Chapter 21 #2
Caidan was livid, wanting payback for my sister, I imagined. Kenton kept Corné in his sights, his expression sharp and calculating, like the other man was a diseased thing he had to put down fast. The brothers struck out like wolves flanking a vulnerable doe.
Corné wasn’t done with us. Outrage blotched his cheeks and reddened his nose.
Hatred for me thickened the air like toxic fumes.
All I could see was his brother’s face, sweaty and bloated with lust, as Corné bulldozed toward the dais.
He lunged, reaching for me, wanting to hurt me.
“Where’s my brother?!” he shrieked, spittle flying.
“What did you do to him? I know he was murdered!”
“Go on,” someone beside me said, his voice low and sinister, a touch hopeful too. “I dare you to put your filthy hand on her, fuckface.”
Edging as far from Corné as possible, my gaze whipped sideways to see Jett tossing a dagger lazily into the air, catching it, and tossing it back up again.
Corné froze.
Jett snatched the blade mid-air and leveled the tip at Corné’s nose just as Zielenski’s calm, lethal voice drifted from behind him. “You touch Miss Wychthorn in any way Graysen Crowther disapproves of… and he will end you with Master Sirro’s blessing.”
Corné’s gaze flicked to Zielenski, to Jett, then back to me as his mouth curled into a sneer.
“Go on,” I taunted softly. My bravado had been false at first, but with every shift of my body I loosened up and began to own it.
I bent one knee, set my weight on the other leg, and braced a hand on my hip.
Maybe I should goad him into doing something reckless.
At least his death would save Evvie from a lifetime of suffering.
I raised my arm, draping a bone-chain over it and flicked my wrist, sending it spiraling in a slow, deliberate arc, mimicking the swing of my adamere bracelet.
A tickle of delight warmed my insides at the way his eyes bulged and he gulped like a toad.
He recognized the gesture, remembering the adamere beads snapping toward his cowardly face when I’d whipped him with my bracelet.
Unease tensed his lean frame and made his suit seem too big, as if he no longer filled it.
He jolted when Zielenski’s guards closed in and seized him.
“Get your hands off me!” he yelped, his limbs flailing like a rag doll as he tried to wrench himself free.
He was hauled away swiftly, laughter chasing him across the rooftop.
A moment later, long black strands shivered as Jett shook his head, still laughing and grinning as he slid the blade into a hidden sheath.
“Hellsgate,” he exhaled, just as I released a similar breath of relief. We darted surprised looks at each other.
It startled me that we’d been allies. That he’d been thoughtful in my moment of distress. I guess it startled him too. He blinked, then the softness vanished, his features hardening once more.
Darkness shimmered by the pillars, and black leaves rustled as more Horned Gods gathered, the swirl of shadows veiling their forms. Eyes of all shapes and colors peered out from the Emporium, drawn out by the spectacle with Corné. Their curiosity seared my skin as piercing gazes roamed my body.
My stomach sank. The Crowthers’ plan was working. I was sure that Jurgana would be lured out soon enough.
But Jett wasn’t looking at the Horned Gods. He’d fixed his gaze on the foyer, at the formal entranceway with its tall candelabras and creeping greenery. Anticipation thrummed from his tall physique, sparking in his violet eyes. It was almost as if he anticipated someone’s arrival.
Something hummed at the back of my mind, tapping insistently. All of this, us being here, this wasn’t just about the Witches Ball. I was always going to end up here because the Crowthers needed something from my father.
What, though?
A cold sensation trickled down my spine.
It wasn’t a question of why they wanted my father broken, I understood the Crowthers’ need for revenge, for retribution against our betrayal, but this went much further.
Graysen had hinted at it last week, never elaborating, only warning that whatever they sought would place my entire family in jeopardy.
I twisted toward Jett, who’d turned his attention to Zielenski, watching with narrowed eyes, absentmindedly tapping a hand against his thigh as the other man strode toward Lila.
“What do you need my father to hand over?”
Jett swiveled around, blinking rapidly. He studied me in silence, mulling over my question. A moment later he shrugged, as if he’d weighed up whether or not telling me was the right thing to do, and then decided he simply didn’t care. “We need Brangwene’s Hjarte.”
As I gaped at Jett in shock, my thoughts tumbled to my family’s treasure trove, to Brangwene’s Hjarte.
Brangwene had been Zrenyth’s warlord, and the Houses were bound to him as an extension of his savagery, a weapon wielded as easily as he swung his warhammer.
He was a great beast with a passion for violence—humanoid in shape, but for the reptilian skin, leathery wings, and titanic size.
What we held in our treasury was the heart of our god.
His actual heart, that blackened, thumping organ, magically infused with his Hjarte.
The Hjarte being his warhammer.
The great weapon was housed in my family’s trove and passed from Great House to Great House as a reminder that we served as the Horned Gods’ warlords in Brangwene’s stead.
It was given to a new family only when the previous one had been obliterated by the machinations of the Houses, or by the Horned Gods themselves.
Panic ensnared me, tightening the air in my lungs. If it were discovered that Brangwene’s Hjarte was gone, that my father no longer possessed it, the sentence would be instant death. They’d hang. All of them. Every single Wychthorn. “You can’t,” I begged Jett.
