Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
TRISTAN
“Head up,” the Bastardmaker barked.
A sharp pain started in my stomach, its intensity matching the ache in my broken hand as I walked beside him through Cresthaven’s Great Hall. Every step more painful than the last.
“I said, head up, Lord Tristan,” he sneered.
I obeyed, and the pain stopped. Fucking blood contract.
“Now, shoulders back,” he commanded.
I did that, too.
“Walk on your toes like a dancer.”
I lifted my heels, my teeth clenching, but he only laughed.
“For fuck’s sake. I was kidding. Walk like a man.” My heels went down.
He led me up the stairs of Bamaria’s fortress. We’d just arrived as the clock tower announced midnight. Twenty-four hours since Galen was—since he—
“But wipe that Godsdamned look off your face. Or forget prancing, I’ll make you crawl back to your room.”
“Yes, Arkturion,” I said blandly, schooling my face to neutral, to the mask I’d been taught to wear since I was a boy. The disaffected mask of a nobleman, of a Lord of Ka Grey.
The backs of my eyes burned and no matter how many direct orders he barked at me, or forced me to obey I couldn’t get the image of Galen out of my head.
Couldn’t stop seeing his swollen face, the pain in his eyes, his gaping, empty mouth.
The way his head had fallen forward when the Bastardmaker—when he—
“Left at this hall,” he commanded.
I frowned. Left took us to the Heir’s wing. Toward Naria’s bedroom.
“That’s not my room,” I said.
He frowned, looking me up and down slowly, his eyes staying a moment too long at my crotch. A wide smile formed across his lips. “No?” he asked. “But it’s Lady Naria’s.” His eyes lit with amusement. “What? You only pull your cock out for your friends? Not for her?”
“Fu—”
“Ah! No!” His hand wrapped around my neck, and the wall hit my back.
I closed my eyes, trying not to cry. Trying not to scream.
I couldn’t fight back. I only had one working hand.
They’d had me seen by the best healers in the Empire, my bones had been reset and already I had some movement back in my fingers.
But it was going to take weeks for the soreness to go away.
The rest of my life to forget the memory of how it happened. Of what happened after.
Maybe I should resist. Maybe I should scream. Blurt out the truth, and admit to anyone who’d listen what I’d done. Maybe I could drive him to kill me, too. End my misery.
He sneered and shook his head as if he could read my mind. “Don’t even think about it,” he said.
My mind went blank. Fuck. Fuck! I knew I had to obey every order given to me now that I’d signed that damned contract binding me to him. But I had no idea it could work on my mind.
“You’re not going to get me to kill you. You’re not going to join your little friend. No matter how desperately,” his eyes lowered, “you want to be with him.” He bared his teeth. “Not for,” his fingers squeezed around me tighter, “a very,” he squeezed again, “very, long time.”
“I … understand,” I said, gasping for breath.
“Good.” He released me, and I slumped down against the wall, coughing as tears filled my eyes.
I clutched at the sling my arm was in, a splint still strapped to my hand to ensure the bones remained in place.
“I am taking you to your room. But I thought,” he shrugged, “you might want some female … comfort.”
“No,” I said, my heart hammering. Because I already knew how this game was played. He’d want to stay. He’d want to watch. I’d be unable to do anything about it, unable to make him leave, unable to stop it.
He shrugged. “To your room we go.” He pushed me back down the hall and barked out, “Turn right.”
Right toward the wing of the Arkasva’s Second, the rooms where every member of Ka fucking Grey was now sleeping. The Bastardmaker stopped in front of my bedroom door. But before he could turn the key, the door swung open.
My grandmother stood on the other side, her red lips pursed together.
For a second, I was relieved. So fucking relieved to see her, to see the one person who was supposed to protect me, who had protected me as a kid—taken me in, comforted me after my parents—after they’d—
She stepped forward, her eyes filled with concern when she saw me, taking in the sling, the way I still limped as I walked.
My face had been tended to, but it was still swollen and red, still full of cuts and bruises that would take weeks to heal.
Before they’d sent me off, a mage had applied glamour magic to my skin, clearing all blemishes.
It had to be fading by now. But even if it hadn’t, she had to know.
She had to see the difference in me, see the pain in my eyes.
Suddenly I was three years old again. A scared little boy, terrified of the things he’d seen, the things he’d lost. I needed a hug.
I needed to be protected. I needed my grandmother.
Bamaria’s Master of the Horse, Arianna’s Second.
At this moment, she was the most powerful person in the country.
The hope that she could do something, that she could somehow save me surged forward.
