Chapter 4 #2
“He was shot,” I bit out, my fingers itching with the urge to grab a vial and smash it in Odele’s face. I resisted the compulsion, driving the knife at her to satisfy Cleodora’s command, but she was clearly expecting it because she kicked out and swept my legs from under me.
I landed hard on the floor with a bark of pain that filled my bond with rage for a split second. I felt Kier gain strength from it, then he approached. But the other princes were more important, the clear threat.
“Why?” he demanded, so close behind me that all the fine hairs stood on the back of my neck. “Why, Zaba?”
“She’s compelled,” Odele whispered, keeping her voice low.
Relief made me weak; sensing a slip, she knocked the knife from my grip, kicking it across the flagstones of the square.
Finally, the truth was revealed. Finally, they knew.
But on the heels of relief came fear so cold it burned.
I held my breath, the pain, the fear so deep, so strong that for a moment I didn’t itch to kill Odele.
Here it was, the moment where Kier would look at me and curl his lip and spit on my name, exiling me again. In goblin form once more.
I squeezed my eyes shut, hot tears burning my eyes before they slid down my cheek.
Unconsciousness surged, like it had been eagerly waiting for me to close my eyes.
Wait. The vial she made me swallow…
Kill them all, Cleodora commanded.
My breath hitched.
“Disarm—” I began to warn them, my fingers already wrapped around a vial. Rough fingers ripped it out of my hand, and relief scythed through my chest. But I simply grabbed at another vial, my hands beginning to tremble when I uncapped the top.
Enough talking, Cleodora commented, the sweetness of her voice like poison. I flinched, my lips slamming shut.
Odele drove the butt of her knife into my wrist, forcing my fingers open, my weapon clattering to the ground.
Her hand clamped around my wrist in an ironclad grip, pinning it to the floor at the same time Kier leaned over me, blood pouring from his shoulder as he grabbed my other arm and slammed it against the ground.
“Who?” Kier growled, rage in his dark blue eyes as he stared into my face, pure wrath and murder written on that blue face. Exactly as it was the day he exiled me. He bared sharp, needle-thin teeth and something in my soul crumpled. “Who did this, Zaba?”
I choked on my attempt to speak, panic quickening my heart, warnings prickling the back of my neck. Valour screeched, and Baby… Baby was quiet. Too quiet. What the hell did Jyrard do?
Fog gathered and roiled around us, and I tasted rage amid the ether, blood within the mist.
“Rook,” Kier growled in a deep, rumbling voice that made my ribcage shake.
Muscles flexed on every part of him, his shoulders broader, thighs thicker, every inch of him honed for death.
Long, razor-sharp claws tipped his blue fingers, the rings on them flashing with sapphire and azure, promising a swift, painful end.
I held my breath and waited for them to be unleashed upon me, Cleodora’s command like a whip cracking against my skin, making me struggle, frantic to hurt him, hurt everyone, kill everyone.
Kill them all.
I arched my back and surged up when Kier’s fingers uncoiled from my arm, but Rook’s unyielding grip replaced it, concern creasing his dark brow as he looked down at me.
“She brought us into a trap?” he asked, disbelief thick in his voice.
Kier rose to his feet, all seven feet of lethal grace and magic designed to rip souls from bodies. Even as my stomach roiled, even as my soul withered, I was so proud to call him my mate. For however long I was allowed to.
“Letta wouldn’t do that.”
“No,” Kier agreed in a voice like the dark god’s. “She wouldn’t. Jyrard! End this!”
He moved out of my sight and panic erupted through my veins. I struggled harder, instinct clashing with my command to kill him.
Baby? I screamed, trying to reach my feline, but only silence answered me. My body was full of power, but Valour was collared and Baby was weak, and all my attempts to fight off Odele and Rook failed. Then somewhere across the square, a man began to scream.
Kier, I mouthed, Cleodora’s hooks refusing to let me speak.
I fought, twisting my body enough to get my hand free of Odele’s hold, the cool hilt of a throwing knife meeting my palm.
Goosebumps rose on my arms, my whole body screaming a warning, but I whipped my arm up, twisted my torso, and had a split second to assess the chaos in the square—Xiona, Talon, and Kier were surrounded by a blaze of sapphire magic.
Kier’s dragon, I realised, weaving between them, driving Jyrard back as he struck with a massive greatsword, his eyes fixed on my husband.
He wanted him dead, I saw it in that split-second glance, and my heart turned to stone.
