16. D（anger）
D(anger)
Every day, the Marshal pushed me harder to master my magic. We trained even though the wound on my shoulder was still healing.
She filled a long room with water—piped all the way from the river—and had me stand in it for hours on end, shivering. Unlike during the test, it was my job to infuse it with magic. An arduous, exhausting process.
It was a few weeks since the stabbing, and I could finally lift my arm without almost passing out.
“One,” the Marshal bellowed, holding the wooden target with a 1 printed on it in front of her face.
“Two?” Squire hooted on my shoulder (not helpful).
Head throbbing, I raised my glowing hands. Pulling the water high, I directed it at her target. She sprinted across the room, trying to get out of the way. I sent the magic after her, concentrating. Splash. It hit true.
“Five!” she shouted, unimpressed.
Squire chirped, “One?”
I threw magic at 5, which hung from the ceiling. A wall of water rose up between us, straight to the target.
“Ten!” she ordered.
“Nine?” Squire called out (really not helpful).
Without turning, I pointed my finger over my shoulder and threw a stream behind me, hitting the 10.
We kept going for what felt like hours, only stopping for a few short breaks. Squire squawked numbers louder, getting into the spirit while completely missing the point of the exercise.
By the end I could barely stand up, head aching from exertion. “I win,” Squire hooted. The Marshal dismissed us both, lips pinched, eyes narrowed. I immediately collapsed to my knees.
Nothing I did was good enough.
She left me kneeling in the water, feeling sorry for myself.
Teeth chattering, I finally gathered my courage and staggered up after her.
In the map room, I dried myself off, and then Squire, before I quickly changed clothes to hide the evidence of my magic, while the Marshal studied the table.
Sighing, I stumbled out into the hall, where a different Shadow Sword waited each day to escort me back to my room.
Gentle hands caught me; Ryse studied my face, interest in his calm green eyes. For the first time, we were alone.
“Shadowy man!” Squire hooted.
Almost alone.
Ryse cleared his throat, a smile on his lips. “Hello, Zora—and Squire,” he said softly. I glanced away, hyperaware that my eyes were bloodshot and ringed with the purple-black hue of dark circles. On my shoulder, Squire rotated his head from one side to the other, uncomfortable with male attention.
“Let’s get you both back,” Ryse said, understanding in his voice.
We walked together in a pleasant quiet. He opened doors for me and offered his arm when I tripped going up the stairs, but I didn’t take it. When we got back to my room, I grimaced, gingerly pushing open the door—peaceful, blessed silence.
No one was inside.
Tarantula must still be at his daily afternoon meeting with the Admiral, aka negotiations where they traded intel. Squire eagerly flew over to my bed, tucking himself under the covers, settling in for a nap.
Ryse exhaled behind me.
The moment stretched.
He didn’t leave.
“Zora,” Ryse said quietly. Masculine fingers brushed my braid aside and trailed down the back of my neck. A full-body shiver rolled through me, reminding me that I was still alive. I was so tired of feeling nothing but suffering.
Without looking back at him, I nodded and entered the room. In my peripheral vision, he followed.
The door shut behind us.
Click.
He turned the lock.
We were safe—no one could interrupt us.
Safety is good.
I stopped right in front of my bed. He came up behind me, his face even with mine. We were the same height. There was a buzzing in my stomach, an awareness, but it was faint . . . peaceful. Ryse was warm and gentle. Everything I should want.
Fingers trailed down my sides, and his lips pressed against the back of my spine. Sweet, soft kisses.
I shivered and turned, pressed flush against his chest. He gently cupped my face, and his lips found mine.
Ryse didn’t exert pressure. Instead, he held me against his body and kissed me tenderly like I was glass that would break.
His arms wrapped around my shoulders as he pressed his torso against me.
My mouth opened wider, tongue sliding against his.
Tenderly he explored deeper into my mouth.
He smelled like sand and sunshine. Pure goodness.
Tension melted from my shoulders, and my tired legs gave out. I leaned against his chest, savoring his warm scent.
Ryse gently guided me back so I was sitting on the edge of the mattress as he bent toward me. His arms settled around my shoulders, a comfortable, calming hug. He leaned in and kissed me deeper.
I tilted my head up, eager for more. I wrapped my arms around him but pulled back when I hit his broadsword. Not wanting to take liberties, I awkwardly rested my hands on the front of his muscular chest.
He stooped lower and deepened the kiss.
A warm thumb brushed against the side of my neck.
His fingers stilled, then drifted curiously back and forth against the divots.
The Emperor’s bite. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room; he was stealing it all from my lungs.
