Chapter 45
Her blood sang with the violence of it all.
Bodies fell without their owners seeing what had been unleashed upon them. Wherever a soldier stood in her path, he died. Her knives flew through the air as if they were gods-blessed. The King’s Assassin had never missed a mark. Today was no different.
There was a roaring in the distance, the call of a dragon finally awoken. Arla could only imagine the chaos that would follow in the streets of Larkire. Kastonia’s people had all believed in magic, had all been loyal to the old religion, and for a dragon to be summoned here, for her…
What if Thara got hurt?
‘I have won greater skirmishes, Dragonhart.’
Arla’s heart stuttered at the dragon’s voice in her head. How had she managed to communicate even from so far away?
‘Concentrate.’
Her breath was torn from her as she slammed into a solid figure, her feet sliding as she was pulled roughly into what had seemed to her to be another section of castle wall.
Darkness swelled in, pushing her closer to the body that had dragged her into this tight space as the hidden door closed softly behind them. She spun, eyes widening in the dark to try and make out whoever it was.
She had hoped for one silly moment in her pathetic heart that it was Hark. That he had found her, and they would fight their way out together. But it wasn’t Hark. This scent was spicier, like cinnamon and … ginger.
‘Go straight to the end and keep your sword drawn. You’ll find him—’
‘Reuben, stop. What—?’
‘You don’t have much time. The castle’s swarming with soldiers and if you two don’t get out now…’
She couldn’t think quickly enough to argue with him, not when the sound of dozens of pairs of military boots pounded on the other side of the secret passage, shouts of confusion reaching her even through the solid stone.
She gripped Reuben’s wrists, searching in the dark for his eyes.
‘Come with us,’ she urged, tugging the bony wrists beneath his velvet sleeves. He was Hark’s brother. And, prince or not – Kastonian or not – if Hark had changed, so could his brother. She wouldn’t let him feel the same loss she had endured.
‘I can’t.’
‘Hark—’
‘Will be fine. Look after him, Arla. He loves you.’
And then he was pushing her away from him, shoving her down the passage towards what she could only trust was not a trap. She didn’t let her mind dwell on what he’d said – on what he’d somehow concluded about her relationship with his brother.
Later.
Gods there had to be a later, didn’t there?
There were too many things she needed to say. So much she needed to explain and apologise for.
She wanted to look him in the eye and tell him she didn’t hate him.
Get a grip, Reinhart.
Her feet carried what her heart could not decipher yet, and she pushed past the throb of her ankle as it protested at the complete hammering she had subjected it to over the past few weeks.
Later she could stop. Later she could rest her ankle on a stool as she sipped wine and watched Larkire Palace burn.
But first she needed Hark. She needed to know he was alive, and then there would be vengeance. She had a dragon in her service, after all.
The passageway was shorter than she had expected, and when she reached the heavy stone door at the end, she pressed her ear against it and waited.
Nothing.
It could be a trap – gods, Reuben didn’t owe her anything. He and Hark could hate each other for all she knew; it had been a stupid idea to trust the young man. But she wouldn’t know if she didn’t open the gods-damned door.
Both ends of the corridor lay empty, and it took her a minute to pull up that mental map of the palace and pinpoint exactly where she was amidst the chaos.
The door just a few strides to the right was the sign she had needed – the very bedchamber to which she had been assigned when they stayed here.
Which meant … Hark was on the other side of the palace, if they were confining him in his rooms.
Somewhere in the distance she could hear her dragon and knew there would be fires cropping up around the city to lure both innocents and soldiers from the castle.
‘They will pay for ever daring to enslave those who carry blood magic.’
The promise spurred her on … until she ran directly into the path of an oncoming army.
‘Fucking gods,’ she murmured. Adrenaline would keep her going for only so long – hopefully until she stumbled across Hark – but she needed the strength to actually escape these walls.
She met the first two with a swing of her sword that had their heads rolling back – all the way back.
She could see the fires now through the arched windows, buildings alight and …
there were flames engulfing one of the towers.
Gods, if Thara was this close to the palace they’d shoot her down.
Arla had no idea how scales would hold up against crossbows and ballistics from the tower’s defence system.