I flicked my wrist and sent the small knife flying end over end, spearing across the square to sink into Jyrard’s throat.
Kill them all, Cleodora had ordered. She hadn’t specified I should leave the other princes alive.
Before she could drip more poison into my mind from wherever she watched this like a vulture, I sent another knife flying through the air.
It nicked Jyrard’s hamstring and forced his leg to buckle right as Kier’s dragon sank its teeth into his shoulder, driving him to the ground.
Valour snarled, finally ripping herself free of the sapphire rope and sinking her claws into his arm, but not before Jyrard tore out the throwing knife in his throat.
He wasn’t affected by the vial I smashed against him earlier, and now watching him pull the knife from his throat, there was no doubt that there was something unnatural about him.
And the fact that Cleodora had drawn us here into a trap for the Bluescale princes… they were working together, but did the princes have the same compulsion magic? Something worse? Something that meant the madflower had no impact, and even a knife to the throat did nothing.
I reached for another knife, conscious of the fact Odele was allowing me to, that she’d figured out I was controlled, but my fingers responded sluggishly.
Shit. My next blink was slower, my lashes clinging, reluctant to part.
The vial I took wasn’t madflower; I’d know by now if it was. Which meant it was sleeproot.
Even as I struggled for another knife, my eyelids grew heavy. I had some resistance to sleeproot, but I’d taken a concentrated dose. I had to make my last few minutes of consciousness count, before I woke up in a jail cell.
Enough, Cleodora snapped.
In my last few seconds, I grabbed every last vial and flung them across the square, far from reach so she couldn’t make me dose Rook or Odele. Weirdly, the spy was growing on me. Like a mould.
Kill Kier and his allies. If you harm Jyrard or Corvyr again, kill yourself.
Ice hit my blood and I froze. Judging by Kier’s sudden roar, he felt my fear and was enraged. That was positive, right? Maybe he wouldn’t hate me and exile me this time.
Who are you kidding? Cleodora laughed. Your marriage is done, Zaba.
Don’t call me that, I snarled.
After today, I’ll be the only one left who calls you that name.
I tried to shove her out, tried to block out that smug voice, but I couldn’t find even a trace of her in my mind.
There was no invasion, no hidden presence, no slow slide of oil, no sheen of poison or spear driven into my brain.
It was as if she wasn’t there at all. And yet her laughter echoed around my skull.
A roar built, powerful enough that sound ripped through her command. I screamed as I tore away from Odele and stumbled to my feet. The sleeproot pressed on me like a weighted blanket, but I had just enough anger to draw another knife, though Rook held onto me hard enough to bruise my forearm.
“Oh, what the fuck?” Rook muttered, yanking me closer as we watched Jyrard adjust his grip on my throwing knife. “Kier, shield!”
“Already am,” Kier yelled back, flanked by Talon, Xiona, and three Bluescale guards decked out in dark blue leather.
I wobbled forward a step, my head starting to spin, the sleeproot kicking in, but I had to protect Kier.
I couldn’t let his brother hurt him again, and I couldn’t stop feeling that fear across the bond—the trauma, the memories haunting him.
The fog began to writhe higher, blue light glowing from a ring on Kier’s blue hand, but his magic was no comfort at all when Jyrard lunged with the dagger—
At Corvyr, where the squat prince stood in one place, shaking his head over and over as the madroot got to him.
He was murmuring under his breath, too low for me to hear, but whatever he said made Jyrard laugh in the split second before he drove my knife into his own brother's ribs. I recognised that angle even as my eyes blurred, and knew it would pierce Corvyr’s heart.
“Don’t!” Kier yelled, storming forward, the fog a living thing around him.
Do you know how to kill a goblin royal? Cleodora asked in a silken slide. The knowledge was hidden in a book lost to goblins for hundreds of years, but my delightful humans found it.
I remembered Farrang saying something about a way to kill Kier. I ripped at Rook’s grip on my arm, drawing another knife, frantic to get to Kier. This war, Cleodora’s compulsion, the rebels, it was all about killing Kier.
And killing you, don’t forget that little tidbit.
I flinched at the confirmation and Rook gave me a confused stare as I fought to get free of him, wrenching on my arm so hard it threatened to leave its socket, my teeth gritted against the ache. Her commands clashed with my own instincts until all I knew was I had to get free.
I won’t let you kill him, I snarled at Cleodora, trying and failing to find where she forced her way into my mind. It was like she’d always been here, like she was a part of me.
Kier, I tried to scream, but my mouth refused to form a sound.