Chapter 40 #3
Gayle was tied to a stake, her dress shredded to the waist. Clay lay splayed on a table, stripped and bound like livestock. Neither moved.
Elohios, give me strength. There was none left in me.
I couldn’t–
My friends—gods!
I shoved my boots forward, forcing myself to approach their mangled bodies; each step a rebellion against the bile, the nausea, the weight of despair. Blood coated them—proving Tallon had kept them alive while the Velli feasted. They’d been tortured because of me—my failures.
Clay’s body was a map of crescent-shaped wounds. Teeth marks dotted his skin—neck, arms, legs—some fresh, still bleeding, others scabbed.
Still bleeding.
I dropped beside him, pressing my ear to his chest.
… thump… thump…
“He’s alive!” A spark of hope flared. Could he survive this? Could I save him?
“She is too!” Greaves cut Gayle free, catching her as she sagged against him.
We were far from a healer—too far. But if they had endured this long, they might manage a bit longer.
“Don’t you dare die on me,” I snarled, cutting Clay’s bindings. “Too many goats rely on you.”
A Harvester approached, calm despite the chaos. “We’ve been trained as medics. Take the Threshers. We’ll keep the Sols alive until you return.”
A fissure ran through my heart. I could not stay, but how could I leave them? They suffered for me—because of me. To abandon them now felt like ripping out a piece of my soul.
“Do not let them die,” I ground out.
The Harvester nodded, producing a small vial from his satchel. Cradling Clay’s head, white hair plastered with blood, he poured the contents into his mouth.
“He will not pass the Veil until you wish it.”
I froze, breath caught, potent rage and hollow dread coiling through me. What did he just put into my friend’s body?
Fury pumped through my veins, and I tore myself away from the table. The estate had to be cleared so that the army might funnel up through the pass. The tenth level had to be seized—by force if needed. That was my task.
Greaves and the Threshers moved with me.
Doors buckled beneath boots, splintering wood, the echo of violence resonating through empty halls.
We reached the private wing, Clay’s quarters.
Door after door crashed open, each space vacant.
Sheets tossed aside, blankets flung carelessly.
No blood, no viscera, no trace of the brutality we found in the great hall.
Tallon had run out of time.
Rage coiled bright and hot. I wanted to find a Velli—rip their head from their shoulders. Gods, I’d even settle for a traitorous Radaanian.
I slammed my boot into the next door—the impact jarring my knee.
A scream tore the air.
I froze, calculating the blonde figure curled in the far corner. Eyes wet with tears, blood trickling down a pale blue dress.
“King Kallias!” Fyrn cried, arms wrapping around her middle. “You’re here! I thought you’d never come!”
Warning bells rang in my mind. This woman was Tallon’s—his pet, his spy. She had masqueraded as a sweet, harmless noble.
But protocol had my feet moving despite the alarm wreaking havoc in my gut. She was Clay’s only daughter. If she were injured, I had to see to her.
“Fyrn’sol,” I said, words dangerously calm. As I crouched beside her, Threshers fanned out behind me, clearing the room. I reached for her arm to inspect her wounds.
She shrieked, recoiling. “No! I can’t!” Blood slicked her fingers, crimson tracing lines over pale skin. Tears tracked down her cheeks. “Don’t make me! Please!”
She was terrified. A victim, not an accomplice.
“Fyrn, these bites can get infected.” I softened my tone, coaxing her. “Your father would never forgive me if you got sick.”
Her fearful eyes flickered with hope. “He’s alive?”
“Yes,” I said, certainty settling in my bones. “Now let me see, child.”
She extended her arm, trembling. I peeled the bloody fabric back, revealing two half-moons bleeding freely at her wrists. The cuts were jagged, shallow…
“He’s a monster!” Her sobs grew into hiccuping gasps.
I gripped her wrist, fingers curling over fragile bones.
“Ow! King Kallias, what are you—let go of me!”
