CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN #2
Blount turned to Obel for confirmation. The duke raised his dark brow in an unconcerned manner. “We searched them thoroughly,” he promised. “None of them have it.”
Blount hummed, disappointed. “Very well,” he said. “We’ll find the Keep after the ceremony.”
Evylin hesitated at the term, uncertain of what ceremony to which he referred, but Blount kept speaking. “Well now,” he surveyed the troop, “it isn’t every day you get such a grand reception from your enemies. Shall we officially meet one another? I love making new friends.”
He stepped up to Deckard first. “You’re the illustrious Colonel Deckard, I take it. You have a beautiful wife.”
“I’m aware,” Deckard said calmly.
“It’s a pity that you’re so mundane,” Blount said with a flippant scan of Deckard. “You don’t deserve her.”
“No man could.”
A wry grin lifted Evylin’s lips. He would find a way to compliment her in a situation such as this.
Blount chuckled, the sound light. He returned to Evylin’s side, eyes on Deckard even as he slid his hand over Evylin’s shoulder and up her neck. To her disappointment, a rush of magic raced along her skin. “On the contrary,” he said. “She’ll find I’m quite her equal.”
Deckard’s eyes met hers knowingly. She could sense his annoyance as well as his security. But he was unexpectedly calm, given their situation. The dread of his entrance had shifted, lightening to mild uncertainty.
His eyes, shifting more green than blue, returned to Blount’s face. “I’d advise you to get your hands off my wife,” he said, his tone ice-cold.
“You’re not in a position to threaten anyone, Colonel.” Blount’s smile remained. “She’ll be your widow soon enough. Let’s not rush it, shall we?”
Blount’s hand slid down her back before he shoved her toward Obel. “Keep a close eye on her,” he charged.
Obel’s hands clamped around Evylin’s arm, holding her at his side.
Blount stepped up to Vayden then. He scanned his near twin. Side by side, it was easier to see their differences. They weren’t so impossibly identical as on their own.
“And who is this?” Blount asked.
“Vayden Calder,” Obel said. “The spy I told you about.”
Blount smirked at the name. “Oh, yes. My half-brother, and—” He looked at Ilain, awareness dawning on his face. “Yours. Where’s your other brother?”
Ilain’s jaw twitched, and Vayden swallowed, crestfallen.
“Ah,” Blount said. “How did he go?”
“The Terrae Keep,” Ilain replied weakly.
“Unfortunate,” Blount remarked. “I had hoped to have my revenge against him. Oh, well.” He patted Vayden’s chest. “I suppose killing you in front of her will be justice enough.” A nod of his head indicated Ilain.
Then he turned to Isla. “Darling Freye.”
“Buttercup,” Isla replied, mocking his snide mannerism.
Rafferty snorted as Blount pursed his lips. “When did you hear that?” he demanded.
“Oriane was not quiet during copulation,” Isla said.
That earned a full-on chortle from Rafferty.
“Always clever,” Blount said, eyes burning with malevolence. He took her face in his hands, drawing her closer even as he towered over her. Vayden tensed, but Isla didn’t so much as flinch. “I liked you once.”
“I remember,” Isla said.
“Do you also remember what you said to me?”
“‘I prefer non-magical men,’” she said. “It wasn’t a lie.”
“You said you like to subjugate them.”
“That was a lie.”
“Along with so many other things, I’m sure.” Blount drew her face toward his, forcing her a step closer. “I don’t mind that you rejected me, Islaren. It’s your betrayal I can’t stand. Despite your rebuff, I trusted you. I kept you in my confidence, called you a friend.”
“You don’t have friends,” Isla said. “You have playthings. Vassals. Slaves. You use them up and throw them away when they displease you, just like Oriane.”
His gaze hardened, though his thumbs brushed gently across her cheeks. “If you wished to be free of my service, darling Freye, all you had to do was say the word.”
“No,” Vayden murmured just before Blount tightened his grip on Isla.
Isla’s eyes flashed toward her husband as Blount brought his mouth to hers.
But it wasn’t a kiss of passion or affection.
It was a magical inhale that swept Isla’s body of air.
Her figure jerked, going rigid. Vayden and Ilain cried out in alarm, yanking on their guards’ holds.
But the men held them back, keeping them from rushing Blount.
Almost as soon as it began, Blount pulled away. Evylin swore she could see a shimmer of wind drift between their lips as the Wind Relic glowed brightly on his chest. Then he let her drop.
Isla hit the floor with a sickening thump.
Evylin gaped at her still body, uncomprehending of what had just occurred.
“Isla!” Vayden wept, ripping himself violently from the arms of his captors. He fell to the marble in his attempt to get to her side. Blount held up a hand to halt his men when they moved to hold him back.
