled.
Leader Aldrich falls to his knees. His hands shake as he reaches for me wordlessly, taking my hand, pressing it to his forehead.
I swallow roughly. “Please stand. Please.” The words pour from me, pleading and pathetic. “Aldrich… this is my sister in the cell. We have to help her.”
Understanding dawns on his face, and his mouth twists in a mixture of pity and disgust. I have to look away.
“Surely there must be something we can do.” Even I can hear how desperate I sound. “Some way to fix this, to reverse it.”
I became Bonded, I became a queen to rescue her from the Nabbers—or from Killian and his father, it turned out. I’ll do anything for her.
It can’t have all been for nothing.
Aldrich doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, his eyes move to Stark. They linger there, and I’m not too lost in my grief to understand what that look means.
I know what they’re both thinking: They don’t believe we can reverse this.
“Please,” I beg again. “Tell me what to do.”
Aldrich swallows. He clasps his hands together, sympathy in his eyes. “The main thing that would help Saela is human blood. As much of it as possible. She has an unquenchable thirst, and if it’s not fulfilled soon, it will kill her.”
“Fine,” I say, gritting my teeth. “Then she’ll drink from me.”
Stark clicks his tongue in irritation. “Absolutely not. Saela can’t be trusted in this state not to drain you.”
And once more, hatred and disorienting gratitude mix within me.
“Maybe,” Aldrich says tentatively, “a large animal would suffice.”
I nod, desperate for anything we can try.
“Cratos and I will hunt. We will bring an elk for Saela,” Anassa tells me, and I shiver with relief.
“Let’s try that,” I respond. The wolves turn and sprint back the way we came, disappearing around the corner.
What’s next? My mind spirals through strings of logic to weave together a plan. What steps do I need to take to find a way out of this?
As a Strategos, my mind should be able to weave strategy easily. It’s one of the powers of our pack, after all. But right now, I’m too disoriented to even reach that part of myself.
Still, I know that controlling the narrative will be important.
I meet Leader Aldrich’s gaze. “Does anyone know yet that Killian has left?”
He shakes his head. “After you killed King Cyril, the nobles all fled back to their fiefdoms, but the Bonded are still here. They await their orders to the front. Only their new ruler can issue those commands, and they were expecting to hear from the young Valtiere in the morning.”
Morning. Oh goddess. It will be morning soon.
My body has been operating on adrenaline alone, and the sudden reminder that so much time has passed settles a heavy blanket of exhaustion over me. I rub my eyes, struggling to keep them open.
“I’ll…” I pause, trying to remember what I was going to say. “I’ll speak to everyone in the morning, then. You should get some rest.”
I don’t realize I’m tilting over until my foot snags on stone in a clumsy, futile attempt to catch myself. I thud into Stark’s chest, his calloused, tattooed hands closing around my arms.
His touch sears me back toward momentary wakefulness, and I push him off, blinking rapidly.
“Go to bed,” he says gruffly.
“Absolutely not.” I’m too tired to even glare. “I’m not leaving Saela’s side.”
Stark huffs and drags his hand through his hair. He marches past me, Aldrich and Helene trailing in his wake, and grumbles something that sounds an awful lot like “Stubborn woman.”
Saela has quieted down somewhat. She still thuds herself against the bars repeatedly, but she does it weakly now, her temple just barely tapping the iron. Her eyes settle on nothing, see nothing.
A few minutes later, a loud scraping sound jars me from my misery. Stark sets a sleeping pallet down on the dungeon floor. He swipes his hand over it to remove some dust, then pats it like he’s trying to convince me it’ll be comfortable.
I thud down onto it without argument, too weary to try to find something to fight him about. But I’m determined to stay awake to watch over Saela, so I lie on my side as Stark settles in beside me, back against the stone wall.
I can’t help it, though. My eyes are too heavy, and no matter how much I resist it, they close.
The familiar spiraling sensation of falling into a dream hits me. I open my eyes to try to stay awake.
But I’m not in the dungeons anymore.
I’m somewhere dark, a room of unending grays and shadows, with no floors or walls or ceilings. The shadows swirl around my feet like fog.
It’s too real to be a dream, and my breath catches in panic.
Turning, I look in every direction, but there’s nothing but the endless expanse.
“You’re finally here, my child,” says a deep, echoing, eerie male voice—the same voice that’s been speaking to me all along. The voice that told me to get the crown. Whose voice?
And where is it coming from? My gut churns; something is very wrong.
I whip around, looking for the source, but still nothing is there. The shadows trail upward like smoke. They drip downward like stalactites. I start to shiver.
Where am I, I open my mouth to ask, but no sound comes out.
“You’re here, but you’ve let open a door you cannot close… and so he’s here, too,” the voice tells me.
He’s angry with me, I can tell—whoever he is. A tremor of fear skitters through me.
The shadows start to swirl violently, spinning around me, closing in. The funnel of darkness tightens and tightens, until it starts to wrap around my throat and choke me.
I scream in my sleep and awake with a breathy gasp. My nails dig into the cot. I’m not sure how long I was out, but Anassa and Cratos must have returned and left again because there’s a dead elk in Saela’s cell.
And a gruesome sea of blood staining the stones.
My sister is asleep in a ball on the floor, her entire face and arms up to her elbows drenched in gore.
I swallow down the sobs as I sit up. Stark is still asleep, propped up against the wall, his head leaned against stone. It can’t be comfortable there.
Moving over, I kneel beside him. His thick, dark lashes twitch as he dreams. I reach out to touch him. Just to wake him, I tell myself.
But before I can, pain spikes through my head. I wince, my hand flying up to the spot of agony. It’s invasive, as if someone is slowly pressing a needle into my temple, deeper and deeper, inch by inch.
And once it’s lodged deep enough, I hear it.
Him.
“Good morning, Bonded,” Killian says.
I would recognize his voice anywhere. Once it whispered across the tender space of a pillow. It’s distorted now, but it’s still smooth and beautiful.
Somehow, even though he’s not Bonded, he’s accessing our silent river of communication. He’s communicating with me telepathically. What the actual fuck?
Stark’s eyes fly open immediately. The alarm on his face tells me he can hear it, too.
Killian’s voice speaks again in our heads.
“There is a usurper in your midst.”