Chapter 9
GRAESON
Fury roared through Graeson's body as he swung his scimitars with practiced ease. With each clang of metal, the god inside seeped out a little more, pushing his humanity back bit by bit.
All the anger Graeson had been holding back bled from his hands and into the blades. Each opponent he met fell, their life spilling onto the earth, which greedily ate it up as he moved on to the next victim.
An energy flowed through him as he twisted and slashed. He was unhinged, unstoppable, and completely unmerciful.
Then, as Graeson lifted his blade, something called to him, beckoning him to turn around. When he tried to spin around to the call, his feet were swept from under him, and his back hit the ground with a hard thump. Dirt flew in the air.
Before Graeson could clear the ringing from his head, a weight pressed on him, flattening him against the ground. Sharp nails dug into his hair and yanked his head up before slamming it into the ground again.
Graeson hissed, eyes springing open in anger. But for the first time in his life, he was helpless as he stared at the assailant.
He swallowed the vitriol sitting on the tip of his tongue the second he took in the brown, chestnut waves falling around his face. The thick halo of hair blocked out the battle happening around them. And though his friends struggled, he was speechless as deep blue eyes swimming with shadows stared at him.
Graeson pushed past the god taking hold of his body as the woman he would do anything for sat atop him, regarding him without mercy.
"Kalisandre?" he whispered, awestruck. She shouldn't have been awake. Had something happened to Terin? Had he been--
"You bastard!" Kalisandre shouted, wrapping her hands around his throat, strangling him, and forcing his previous thoughts back.
A raging storm brewed within her sea-blue eyes. Yet, despite the wrath roaring, he wanted to get lost in the sea. He would gladly drown within them.
Kalisandre's slim fingers tightened around his throat, and for a second, Graeson let them.
He let her rage fuel the storm. He let her release her wrath and pour it into him because at least this, the anger burning in her eyes, was better than the lifeless body they had been carrying across the Frenzian lands.
He would happily take her anger, her rage, over watching her wither away before him. He would rather face her wrath than wonder what would become of her if they took too long to reach safety.
And perhaps Graeson let Kalisandre's grip tighten around his throat longer than he should have because, more than anything else, he deserved it.
He deserved her fury, her anger, her hate, for he had taken the one thing she had always strived to gain: a choice.
Again.
All Kalisandre wanted was freedom--a choice in this puppet life of hers, yet Graeson had ignored her. He hadn't returned home when she had told him to. He hadn't listened to her even though he knew she had promised to marry the king.
So, yes, he deserved her fury.
Because even if he had the choice to redo things, he would do it the same way again and again.
Kalisandre deserved her freedom. She deserved to make her own choices, to know the truth, and to break free from the king's control. Graeson would do whatever it took to give her that. He made a promise, and he intended to keep it. No matter what.
In the back of his mind, a roar sounded from the god, but Graeson ignored it.
"Graeson!"
Terin's voice snapped Graeson out of his stupor. Panic surged through him, and he grabbed Kalisandre's wrists.
With a growl and determination twisting her features, she tightened her grip around his throat, squeezing.
He wiggled beneath her hold, loosening her fingers just enough to shout at Terin, "Don't touch her!" His voice was gravelly and raw, but he knew Terin had heard him when the footsteps stopped.
Kalisandre screamed, her cheeks turning red as she shifted atop him to tighten her hold. Although Graeson was still stronger than her, something other was fueling her.
For a woman who had been more or less unconscious for a while, she had the energy and strength of the kraken. Graeson couldn't shake her hold off, not without hurting her.
Using his legs, Graeson tightened his core and twisted, rolling them around. Kalisandre's back hit the ground harder than he had anticipated. Her grip loosened, and Graeson flew into motion. With one hand, he gathered her wrists and held them above her head.
Kalisandre thrashed beneath him. "Get the fuck off me!"
Her hair was spread across the dirt and draped carelessly over her face. Her skin was pale, her cheeks hollow and stained with mud.
She was far from the princess he had seen standing in a diamond-covered ball gown months ago in the marble castle of Ardentol, or the seductress dripping in blood-red rubies inside the Frenzian castle. Out here, in the forests of Frenzia, Kalisandre was not a princess or gemstone for the bull king to parade around.