With no sign of emotion, Blount watched as Vayden scrambled to his wife’s side. He pulled her onto his lap, his shackled hands fumbling to clutch her to his chest.
Looking down at the couple, Rafferty paled. “Is she . . . ?”
“Dead?” Blount asked, watching his half-brother’s grief with something like morbid fascination. “Yes.”
Evylin’s heart broke, seeing Vayden sob over his wife’s limp form. She thought of their daughter, Reyana, who would never see her mother again. Tears came to her eyes as she looked at Ilain, who wept silently as well. She’d lost her brother, and now she’d lost a sister as well.
It wasn’t right. The Calder family had lost too much. They’d sacrificed far too much. And in the blink of an eye, Isla was taken from them too.
Bored by the dramatics, Blount moved on to Brea. The woman stared down at her dead friend, lips parted and body trembling. But she met Blount’s gaze with fierce, dry eyes.
“And who are you?” he asked.
Though Obel started to introduce her, Brea spoke over him. “My name is Breata Lohen. You just killed my best and oldest friend. So I think it is only fair that I kill you.”
Blount grinned with amusement. “Traitors don’t deserve life.”
“Tyrants don’t deserve life either.”
With a grunt, Blount reached out to grab her face. Brea whacked his hand away with her fists, the shackles jingling with the movement. “You touch me,” she hissed, “and I’ll drive my sharpest dagger up your cúos.”
Blount’s eyes glinted, suddenly fascinated. “Ah, you’re a Warrior,” he said with awe.
Brea didn’t reply.
“Good.” Blount moved to Ethenn then. “You’re Ephrian, obviously,” he said, dismissing him. But then he paused, studying him. His feet shifted as he glanced back at Evylin and Brea in turn.
He faced Ethenn again. “Surely not. Another Warrior?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Ethenn said blandly.
Blount chuckled, gleeful. “Well, this is splendid fun,” he said. “I’ll enjoy dissecting you at a later time. I’ve always been interested in discovering what fuels a Warrior’s magic. You aren’t connected to the resources, and yet you’re so powerful.”
“What makes you think he’s a Warrior?” Rafferty asked. “After all, the kid’s just got a funny look to him. There’s not really anything magical about that.”
Ethenn glared at his friend, but Obel said, “Rouland has studied magic thoroughly over his lifetime. While Warriors are vastly rare these days, he’s managed to discover their tells. Their aura is chief among them. You become accustomed to it long enough, and you can sense it readily.”
Blount had moved from Ethenn’s side, crossing to Ilain, who was still crying, watching her brother cling to her dead sister-in-law. “Highlady Calder,” Blount called.
When Ilain didn’t respond, he slapped her across the face.
Ethenn clenched his fists, but the five guards holding him kept him from moving.
Ilain met Blount’s gaze then, a hand pressed to her red cheek. “Yes, Your Majesty?” she said with marked contempt.
“I have need of your services,” Blount said. He beckoned to her. “Come with me.”
Led by her guards, Ilain walked behind Blount. He strode across the marble to Evylin. He gripped her wrist, yanking her from Obel.
Prepared, Evylin leaned into the force of Blount’s pull, crashing into him and driving him back.
It caused him to stumble, so Evylin slipped her foot out to trip him.
Then she swept her clasped hands up into his jaw, making contact with a sharp smack.
He grunted and released her, stumbling backward from the force of her blow.
Freed, Evylin darted toward Deckard. If she could get to him, she could break him free of his captors, get one of their weapons, and together, they could rescue their friends.
An amethyst shadow slammed into Evylin’s back, sending her careening to the floor. She hit the tiles hard but used the momentum to roll to Deckard’s side. She scrambled to rise, only for a foot to land on her chest.
“I wouldn’t,” Blount said, standing over her. His boot pressed violently against her sternum, making it hard to breathe.
Evylin’s eyes darted to Deckard’s, so close by. A wave of sorrow passed through the air between them. “We’ll be all right,” he whispered tenderly.
He was such a splendid liar. But this time, Evylin struggled to believe him.
The guards had pressed all their friends to their knees, knives at their throats.
Vayden still wept, Isla’s body beside him.
Thom knelt at Deckard’s side, fear in his gray-blue gaze.
Rafferty and Ethenn were next, Brea at the far side.
All of them stared helplessly as Blount pulled Evylin to her feet.
“Now . . .” Blount gestured to the guard holding Deckard. The soldier took his knife and drove it into Deckard’s shoulder.
Deckard grimaced, a deep grunt eliciting from him.
Evylin felt the blade as though it had stabbed her own shoulder, a fire racing through her arm. Was that part of the Bond? She’d not experienced Deckard’s physical pain before.
Still, her husband held her gaze steadily until Blount forced her eyes to him.