Chapter 46
Awet thud echoed through the valley as Arla’s knife planted itself firmly in the chest of a Kastonian soldier.
She likely had seconds before he got back on his feet.
There would be no time to watch that abomination of nature. The world was erupting around her.
Men came with swords drawn as she gripped a knife tightly in her palm – her very last one because she’d been a stupid fool not to pick up more weapons on her way out of Claret Hall. She dragged it across throats and plunged it into chests.
Vetta kept Elin out of the way, the horse spinning and dodging the ambush as the dark soldiers swarmed Arla. Thara was airborne again, a flash of onyx talons tearing through flesh as the dragon picked off any man who was out of Arla’s reach.
Arla was outnumbered in every way that counted, and yet she kept ducking and lunging and kicking. Anything to keep these soldiers down long enough so Elin could escape.
Which, of course, the girl wasn’t doing.
The child clung to an arrow she’d packed for Arla, jabbing at any man who came within range of her and Vetta.
Gods, she was going to get herself killed, and it would be all Arla’s fault.
‘ELIN, GO NOW!’ Arla screamed over the din of swords and armour clanging – against what, she didn’t know, she only held a tiny knife.
Elin met Arla’s eyes across the space, a resolve there that made Arla curse herself for ever encouraging it.
But now was not the time. Not when soldiers she’d already slaughtered were rising to their feet again, that forbidden magic writhing in their veins.
And so Arla kept killing.
And killing.
And killing.
She didn’t know how much time had passed. Thara picked off any men she could without harming Arla or Elin, and when the space allowed it, Arla fired arrows at men who wouldn’t fall. She thought she might keep fighting forever. Just long enough to get Elin out.
She clung to the thought until the woosh of a thick wooden spike released from a crossbow flew by her cheek, grazing the skin before it tore through the leathery flesh of Thara’s wing.
Pain lanced through the bond, swaying Arla on her feet as Thara released a sound so horrific Arla prayed to whatever gods remained she’d never have to hear it again.
She had barely a second to turn her head and watch her dragon struggle to stay airborne before the soldiers were on their feet and coming at her again.
Arla sliced with renewed ferocity then, her remaining throwing knife an extension of her hand as she stabbed and cut and hacked at any who came for her.
‘Tell me you’re okay?’ she managed to pant through the bond.
There was a beat of silence before Thara replied.
‘They will burn for what they have done.’
Good.
Just as soon as Arla managed to get herself and Elin out of the firing line.
Something dark and impatient was clawing inside Arla’s chest, demanding to be set free. Demanding to be unleashed. It scared her.
Because deep down … deep down she knew what it was. Knew that history was repeating itself, and if she gave it an inch of freedom, it would consume her just as it had done Damon.
She didn’t have time for vengeful gods today, not when the world around her fell silent and the soldiers stood still.
Thara growled deep in her throat where she hovered in the air above Arla, the sound of her wings so different to usual now her dragon accommodated the hole in her right wing. Arla would kill them all.
‘Do not do anything stupid, Dragonhart.’
Arla chanted the words in her head as the soldiers surrounding her parted and revealed a man easily seven feet tall holding a blade just beneath Elin’s ribs where she still sat atop Vetta. To her credit, the child didn’t whimper, didn’t cry as the soldier smirked at Arla.
She’d cut his fucking throat for that.
‘Let her go,’ she growled through clenched teeth, her assassin’s brain already crafting a thousand ways to gut him and leave his innards strewn across the mountain.
The soldier sneered, his face contorting into something of nightmares.
And yet it was nothing compared to the way her entire body trembled as a figure stepped out from behind him, Arla’s mouth suddenly too dry as Orson, ambassador for Hadalyn, curled his thin lips at her.
‘Oh, how I’ve waited to get my hands on you.’
Traitor.
It was the first word that came to Arla as Orson crossed the distance towards her.
He was as repulsive as ever, his features too rat-like, his demeanour all wrong.
Sadist, she thought. He’d always bragged about how he’d take great pleasure in hurting her, had threatened to kill King’s Assassin more times than she could count.
It was why Cyrus had sent him away as ambassador to Kastonia – so that Orson wouldn’t kill Arla in her sleep after she had won the title when he was just as skilled as she was.