Her truth was laid bare. She was a woman betrayed by the people she trusted the most. A woman enraged who craved freedom more than anything.
And yet, the words that Kalisandre cried suggested otherwise.
"Where is my father?!"
She will never be free if the bull king's hold remains, the god hissed.
He shouted back, "He is not your father!"
Outraged, Kalisandre kicked, and, as much as Graeson hated himself for it, he shifted and forced her legs flat. She struggled beneath him, but Graeson kept his grip firm.
"He is more my family than any of you," she spat. "He is the only family I have."
Graeson flinched. "He lied to you. He's been lying to you! How do you still not see that?"
"And you all haven't?" she scoffed.
All around him, his people met blow for blow from their enemies, their blades slashing through the air. He needed to help them. Graeson had already slayed three of their assailants before he was pulled away by Kalisandre waking up, but his friends were quickly being overtaken.
"Go ahead," Kallie snapped, drawing Graeson's attention back to her. "Call Terin. Force me unconscious again. That's what you did, right? He's been messing with my head again?"
Graeson shook his head in frustration. "If you listened, you would understand."
But Kalisandre still wasn't listening. "Tell me where he is! If you killed him, I'll--"
"He got away," Graeson cut her off.
Kalisandre stopped struggling then, her gaze flitting between his eyes in search for the truth, but it had already been laid bare.
If she still believed Domitius cared for her, he would have to prove that he didn't.
Graeson pressed on. "He abandoned you as the temple burned. He left you to die."
"You're lying," Kalisandre spat, but her expression warred before him.
Despite the hatred she spewed, Graeson saw a flicker of doubt in her features. It was brief, and if Graeson hadn't been staring at her, he would have missed it. But it was there, and that was all that mattered.
He just needed to deepen the fissure. "Where was he when the glass shattered? When the fire started? Where was he when you fell to your knees?" he pressed.
A deep crease formed in the center of Kalisandre's forehead as she tried to recall the events.
How the ceiling came crashing down and how she was abandoned on the altar as her father fled through the tunnels and her fiancé ran toward the door to help break them open.
"He--" She shook her head, unable to finish her sentence. The answer would only prove that Graeson was right.
"When the fire started, he ran and didn't look back," Graeson said. "Dani went after him. When Terin and I followed after her with you in our possession, you know what Domitius did?"
Kalisandre remained silent, her throat bobbing as she swallowed.
"He did nothing , Kalisandre. He let us take you. He brought the ceiling down over our heads with little care for your wellbeing and ran."
Red streaked the whites of her eyes, and tears puddled at the bottom, hanging precariously on her lashes.
Still, she held to her truth, as stubborn as ever. "You're lying. He would never let you take me if he was alive."
"Do you truly believe that?" Graeson blinked at her, eyes wide. At that moment, he pitied her more than he ever had before as she lay there with blood on her face and dirt in her hair, crying for a man who did not care about her.
More than anything else, Graeson wanted to kill Domitius for causing her this much pain and forcing her to believe that he was someone she could trust.
"He's my father," Kalisandre rasped. She hung onto those three words as if they could save her, as if her very life depended upon them.
Graeson shook his head, huffing a mangled laugh void of any humor. "Believe what you want, Kalisandre, but Domitius only cares about his own survival."
"You're lying!" Kalisandre shouted as she tried to slip from his grasp.
"Then why did he let us take you? Why did he drop a tunnel on our heads while you were still in your brother's arms? If he cared about you, why did he let you go, Kalisandre?" he challenged.
She tried to speak but struggled to utter a single word when she found no sign of deception on Graeson's face. Then, as if she could not meet his eyes any longer, Kalisandre looked away, her long eyelashes brushing her sunken cheeks.
Graeson knew they weren't the words she wanted to hear, that the man who had put her in this position--manipulated and betrayed her--had gotten away without punishment.
Nevertheless, she needed to know the truth, no matter how much pain it caused. It should have been a relief that she finally understood the truth. But when Graeson looked down at her agonized face, he only felt deep empathy for Kalisandre.
When she finally lifted her gaze, she looked over his shoulder. Her expression hardened, the last remnants of emotions disappearing. Her pupils dilated and then contracted quickly.
An alarm rang in the back of Graeson's mind, but before he could react, hands were wrapped around his throat once more.