Jett shrugged once more as if he didn’t care. “That’s what we require in exchange for you remaining untouched.”
What did it matter if I was going to be whored out for the next two weeks? Or even the next few months? I could survive that length of time, enduring pain at the whim of a man if it meant my family would be safe.
Jett continued with a cunning smile. “Your father will do it to save you.”
My father couldn’t though. He couldn’t save me, not when it would endanger my sisters, my mother, and everyone bound to our family.
And then astonishment electrified every nerve ending.
Above Jett’s head, I saw someone enter the Emporium.
Someone I dearly loved.
Someone I wasn’t sure I’d ever see again.
Yet right here, right this moment, I truly wished I hadn’t.
My father strode hastily onto the rooftop, flanked by bodyguards with severe expressions.
He came to an abrupt halt, his gaze fraught with anxiety and tempered with ire as he swept the crowd of Houses, searching, searching, searching, until he met mine.
Blue eyes widened and then clouded with deep emotion rapidly playing across his finely lined features—utter relief to see me, dismay, sorrow, then anger.
It was the first time I’d properly seen my father since I’d destroyed his office when he’d revealed the true nature of the Alverac and why the Crowthers sought revenge. Cupping my mouth, I stifled a choking sound of distress that wracked my chest, tears stinging my eyes.
My body was moving before I’d mentally registered that I had.
My heels made a loud thudding noise as I jumped down from my perch to the dais.
Snatching up the long skirt, I hiked it up and pushed off to land on the stone ground, the high heels wobbling beneath me.
I didn’t think. I just wanted my father.
The Crowthers had denied me seeing him the evening of my arrival at their fortress. They wouldn’t keep us apart this time.
I ran toward my father.
And my father ran for me.
He was steel-eyed, jaw clenched with determination.
He shoved his elbows through the men and women who served him, barking, “MOVE!” Most stumbled back in surprise.
Others went to bow. Shouting and commands exploded in the air, adding to the calamity of gasps and startlement from the Emporium’s guests as the Crowther brothers and their guards shouldered their way through the crowded rooftop toward us.
Neither my father nor I cared what scene we were making.
Nor that we had an audience.
“Nelle!”
“Papa!” I cried, as if I were five years old and needed him to sweep me up in a hug.
The ends of the bone-chains brushed my chest with every stride as I bolted toward him, layers of tulle billowing behind.
I needed to touch him, to hold him, to bury my face into his chest and breathe him in, to sink into his familiar warmth and the security of his embrace. Most of all, I just wanted my father.
We charged across the empty space in front of the dais.
We were close, so close I could see how his eyes were too bright and silver-lined with deep emotion. “Nelle!”
I stretched my arm toward him, and his hand reached for me.
The first touch of our fingertips sent utter joy zinging through my soul.
Our fingertips grazed one another lightly when—
—an arm banded around my middle.
And I was scooped up and yanked back, my feet kicking wildly in the air.
“Noooo!” I shrieked.
My father disappeared behind a row of Crowther bodyguards.
Men and women flooded in to form a solid wall of black suits, separating us.
Devastation bit like the rusted teeth of barbed wire.
A second later, my heart bucked with a burst of adrenaline, igniting rage.
“Let go of me!” I screamed, writhing and clawing viciously at Jett’s arm.
The Crowthers blocked my father from seeing me, and I couldn’t see him either. But I heard him shouting my name, “Nelle!” and demanding, “Move aside now!”
Jett carried me back to the pedestal and plonked me onto it. He got right in my face, snarling, “Stay,” like I was a dog.
Up here, I could see over the wall of Crowthers to my father. Pure rage flushed his cheeks scarlet. His hands fisted at his sides, shaking with reined fury.
My chin quivered as I watched in silent wretchedness, shame poisoning my blood, as all that rage dissolved and the blotchy color faded until his tanned skin paled to a sickly hue.
Thin lips parted slightly with shock as his wide-eyed gaze darted frantically across the Houses who served our family, and what it meant that they were here in higher numbers than usual.
Horror played over his stern features when he dragged his gaze back to mine, and finally, it sank in for him I was standing on the dais amongst the courtesans.
The words breathed from him, and I watched them form upon his lips. “Gods, no…”
Guards and soldiers jostled one another.
The Wychthorn guards had shoved themselves closer to the pedestal where I perched like a bird too frightened to take flight.
But the Crowthers’ line of soldiers held strong and blocked my father and his personal security detail from getting to me.
Our two Houses were pitted against each other—modern-day warriors dressed in expensive black suits and fearsome glares.
My father looked close to breaking, anguish gouging deep lines into his distinguished features. My chin quivered as I silently mouthed—I’m sorry.
He shook his head fervently. Thick eyebrows slashed upward as his palm flashed up in protest and apology. No, Nelle—he mouthed back, placing a hand over his heart—This is my fault. Forgive me, sweetheart.
All I could do was offer a hitched shoulder and a watery smile.
Both of us were trapped by the Crowthers with invisible snares and tangled knots.
What could either of us do?