CHAPTER XIV #9
The man groans in pain and exhaustion, his head moving to the side as if to look at something in the corner. His tilt of head gives us a different angle of his face, my eyes widening even more as I realize the Discerni is not a man, but not a boy, either.
He looks to be a few years younger than me, his pale Discerni features severely angular and sharp as those in Woodlands often covet.
He has thick blonde lashes that rest over hooded eyes, the full of him looking to be in and out of consciousness.
He groans again when Desmond slowly comes into view, the Master Informer walking around the back of the man’s chair as he looks down at him.
Desmond’s dark brown eyes are silent and impassive, the sight of him staring at the blonde Discerni sending a chill down my spine.
His black long sleeve shirt has been rolled up to his elbows, his ebony skin dancing under the dim firelight of the single candle in the room.
Blood paints his hands as he holds a large green agate dagger, his knuckles tightening around the hilt as he scowls down at the man.
“Let’s try this again.”
I shiver at his voice, at his dark figure standing behind the Discerni in pure intimidation. He angles the dagger low to the man’s bound wrists, the look of no remorse settling into his features.
“Who sent you to follow the human woman?”
“I don’t know,” the Discerni shakes his head, jerking awake to the sound of Desmond’s voice. I stifle another gasp at the sight of multiple large bruises littered across the opposite side of his face, one of them open in a gash.
“Wrong answer,” Desmond replies coldly.
The man screams and sags farther into his body, his chin tucking itself violently against his chest. Desmond reaches around the Discerni’s shoulder and drops a severed finger into his lap, his own fingers dripping with blood as my eyes widen at the sheer violence.
“We have nine more fingers to go, Woodlands,” he spits the word, “I’ve never heard of someone being able to summon without them, but I’m willing to let you give it a try. I suggest you give us something before I take off your wrists.”
Despite the threatening language that makes me want to hurl, all I can focus on is one thing.
Us.
Desmond said us.
Is Keane here as well?
I look around the small room but can’t spot another figure, everything so well hidden in the shadows. The blonde Discerni turns to the same side of the room that he looked at before, his face cold and sharp as he starts grinning at the darkened corner.
A scream tears out of him just before Desmond leans forward to drop another of his fingers onto his lap.
Blood is now pooling on top of the Discerni’s riding pants, his severed body parts resting on his thighs in a gruesome sight that has my own legs starting to shake.
There’s a deep heaviness taking over my body as I watch Desmond repeat the process and drop a thumb down without emotion.
I shouldn’t be here, I tremble.
We shouldn’t be here.
I take a step back and land into Golem’s chest. His hands move to my shoulders and grip them hard, willing me to stay in place.
“I’ll speak only to the Lady,” the man laughs quietly, bowing his head into his chest again as pain etches across his features. How he’s still awake through the pain right now is beyond me.
“You will do no such thing,” Keane’s cool voice states from the corner of the room.
My heart stops.
I push back against Golem’s hands but he continues to hold me in place.
“And why not?” the blonde Discerni chuckles from his seat, his breathing turning heavy, “rumor is she’s enjoyed chatting with a few Woodlands boys in the past.”
Keane’s hard footsteps move across the room and into view.
Desmond flicks his dagger to him without a look, while Keane catches the blade in a solid movement before he swiftly brings it down.
Three more fingers drop to the ground in that same moment, the soft thud of skin and bone greeting the floor just as the blonde finally passes out.
My eyes stare wildly on the Prince.
What in the actual fuck?
He’s done something like this before, multiple times before.
Him and his brother.
Their movements were swift and without hesitation, delivering a blow that they knew would put him out.
I tremble at the sight of the man before me, the true Leading Lord of the Court of Warriors.
Keane’s face is hard, his brown eyes cool and nearly as dark as his brother’s as he glares at the blonde Discerni in hatred.
It’s a haunting look, one that commands the room with his calm anger, and in this fleeting moment I feel the urge to run.
Fuck me.
“We could ask her to come,” Desmond bends down and checks the man’s restraints.
“No,” Keane replies, “she will not be involved in this.”
“She’s already involved in this, brother…” Desmond stands with his eyes narrowed on Keane. He walks over to a small table on the other side of the room and grabs what looks to be a cloth. “She is the reason why everything has happened recently.”