She’d suspected Orson of treason back when she’d stayed in Larkire Palace all those months ago. Had thought he was a little too close to the king of Kastonia. This just confirmed it; Orson had no loyalty to Hadalyn or its king.
Arla tossed her braid back over her shoulder, steeling herself against the man she’d love nothing more than to kill.
When he was less than five feet away, Arla finally spoke.
‘Still so painfully untouched by a woman you can’t help but wish to, oh how did you put it? Get your hands on me, Orson?’
It got her the reaction she wanted, his face contorting with rage as he held a knife to her throat quicker than blinking. Thara growled in warning, the ground shuddering as the dragon landed behind Arla.
‘I’m okay, don’t do anything.’
‘I grow tired of these orders, Dragonhart.’
This close, Orson smelled sour, his pale green eyes only adding to the repulsion Arla felt being this close to him. He pressed the blade against her skin harder until a sharp bite signalled her blood must have bloomed along the steel.
‘I’m going to take great pleasure in crushing that attitude of yours, whore.’
Yes, a sadist indeed.
Arla caught Elin’s eye over Orson’s shoulders, a silent plea that should the opportunity arise, the girl was to run. To Arla’s relief, Elin dipped her chin slightly.
‘Shall we get on with it, Orson?’ Arla snickered, leaning into the blade and enjoying the way his eyes widened in shock. ‘Let the girl go, and we will discuss what it is you want.’
He scoffed, the sound travelling through Arla’s skin and setting it alight with goosebumps. She fucking hated him.
‘Do you think you’re in a position to discuss anything? In case you hadn’t noticed, you senseless bitch, I’m seconds away from cutting your throat.’
The snort she let through her nose was clearly the wrong move when Orson said, ‘Yarrow, kill the girl.’
There was no hesitation as Yarrow pulled the blade back from Elin’s skin, ready to plunge it straight through her ribs.
Arla begged then. ‘No, have me. You can have me, just don’t harm her, Orson. Don’t.’
‘You’re a fool if you think I will allow them to take you from here.’
‘It’s me or her. You don’t let them hurt Elin. That’s an order.’
Arla snapped the bond shut, ignoring the low grumble and the warning of heat on the back of her neck.
Orson raised a brow, stepping back from Arla and removing the blade from her throat. Her blood slid slowly down her neck. ‘Orson, please.’
It took everything in her to plead with the man, to show not just a slither of humility but her whole fucking heart. Yarrow, at least, hadn’t stabbed Elin … yet.
‘Please,’ she whispered, the word slipping from her lips like some vow she was making to him. She thought perhaps she was.
‘You’d really trade your life for that of a child, assassin?’ he was sneering at her with amused curiosity. Arla didn’t care. Let him mock her, she could live with his taunting. She wouldn’t live with the death of Seb’s niece.
She wiped all images of Seb and the rest of Flambriar’s court out of her mind. If she thought of them, she might lose control entirely. ‘You can have me. I’ll come willingly, but you have to let her go.’
‘Stay your blade, Yarrow.’ Orson’s slimy voice carried to the soldier at Elin’s side. He sheathed the blade but kept hold of Elin’s arm. Gods how were they going to get out of this…
‘You don’t carry that symbol on your chest for nothing. Use it.’
Of course…
The Dragonhart brooch, the key to the magic in the bond between her and Thara. But she had never wielded it on purpose – had no idea how to…
‘Kneel.’ The word cut into her like a poisoned blade.
‘What?’ she half laughed, the sound scratchy in her throat as Orson smirked back at her.
‘You heard me, Reinhart. Kneel at my feet and beg me to spare the girl.’
‘Don’t you dare.’
It went against everything in her. Everything from the cocksure assassin she had grown up to be, right down to the very blood flowing in her veins. She was blessed by the gods, to kneel at the feet of a man was to go against the gods themselves.
And yet she lowered herself to the ground anyway.
Sharp stones cut into her bare knees, the nightgown barely covering her as she knelt at Orson’s feet.
They laughed then. Every one of Elrod’s soldiers laughed at her, the sound a careful shredding of her dignity.
She didn’t care. For Elin she would do this. For Flambriar she would kneel at Orson’s feet if it meant only Arla was harmed.
She thought a whimper squeaked from Elin then, the first sign of the girl’s undoing.
‘Use the magic, Dragonhart. I will not tolerate their mocking for long.’
