Chapter 40
HARK
His hands bled.
He’d hardly slept since the Kastonian soldiers had taken him, though he supposed he couldn’t complain since they’d locked him in his bedchamber rather than the dungeons below the palace.
But they had answered no questions – had given him nothing as his fists pounded the wall, hammering and hammering until the skin on his knuckles was cracked and bleeding.
If they’d hurt her…
Gods, why did he care?
Because she had jumped headfirst into this fool’s mission of freeing slaves, and hadn’t questioned her part in it?
Because she had a heart of fire and it burned for those who had been wronged?
Because she’d begun to look at him with something other than hatred – with something fierce and dangerous and alive?
At least the slaves would be safe with Jack by now.
And he didn’t doubt for a moment that his friends would have fought to the death to keep Arla safe.
He knew that no matter how much rivalry simmered between her and Kase, they would not leave her.
He knew Seb had caught him watching her when he didn’t think anyone was looking…
But he couldn’t get the image of her falling out of his mind. How the hilt of that Kastonian sword had struck her temple because she’d been concentrating on him. She had focused only on him as his own soldiers came and she—
Fuck, she’d fallen like dead people fell.
She couldn’t be, though. He would have heard, prisoner though he was, if Hadalyn’s prized assassin had fallen at Kastonian hands.
He’d never been so grateful for his crew.
He wondered what would have happened had he not got involved.
If he hadn’t argued with the king over it all.
If he hadn’t been banished to Hadalyn under the guise of an ambassador and tried to keep it up from there.
He wondered what would have happened had he not deprived his body of sleep to keep in contact with his friends and build a safe haven for these people.
He wondered what would have happened had he not listened to his heart, which cared too much, which knew the king was wrong and his actions were an affront to the gods.
He wondered what would have happened if he had grown up in Castle Grey and refused to believe in the old religion, like the girl he knew had stolen his heart.
He didn’t need to wonder because he already knew. Elrod would have killed many more of the magic-wielders. He’d have brought ruin upon the kingdoms and spilled every drop of magical blood. The gods would have punished them already.
But maybe if he hadn’t got involved, Arla would be safe.
It wasn’t so bad, was it? To spend an age locked in this tower with only soldiers walking the battlements to break the monotony of it, if it meant they were safe.
If it meant the slaves were safe with Jack.
If it meant his friends were alive. If it meant Arla was safe.
He would spend a lifetime locked in his rooms for that.
Fuck.