‘Concentrate,’ Thara growled. Despite the bond that she shared with her dragon, Arla knew it would take a while to get used to the new voice in her mind. It lay there, heavy and sentient in the back of her head as though she no longer belonged to just herself.
‘You are mine as I am yours. You will get used to the bond eventually.’
She didn’t mind it so much as she had initially, now the shock had worn off. She could feel the weight of it settle with every thought and movement, a reassuring presence that bolstered her and made her feel less … alone.
‘This isn’t the time for emotions, Dragonhart. You’re about to be impaled.’
Arla spun, ducking as a blade jabbed towards her. She had no idea how Thara had known – she couldn’t see the dragon save for the glimpses of scales flying past the window.
‘Some magic cannot be explained.’
‘Maybe not,’ Arla said out loud. ‘But shouldn’t you be focusing on your own task?’
Thara huffed an amused snort down the bond, its friendly fingers caressing the back of Arla’s mind. ‘Some of us are able to do two things at once. Maybe once you’re reunited with the boy you’ll stop being so ill-tempered.’
‘Imagine a dragon calling me ill-tempered,’ Arla muttered as she veered left to avoid the sharp point of a sword.
Thara laughed then – or at least, the noise she made in Arla’s head sounded too similar to laughter to be mistaken for anything else. ‘My point exactly. On your right.’
So absorbed was she in her task and in the growing connection between her and Thara, Arla hadn’t spotted the three soldiers waiting for her in the shadows. She didn’t notice how they surrounded her, blocking any escape route and pinning her between them.
It was rare that Arla danced on the line between life and death, but with three blades creeping closer to her, she could sense the dark figure looming, waiting to snatch her soul and present it for judgement.
Not that the gods would send her soul to the eternal gates; she was a terrible, wicked person and she didn’t deserve anything but hell once her life was taken from her.
Everything she was and had been flashed before her: from the gangly child on whom a king had taken pity, to the lethally sharp assassin she was now. Would this be it?
A voice that set the world trembling cut through the fog clouding her mind, and her heart faltered at the sound of it.
‘If you’re dying at anyone’s blade, sweetheart, it’ll be mine.’
* * *
Her eyes filled with useless tears at the sight of him, black hair tousled and wild, his eyes gleaming with violence as he mouthed something at her.
Duck.
A memory flickered before her for a fleeting second, a flash of forest, horses, and raiders.
Her body dropped to the floor on instinct as Hark’s blades flew, piercing the chest of the soldier behind her. The other two whirled, only to meet his wrath and fall with a spray of scarlet that warmed her cheeks.
And then Hark’s hands were there, ironically soft and warm as they gripped her hands and hauled her up.
‘You came,’ he said, something Arla couldn’t quite place smearing the edges of his voice.
‘Of course I bloody came!’
His lips slammed into hers, a desperation there that had her stomach swooping low as he claimed her with the kiss. She didn’t try to hide her response to him, how he lit her on fire with his touch. He looked weary, angry, and dangerous.
‘Reinhart, I—’
‘Whatever it is you have to say, please don’t say it whilst we’re being hunted. You’ll only ruin it,’ she grunted, grabbing his hand and setting off at a run.
‘I hope you’ve got a plan.’
‘I would if everything was actually going to plan, Your Highness.’ She smirked, looking over her shoulder to gauge his reaction at the revelation of what she now knew. He shot her a vulgar gesture that had her grinning.
They careered around a corner, having made it to the floors above the royal suites now, the grandeur of expensive carpets and artwork forgotten in these higher levels of the castle.
All that lay before them now was bare stone hallways so unremarkable there was no telling them apart as they met a junction of corridors that left Arla feeling uncomfortably disorientated.
‘Which way?’
‘Not left?’ Hark ground out.
‘Why not left?’
Thara roared in the distance, the sound reverberating through the chilly stone halls. Every window Arla passed glowed with flames as smoke began to fill the palace. An urgency crept over her, slowly and then all at once, until her heart was pounding in time with the sound of feet.
Arla turned to see Hark bracing himself, sword in hand as he stared down the length of the corridor.
Arla peered around him, her eyes adjusting to the sight before her. An army marched towards them, their synchronicity an impenetrable wall.
‘Fuck.’