Chapter 22 #2
Outside, the night smells of rebellion and rain.
I press my hand against my chest, where my own heart struggles to beat evenly. The rhythm is wrong, too fast. Fuck, it has been so long since I have been in battle as a whole man, with my heart so broken.
I think of all the things that I want to show her now that I almost had her. I need to bring her to her dragon. I need her to see me whole. I want to do so much. I close my eyes and swear.
I will find her rooms, and then I will take her.
But first, I need to get to safety. I don’t want to kill any more or the sisterhood, or be killed on accident. Gods forbid this glamor breaks, and the elves try to capture me.
When I cross farther from the palace, fleeing past the gates where carriages are moving out of it at abundant speeds, I hear something behind me.
I turn to see a shock of short silver hair and green eyes.
Thorne.
“I don’t think you were invited tonight, wood elf,” he says. “Lord Sprig, I should say. Whoever the fuck that is.”
I stand there, staring at him in my full glamour. My anger is a hot tunneling jet of lava, ready to burst out of the earth’s surface. I want to kill him, but he might know where she is.
“I am not with the attackers,” I respond.
“Then why are you fleeing?” he retorts, and I catch a glimpse of something glinting in his hand.
“I’m not fleeing,” I bite out.
He makes an incredulous sound. “And why did you want to dance with the future consort?”
“All the lords were—” I sputter.
“You shouldn’t have come here, Vann,” he says.
Shock sparks through my veins. I reach for my cleaver, as it is still decorated and tied to my back since I did not fight.
“How did you know it was me?” I demand.
Thorne tracks my movements, seeing my intention. Mistrusting Thorne had come like second nature to me from the moment I’d met him.
“You look at Arlet like she created the moon and stars. None of the elves care for her so strongly.”
“You betrayed us all,” I spit.
“You sound just like her,” Thorne says. He stalks closer, wearing all black.
I sneer at him. “Tell me where she is and I promise to give you a quick death.”
He doesn’t flinch. “I’m serious: You shouldn’t be here. And put that weapon away, or I’ll have you killed.”
“Not before I kill you first.” The words taste like blood.
He purses his lips. “And why would you do that? I brought her back safely from those islands you were hiding away on.”
I don’t lower my blade. “Yes, and then you handed her over to that sadistic bastard. Where is she?”
“I kept her alive.”
I charge forward, trying to grab him, but it’s as if he vanishes midair and then reappears a few feet away.
Thorne’s jaw tightens, but his tone stays level. “You don’t understand the game anymore. Go home.”
“No.”
He sneers. “You know nothing of us elves. Of what it is to be a half-blood. What having a half-blood heir to the throne would mean. Mrath wants to take over the dominion—which is fine. I seek to make it better before she does that.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your sob story.” I step closer, grip tightening. “You served Mrath once. You swore to her, bled for her. What did Arion promise that was worth betraying your own queen?”
“Mrath was a fool,” he snaps, and for the first time, his calm slips. “She wanted the crown, but she never had the stomach for what ruling costs. Arion does.”
“He’s a power-hungry pig,” I spit, analyzing his movements and tracking them with precision. I am prepared to kill him.
“He’s malleable enough to make a better future.”
I move before I think, grabbing him by the front of his armor and slamming him against the nearest wall. His head smacks against the stone, and his blade jerks up, the edge kissing my ribs.
“You kept her alive,” I snarl, “so you could watch her rot.” I steal his blade and press it under the bottom of his armor.
“Do it,” he says through gritted teeth. A bit of blood trickles down from his nose, mixing into his mouth.
“End this, if it will make you feel better. It might make me feel better. And then you can continue to play hero, and she can marry him in a few days. You will die. She will die. We will all fucking die, and I will be free of this damn world.”
I groan and let go of him.
“Tell me where she is.”
“She’s to be locked in her chambers. Guarded.”
“Then you’ll take me there.”
He shakes his head. “If I do, Arion will know within the hour, and she’ll pay for it.”
“Then I’ll kill you and find her myself.”
His eyes flicker to the cleaver that I grabbed shortly after running away. “You won’t get within ten steps of her before the guards tear you apart. The palace will be sealed shortly after the threat is extinguished.”
The fury drains just enough for me to step back. He straightens, rubbing his jaw where I hit him.
“Get out before they see you,” he says. “Leave this place. She did this to stave Arion’s hand. Don’t let her sacrifice be in vain.”
“I’m not leaving her.”
“Then die,” he mutters, dragging a hand over his face. “Fucking stupid brute.”
He turns his back on me, and I consider stabbing him right there. But then he lets out an exasperated breath and runs his hand through his hair. “Damn it. South wing, third floor.”
I don’t understand what game he is playing. I watch him go, every instinct screaming to drive my blade through his spine.
Instead, I do as he says, getting far away from the palace. I’ll find another way to get her before the wedding.
Of that I am positive.