“Our father is the reason for all of this,” Keane replies quietly, “the rest of us are just reaping the fallout. Alexis included.”
Desmond walks back to the Woodlands Discerni with a scowl, holding the cloth and a small glass of water. He bends down to clean and wrap the man’s hands, obviously not wishing for him to bleed out just yet.
“He’s involved with Troy in some fashion,” Desmond says quietly.
Keane grimaces and walks over to the same table, taking a hard seat.
“I know.”
Troy?
Troy sent someone to follow me?
Why?
“We need to make haste for Bardot,” Desmond replies from behind the bloodied man, still bandaging him up.
“The horses will be ready tomorrow,” Keane nods.
He reaches a hand up to his temple and stares at the single candle that flickers across his face.
He must’ve forgotten that his fingers are covered in blood, either that or he doesn’t care, because a thick streak of red covers his skin when he runs his hand through his hair, giving him a savage look.
“The Leviathans?” he inquires.
“Riding close to our borders,” Desmond scowls, “but never close enough to reach the range of our bows.”
“Leviathans at our west, Troy sending his own spies from the east. What’s next, Aireal crossing our northern forests for whatever damn Ancients reason?”
Desmond stands up, grimacing at the comment.
“Aireal just might…” the raspy voice tied to the chair states.
All our eyes turn to the blonde Discerni as he regains his consciousness, his arms straining against the bindings behind him. Keane stands and stalks towards the man, his hand gripping his throat as he moves in front of him.
“Tell me,” he demands, handing tightening around the man’s neck, “tell me what interest Aireal has in her and I’ll consider letting you live.”
The blonde Discerni looks back at Keane in fear. He tries to thrash in his chair to no avail, his mouth opening and closing without any air making it to his lungs. Keane grips him harder and pulls the man and the chair up from the ground, his eyes cold in demand.
“Tell me.”
The blonde Discerni chokes and nods to the Prince for all he is worth, gasping when Keane drops him back to the ground. He hunches over as much as he can, just as the sight of large red welts begin to form quickly on his neck from the violent hold.
I move my own hand up to my neck in reflex, remembering Keane’s many heated grips on my skin. Stormfall gently rubs his head against my hand in comfort, his talons digging into my shoulder as I continue to tremble.
“Aireal and Livyatan both have an interest in her,” the man coughs out.
“What interest?” Keane demands again.
“I don’t know,” the man spits, “truthfully. I wasn’t privy to the details. It was a passing comment, just that she’s important.”
“A passing comment,” Keane seethes, “and what else was commented on?”
“Nothing more about her,” the Discerni shakes his head earnestly, “I swear. I was just told to track her and note who she meets with. Nothing more.”
“And yet you did not follow her to Pyre,” Desmond says quietly from behind.
“No,” he tries to look back at the Master Informer, “I was ordered to wait for her in our lands. Assess if anything came from her foreign travel and report back.”
Desmond presses the blade hard against his bandaged hands.
“By whom?”
The blonde Discerni groans, his eyes instantly darting back to Keane. “You know who.”
The Prince takes a step back and folds his arms over his chest, his shoulders going tense. I watch as Desmond gives his brother a look from behind, his head nodding just slightly.
“How long?” Keane stares down at the man below him.
“Since she left Bardot,” the man pleads, “I told you both.”
“How long before that,” Keane asks coolly, “have you been following her before this travel?”
“No,” the man shakes his head, “I did not need to. He handled that personally.”
My heart falls into my gut, my legs nearly giving way below me.
Troy.
Troy has been meeting with me since the beginning of my travels, always showing up before I left or whenever I returned.
It has to be him they’re talking about, right?
He’s been using me… using our stolen encounters.
He was always asking questions on where I’d been and what I’d been up to, and though they were polite, coming off as genuine curiosity, they were still focused on my travels.
Ancients.
My chest tightens at the realization.
Troy’s meetings with me were calculated and purposely strategic, not born from enjoyment or casual fun.
How could I have been so naive?
I sag against Golem behind me as tears of anger and stupidity threaten to spill out.
“I want to go, Golem,” I nearly cry in a whisper, “please.”