A wave of fresh exhaustion hit me, and I wanted to curl up in bed and take a nap.
No.
Eyes squeezed shut, I refused to pull away, trying to lose myself in the moment. Trying to forget what I had to do—who I was hunting, and who hunted me.
I kissed Ryse, needing this gentle moment. He groaned into my open mouth, finally pressing his tongue harder against mine. I tilted my head eagerly, accidentally biting his lip.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
He chuckled. “Don’t worry, beautiful.”
Such a nice thing to say.
I fought the urge to sigh with boredom.
Hinges groaned.
My eyes shot open—Ryse’s were still closed.
The washroom door lazily swung open.
Someone.
Kill.
Me.
I was officially beyond worried.
Tarantula stepped into the room and froze. Deathly still. His gaze locked on mine, nostrils flaring. What was he doing in there? His eyes iced over, colder than the frozen Barren Lake. The air around him shimmered, and the sharp scent of dark cherry and magic filled the room.
Ryse kissed me harder.
My pulse raced.
I whimpered—from terror.
Emboldened, Ryse cupped my neck with both hands, thumb stroking the divots on the side of my neck like he was trying to soothe away old pain. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” he said, still with his eyes closed.
Please stop speaking.
Tarantula’s gaze widened with mania. He lasered in, not blinking, on where Ryse was touching my jugular. My blood curdled, and my legs opened wider as I prepared to flee. Ryse leaned in for more.
Tarantula sauntered over. The new chains connecting his wrists were completely silent as he moved with lazy, sinister precision. Ryse didn’t notice. Not even as Tarantula loomed behind him—directly in front of me.
My hackles rose.
Ryse kept kissing me.
I tried to pull back, to warn him, but his fingers were steady on the back of my neck, holding my tilted face up to his. There was nowhere to go. I banged my hand against his shoulder. He groaned, dark lashes resting against his cheekbones.
I gasped messily into Ryse’s open mouth, trying desperately to speak between kisses. “He’s—”
He groaned deeply. “Mmm-hmm.”
“—behind . . . you.”
Ryse chuckled. “Who?”
Tarantula leaned forward, setting his chin on my hand—the one that rested on Ryse’s shoulder. Awareness exploded across my flesh. Ryse stiffened, eyes snapping wide at the new head beside his.
“Ravenal’s partner,” Tarantula purred, like it meant something, which it definitely didn’t.
The moment stretched between the three of us with terrible stillness.
All hell broke loose.
Ryse ripped away from me, spinning. He threw a fist. Tarantula dodged and came up swinging. Crack. Ryse’s head snapped to the side, blood exploding from his broken nose, onto me.
Squire woke up. “Hi, spider!” he chirped happily on my pillow (really not helpful).
In slow motion, I brought my fingers up to my wet face.
Tarantula bellowed as he leaned low and charged, plowing his shoulder into Ryse’s torso, ramming him backward. Ryse punched blindly, hammering his back, but Tarantula didn’t seem to notice.
Crash.
Tarantula chucked Ryse’s body through the window.
And he says I don’t have manners?
Chest heaving, Tarantula turned and stared at me. His lips were in a flat line, and his eyes flashed—still not blinking. He shook his head and jumped through the now missing glass, out into the desert, chasing after Ryse. There was a thud and a shout like someone had been tackled.
Glass crunched beneath my combat boots as I ran to the window.
Fists flew.
Tarantula straddled Ryse, bludgeoning him. It wasn’t a fight; it was a massacre.
“Stop it!” I screamed, jumping through the window. Running across the sand, I threw myself onto Tarantula’s back, wrapping my hands around the top of his stupid diamond collar. I squeezed the exposed sliver of his neck with all my strength.
Tarantula stilled, sitting up straight, straddling an unmoving Ryse.
Legs wrapped around his torso, I hung off him, strangling with all my might.
He shuddered. A deep sound escaped his lips as he took a long breath.
It took me a moment to register that it wasn’t a noise of pain. It was . . . pleasure?
Tarantula chuckled darkly.
“Get off Ryse,” I snarled into his ear, exerting more pressure, desperate to hurt him.
Tarantula froze, muscles flexing beneath my touch.
“Ryse, is it . . . ?” he said softly. “Thou art on a first-name basis?”
“Yes, now get off.”
“No.”
I reached around, smacking at his face from behind. He lazily tipped his head back, lips parted as he rested his head against my shoulder and turned toward me—his eyes locked on mine. I slapped him harder, and his eyes rolled back in his head like he enjoyed being hit. Never a good sign.
“Let him go!” I demanded.