Gods, could she tell? Could she see it in my eyes? Feel it in my aura? In the way we stood together? Could she see what he’d done to me? Could she undo it? Help me? Fix it?
Her eyes filled with disdain. But too late, I realize they weren’t for him, for my captor and torturer. For Galen’s killer.
They were for me. For her own Godsdamned grandson.
“Arkturion Waryn,” she said. “Thank you for bringing Tristan back to me.”
He grunted. “No problem. I think he’s learned his lesson,” he said.
My grandmother nodded and my heart sank. No—it fucking plunged to my stomach, was drowning. “Please, come in,” she said, moving behind the doorway.
He nodded and closed the door behind him
“I hope he wasn’t too much trouble for you. The sorts of things young men can get up to. He’s normally perfectly behaved. You’ve been very patient with him.”
The sorts of things? As if I were running through the city playing pranks. Stealing purses! I’d just been tortured, and watched my best friend murdered, and she was acting like I’d been an insolent brat in need of a scolding.
“I think we sorted him out,” the Bastardmaker said, winking at her, his eyes dipping to my crotch. “We can sort him out more if needed.”
My unbroken hand clenched painfully.
“Well, Arkturion, you must be exhausted. Not to worry, I’ll deal with him.”
The Bastardmaker nodded. “I have one more loose end to tie up here before I find my bed.” My chest tightened.
“Just need to make sure one more time, that your grandson isn’t hiding any dangerous criminals from us. We wouldn’t want that, would we? Not when he’s promised to be a good boy.”
“He’ll comply,” my grandmother said quickly, her eyes narrowing on me.
The Bastardmaker opened his belt pocket, retrieving a single clear stone. White clouds began to fill the center.
One of the vadati stones Lady Kenna had sent us. That one was mine and Galen’s. And it connected us to the other fugitives the Emperor sought. The other traitors of the Empire.
“Time to try this again,” he sneered, his eyes locking with mine. “Hold out your hand.”
I felt like a fucking dog, lifting my palm up, following every order.
He dropped the stone instead of handing it to me.
“Hold it to your mouth,” he said. “And call your friends.”
“You know they won’t answer,” I said. “They know I’m compromised.”
“They knew you were. Now make them believe you’re not,” he said. “Cry. Lie. Blubber like a baby. Just do it.” Or else. I could hear the unspoken threat at the end. The threat he was now openly making in front of my grandmother. “Julianna first,” he barked.
My throat dried as I pulled the vadati to my mouth, and said, “Julianna.” My voice was hoarse and shaking.
I knew they could hear the tears I’d shed underneath.
I didn’t even have to act. The stone filled with white fog, and a tinge of blue.
Fuck. It was connecting, just like it had when they made me do it last time.
“Again,” the Bastardmaker hissed, his voice low.
“Julianna,” I cried, my heart hammering. “Are you there? It’s Tristan. Please. Please answer me. Please.” Blue light filled my palm.
No. No. No.
“Get her to answer,” the Bastardmaker gritted.
“Do it,” my grandmother hissed, her eyes flashing with anger.
I let out a shaky exhale. “Julianna, I need to know where you are. I-I escaped the Palace. I tried to tell you before, but if you didn’t hear me last time, Galen’s—G-G—” Real tears fell.
“Galen’s dead—” My voice cracked. I’d been instructed to tell them, to make sure they knew.
And every time I had to say it, it was like the moment was happening all over again.
“Please, help me. I don’t know where to go.
Where to hide. Help me.” I shuddered, no longer acting. “I’m so scared. Help me.”
The vadati cleared, all the light fading.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Keep going,” he said. “Call Dario.”
So I did. The same thing happened. And again when I tried Meera, and then Aiden, the rest of my co-conspirators now.
The stone connected each time, meaning that they were together, that they still had at least one of the stones.
But they weren’t answering me. No matter how much I begged, how hard I cried, or how desperate my pleas became.
The Bastardmaker wiped his mouth in annoyance, looking between me and my grandmother. “Lady Lyriana,” he said, “call her.”
My throat bobbed. “But she’s missing.”
“So we’ll find her. The little bitch knows you.” He scratched at his arm. “She ran with you. Call her.”
“And say what?”
He smirked. “That we have her cousin again. She’ll come running.”
My grandmother’s eyes twitched. Her aura flaring with hatred.
“Lyriana,” I said. “Lyriana, can you hear me? It’s Tristan. Please answer if you can. Lyr, there’s something you need to know. Jules. They have her. The Emperor.” My eyes flashed. “The Bastardmaker.”