My jaw locked. Rage and duty collided, edging me toward violence. I could gut her here, mount her on a stake for the vultures—but she was Clay’s daughter. My blood boiled, but my role restrained me.
“Tell me, Fyrn,” I hissed, lip curling. “What did they offer you? The mantle? Land? Maybe a fine pony to parade about?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she shrieked, desperate to yank free of my hold.
But I did not relent. “Did he keep you around to warm his bed? Is that it? Did you offer your own parents to the Velli to gain their favor?”
“Let me go! He dragged me here!”
“You were a willing captor,” I snapped, savoring her terrified struggle. “It was you! You met the Northern Radaanians—secured their blood for the Velli to use them against Nienna.”
She flinched, small tremors of guilt and fear. She cried out, kicking at me.
“You, Fyrn’sol, snuck the bastard prince into the manor. You opened the gates for Tallon and his brood.”
“No! He took me here! He bit me!”
I dodged her kicks, pinning her to the ground. Fingers wrapped her throat, the threat immediate, lethal. It would be so easy to crush the life out of her. Her eyes bulged with fear, tears streaking her cheeks.
“We thought Tallon was the monster—but it was your heart that harbored true evil. Did you watch as he fed from your parents? When the Velli used them as a banquet, gnawing and tearing as if they were nothing more than meat—did you enjoy it?”
My hand tightened around her throat, fingers digging into the delicate skin beneath her jaw. She clutched my wrist, her attempts to pry me away weak, nails scraping uselessly against leather.
“Let me tell you a secret, Fyrn. Velli bites leave holes from their teeth. Small curves. Paired punctures. Your wounds, my dear, were self-inflicted. Where’s the weapon?”
“Here.” Greaves kicked a dainty, jewel-encrusted dagger out from under the bed. It caught on the rug and bounced to my feet. Dried blood stained the blade.
I glanced down at it, a low sound rumbling in my chest. “Did he give it to you as a last resort? If Father came to find him, your protection would be a mock wound?”
“He…” She choked, her throat grating beneath my palm as she fought for air. “He didn’t know.”
I smirked and released her. She gasped, coughing, hands flying to her neck as though she could shield it from my accusation.
“Smart, Fyrn. Always planning ahead. You could have been so much more.”
“My parents,” she wheezed.
“Alive, no thanks to you.”
Her gaze flickered toward the door. “I want to see Mother.”
“Perhaps she’ll visit you before your execution.” I rose, lip curling with disgust. Their own daughter betrayed them and her people. All for what? The favor of a halfbreed? Fyrn was no fool. She wouldn’t follow him for love alone. What had he offered her?
“I’m a noblewoman!” She remained on the ground, back pressed to the stone, instinct urging her to stay small.
“We beheaded quite a few nobles when we retook Reem.” I bared my teeth in a grin. “What is one more?”
“You bastard!”
I dropped to my knees. The impact jarred through bone. Gripping her chin, I forced her mouth open and reached inside, pinching her tongue between my fingers. It writhed against my nails, slick and frantic. I yanked hard enough that her head lifted off the floor.
With my other hand, I snatched her jeweled dagger and settled the sharp edge against her thrashing muscle. The blade bit, drawing a thin bead of red. She froze.
“I’ve taken whole hands for less.” I pressed my knee into her chest and lowered close, letting her feel the breath of my promise against her cheek. “Radaan would be blessed if I removed your traitorous tongue.”
Tears spilled down her face into her hair. Her body slackened beneath me. A broken sob rattled in her throat.
There was no pleasure in harming a woman. But there was cold satisfaction in watching an enemy understand the cost of betrayal.
I held the blade there for a breath. Then another. Long enough for her to know how close she stood to silence.
A lesser man would have cut.
I was King of Radaan. Her crime belonged to my people as much as to me. They would witness her end.
I released her.
She recoiled at once, curling onto her side, hands tangling in her hair as she sobbed.
“Lock her up.”
I turned my back and strode from the room. One head of the snake had fallen—but two remained.