Orson still laughed as he leered over her. Perfect. Keep him distracted so she could figure out how to access the magic in the bond.
Arla reached her fingers up towards the dragonhart brooch pinned above her left breast. The metal was warm to the touch, that familiar sentience seeming to call to something in her blood.
A tugging sensation in her core strengthened, as if her very soul was reaching out to whatever magic lay inside the brooch.
And yet it was still out of reach.
‘Reach for it. It will come.’ Thara was growing impatient, Arla could hear it in the dragon’s voice. Could feel it in the way the ground shook as Thara shifted her weight between her feet. Any moment now, the dragon would snap and kill every man who stood here.
Arla wouldn’t allow it whilst Elin was still at risk of having a sword pushed through her ribs.
So she reached in her mind for that old magic.
The one she often felt lurking in the bond.
The one that watched and waited in her blood, as if it knew one day she might use it.
The dragonhart pulsed hotter beneath her fingers, the metal searing hot now as Arla tried to tether it to the bond between her and her dragon.
Everything felt too slippery. Like she was grasping at water and watching it trickle through her fingers.
The magic was there, waiting, she could feel it.
She just had no idea how in the gods damned hells she was supposed to connect with it.
A sharp kick to her jaw sent her reeling.
Copper coated her tongue, the blood spilling over her lips as Arla tried to breathe through the throbbing in her jaw. Orson glared down at her. ‘I don’t hear you begging, Reinhart?’
Pride was a fickle thing. Hard to come by, too easy to lose. Arla swallowed it anyway, pressing her body closer to the ground, her very soul screaming at the act.
‘Please, Orson. Don’t hurt the child.’
A booted foot came to rest harshly on her shoulder, Orson’s weight pressing the side of her quickly bruising face into the stone peppered ground.
‘You’ll come willingly if I spare the girl.’
Not a question. Not a negotiation. A promise that if she didn’t comply there would be no stopping him from ordering Elin dead.
There was not a second of hesitation before Arla replied, ‘Done.’
A second later and Orson kicked her again, so hard that her body sprawled on the ground, her nightdress rising higher so that the creamy flesh of her thighs was exposed to the dozens of eyes watching.
‘I will burn them all.’
‘No,’ Arla protested. ‘Not until she is safe.’
Orson’s lurid voice echoed through the clearing.
‘Let the child go. She can deliver the message back to wherever it is the rest of them are hiding, that we have king’s assassin. Her life is dependent on her cooperation.’
Just a fleeting glance to Elin was all Arla was granted before Yarrow released his grip on the girl and her heels were digging into Vetta’s side, a clatter of loose stones in their wake as Elin galloped toward Flambriar.
It was a risk, her going alone. Arla could only hope none followed and discovered the whereabouts of Flambriar.
‘Now may I boil their insides?’
Arla smiled through her bleeding lips.
‘The honour is yours.’
There wasn’t time for flames.
Not as three twangs ruptured the air followed by the telltale thud of thick crossbolts penetrating scaled flesh.
The sound that Thara made had Arla retching as those bolts pierced her chest and sides, the pain so blinding it tore through the bond without restraint. Arla gagged again as her dragon roared, fire spewing from her jaws in short bursts, as if the act of breathing was too painful for her.
And then there were hands on Arla’s skin. Rough hands that would bruise her as rope was secured around her wrists and ankles. Bile rose in her throat as another bolt was fired at her dragon. This time, it seemed, was the final snapping of the tether of Thara’s resilience.
She launched into the air, her wings hardly catching her as she tried to climb higher and higher, her huge body dropping feet at a time before she managed to right herself. Blood rained down upon Arla and the soldiers holding her, scalding hot and too red.
There was no way Thara could help her like this … not without being killed.
It took every kernel of strength Arla had to whisper the words through the bond.
‘Go. Find help. I’ll be okay.’
When Thara replied, there was nothing of the strength Arla had come to know in the dragon’s voice. That was perhaps the most frightening thing of all.
‘I will find you again. Just as you found me.’
Arla was almost certain she heard her own heart break as she watched her dragon fly away, her emerald body disappearing into the grey of the mountains.
She swallowed as Orson gripped her chin, his bony fingers pressing hard into her bones as he hissed, ‘We’re going to have fun, you and I.’
There was a blunt force to the side of her skull.
And then there was nothing.