30. Sanctuary #2
I whirled to find Archer and Morak wavering into view. Four other individuals stared. A young boy, towheaded and gawking. The woman who had hurried us inside grasped a man for dear life. And lastly, another man.
“Duke Deveaux,” Cassiel mused, cocking his head.
His eyes widened for an instant, filling with panic.
A Duke? I could not believe it. The Southern Duke of Sycarious worked with the Resistance. A man who had every privilege possible put that in jeopardy. He cut a striking figure in his tailored suit. They had all waited as if they had known we would be arriving.
Tension lined the Duke’s shoulders. All the blood had fled his sun-weathered face.
“Your Highness,” he bowed forward, the thin line of his mouth pinched. I had yet to meet an Elite with morals.
A high-pitched screech brought my attention to the window. Morak had opened it, and a bird came inside, landing on Morak’s shoulder. The manner in which they eyed each other suggested the bird was speaking to him.
Morak was a redblood, and his wraithling was the hawk. That was how he knew of the blockade he’d referenced earlier.
“This is why I could never catch you bastards,” Cassiel mused.
“Morak, no!” Liadan shouted.
The blade was already flying toward Cassiel. He caught it in his palm, squeezing as black blood dripped down his hand in rivulets.
“You bastard,” Morak hissed. Lines creased the corners of his eyes.
“The tension has grown thick,” Liadan drawled.
“He is nothing but a flawed man, and this has been our king,” Morak spat. “He does not even know what transpires across his own land.”
The corners of Cassiel’s lips tipped up into a dangerous sneer.
Nothing good would come of this.
“Cassiel!” I shouted, stepping forth. Cassiel slowly turned to face me, expression empty of emotion.
“We cannot turn against each other. Not now. We must move as one to end the council’s reign.
” I turned back to Morak. “I understand your resentment, but there are more important things to do than to fight amongst allies.”
Morak shifted to the side and looked out of the window. His wraithling flapped its wings. Hopefully the hawk was talking sense into him.
A pang struck my heart. It is what Piper would be doing.
I let a shaky breath free. Liadan watched me with something akin to pride.
“The king?” The soft words came on the heels of porcelain crashing against the tile. A young woman stood at the entrance of the foyer. Blood fled from her face. The wraithling against her leg, a small cat, hissed as the back of its fur raised.
The girl began to tremble. There was no mistaking where her focus was.
“Oh dear,” the older woman released the man beside her and scurried to her side. “Be careful with the shards.”
The woman’s focus was wholly on Cassiel. She whirled and sprinted in the direction she had come, leaving us in heavy silence.
“Well, that was awkward,” Liadan commented. “I did not know she was still here.”
“I offered her asylum,” Duke Deveaux answered. “She works as my kitchen maid.”
“Will she be an issue?” Cassiel interrupted, nearing until he pressed against my side, giving me the impression he might just sweep me up and take off.
“No, Your Highness,” the Duke said. “She is fearful. I apologize on her behalf for the impolite reception.” He pressed his hand to his chest, bowing slightly.
“And we have been impolite. I apologize. You all must be exhausted. Liadan and Morak, you’re welcome to stay in the chambers you remained in before.
His Highness can stay in the Velvet chamber.
Once Mrs. Fern returns, I will have her show you the way. ”
“I can take them!” the young boy offered, but the man who had clutched onto Mrs. Fern took his shoulder in hand, fear widening his eyes.
“No need to fuss. I know where to take them,” Liadan interjected. Just in time, because who I assumed was Mr. Fern was about to lose the contents of his stomach. Liadan turned toward us. “If you would follow me.”
I reached for Cassiel’s arm and moved toward Liadan. If Cassiel had resisted, there was no possibility I would have been able to haul him. Fortunately for me, he walked by my side. Duke Deveaux watched us with a pleasant smile on his lips. Morak still had yet to turn away from the window.
Liadan shared a glance with the Duke. Then he turned, with Cassiel and me at his heels. He led us to the left, through a quiet, dark hall.
“What did Lord Deveaux mean about ‘offering her asylum’?” I asked.
Liadan looked over his shoulder. “She escaped from the Harvest.”
“You mention it as if I should know what it means,” I commented wearily.
Liadan slowed and turned, forcing us to a stop. I peeked at Cassiel; he was just as in tune with the conversation.
“You know, the Reliquary. A branch of the Registry,” Liadan continued explaining, but I had never heard of any Reliquary. “You do not know of it,” Liadan breathed, and looked at Cassiel head on. It was the first time he truly had. “Do you know?”
“What the Reliquary is?” Cassiel shrugged. “Where amulets are produced.”
“How can you be so callous, especially—” Liadan cut off, attention snagging on me. “It is a murder house. Amulets are produced with the death of a redblood.”
I went cold. My mind came to a complete halt. The denial hovered on my tongue.
“That is not the worst part. Amulets only maintain the repelling properties for an annum before they must be replenished.”
I struggled to make sense of his words. Horror did not cover what I felt. This was beyond monstrous. The Hollow had reacted oddly when it sniffed my cut. I had not thought of it again since it happened, but now, with this new information . . .
“Did you know?” I whispered.
Cassiel frowned and reached for my arm. I pulled away, backing up. He stiffened, chin jerking up.
“I have never been to a Reliquary.” He met me head on. But he knew of them. That much was clear. I could do nothing more than gawk. “Take us to the chamber.” Cassiel took hold of my arm and it ripped me out of my shock enough to yank at his grip.
Liadan hesitated, eyeing where Cassiel grabbed me. I could see the cogs turning in his mind. I shook my head. “Do as he says.”
He would not last one heartbeat against Cassiel. I would not fool myself into thinking that Cassiel would not slaughter every individual in this estate without a second thought.
Liadan’s throat moved, and he turned, leading us to the door facing another. He popped it open and waved his hand inside. Cassiel simply jerked me past, half stumbling, and slammed the door in Liadan’s face.
I caught myself and wrenched myself to the side until he let me go. If he hadn’t, I would have ended up hurting my arm.
“Do not,” I hissed, “touch me after what you’ve just said.”
Cassiel scoffed and jerked his shirt off to hang it on the back of the chair. “I speak the truth and it angers you,” he mused.
“Is it too much to want you to care?”
He was then in my face, gripping my chin. “And if I cared . . . would that change how you viewed me?”
I floundered for what to say. Tawny hair fell into his eyebrows. The iris pulsated where the red and gold met. His smile turned cruel.
“No, and I will not lie to you about who I am.”
He unstrapped the leather binding connected to the sheath to remove the sword hanging at his side and placed it on top of the settee.
“Now come to bed,” he ordered, splaying on the edge of the bed. He was so tall his leg hung off the side. “We must rest for the long travel.”
Instead of following him to the bed I stiffened my spine and raised my chin.
“Amara.”
“I said I would wed you, not that I would obey every word,” I hissed, storming to the settee.
I nudged his unusually heavy sword until it tipped off the settee and I rested on it. Then shoved my hand into the satchel to retrieve the journal, grimoire and quill with angry, jerking movements. My knuckles grazed the velvet box holding his gift.
I eased in to translate, attempting to block out my horror and frustration. Cassiel is monstrous. I mustn’t forget.