by Everly Frost
Nathaniel jolts a little, but the look on his face tells me he trusts that his sister can handle herself right now.
She elbows Tanner in the stomach, spins, and punches his face, knocking him on his backside before she flies back at Hagan. Hagan strides toward her at the same time, a deep glower growing on his face.
“She never should have trained you!” Christiana shouts as they hurtle toward each other. “She never should have taken you in. She should have left you in the ditch where she found you. She treated you like her own son and this is how you repay—”
Oomph. The breath knocks audibly from her lungs as Hagan tackles her, gripping her around her middle and hoisting her up over his shoulder—the one without the wolf’s head.
He roars above her shouting. “Your mother would want—”
“What?” she shrieks at him, regaining her breath. She thumps his broad back, but her fists meet the pelt instead. “What would she want? You fucking bastard. You don’t care what she would have wanted.”
Hagan deposits her roughly back onto the empty throne right next to Cyrian’s and turns his back on her.
For a second, I think she’s going to leap after him, but she stays seated.
“Fuck you, Hagan Sever,” she whispers, her hands forming fists beside her thighs. “You never cared about us.”
He pauses in his stride, his usual glower deepening before he swings back to her. “Do not test me, woman.”
“Or what? You’ll put me in the King’s lap? Maybe you’ll hold me down when he—”
Cyrian snaps his fingers and Christiana lets out a scream, doubling over her stomach before her cries subside to whimpers. She curls up in the chair, tears leaking down her cheeks.
Nathaniel lurches beside me and Hagan stiffens, his back very straight as his fists slowly clench at his sides.
Luciana trained all the hunters—which includes Hagan. Christiana must have once trusted Hagan, but the betrayal in her eyes now is sharp and angry.
The King presses a hand to his heart, his chest vibrating as he laughs quietly. “You see, Hagan Sever, this is why I like Christiana. Being around Nathaniel’s sister is like poking your hand into a fire. You know you’re alive every time you get burned.”
He leans across the arm of his chair, only inches from her face, smiling at her. “She fights me every step of the way. I like fight.”
Christiana’s hair falls across her shoulder as she twists toward Cyrian. Her cheeks are pale and her chest rises and falls slowly.
“I know you do,” she says to him.
Her left arm suddenly swings in an arc toward his chest.
Steel flashes in her hand. A dagger is gripped in her fist.
With a sharp, strong thrust, she drives it at Cyrian’s heart.
With a shout, Cyrian’s hands fly up between his chest and the dagger, dark light bursting from his fingers and shielding him.
The dagger halts an inch from his heart.
His angry shout mixes with Christiana’s scream of effort, their voices echoing around the room while the dark magic hums around them.
Where did she get a dagger?
Hagan jolts and checks his belt—there’s an empty patch where one of his daggers is missing. She must have stolen it while she was screaming at him, a clever and brave move while everyone was distracted.
Beside me, Nathaniel suddenly roars, pulling his arms outward. My eyes fly wide when the chains creak and snap, breaking apart. Chain links pop and scatter across the ground.
He’s free.
Ignoring Hagan, he spins toward me instead of Christiana. I only realize why when I sense Tanner creeping up behind me, his dagger raised. With a roar, Nathaniel barrels past me, lowering his shoulder just as Tanner slashes at him with the hunting knife. Nathaniel’s shoulder punches into Tanner’s stomach. With a swift shove, he flips the younger man up and onto his back.
Tanner lands with a thud and Nathaniel doesn’t stop.
He runs toward Hagan, who stands between him and Christiana. The two men face off for a split second before Hagan throws a crushing fist at Nathaniel’s face. To my shock, Nathaniel takes the blow, but at the same time, he whips his chain around Hagan’s chest and arms, dragging him away from Christiana. With a savage kick, he pulls the chains tight and forces Hagan to his knees, knocking him out with an elbow to his temple.
I leap into action too. My target is Tanner and his array of daggers. He groans on the ground, rolling onto his side, momentarily facing away from me as he attempts to rise.
Timing my approach, I somersault over him one-handed and snatch one of his daggers as I fly across, landing at a crouch in front of him.
His eyes are glazed—a sign of concussion—but even so, he draws a wobbly breath, freezing at my sudden appearance. He can’t stop me from grabbing a second dagger. My hand darts forward before I backflip away from him, holding the weapons.
Leaping back to my feet, I run in an arc around him and speed toward the thrones.
Hagan slumps to the floor, unconscious, as I draw level with him and Nathaniel. Now that Hagan’s down, Nathaniel jumps to his feet and plows toward his sister.
Up on the throne, Christiana screams as she pushes the dagger with both her hands, trying to breach the force of dark magic Cyrian is using to protect himself. Sweat drips down her face and her arms shake with effort.
Cyrian isn’t fairing much better. He grits his teeth, the dark light spilling up across his face making his eyes appear black and his eye sockets sunken. He’s pinned where he sits, caught behind the shield he created.
“Luciana!” Nathaniel shouts. I hear the question in his voice.
He crashes into the throne, adding his weight to Christiana’s.
He needs me to break through Cyrian’s shield so that they can kill him.
I try to calm my mind as I run, trying to find the cold expanse where my power lies, but there’s nothing but weak sunlight and moldy air. I scream with frustration, hot tears burning my eyes. “I’m sorry!”
All I can do is distract Cyrian and hope he spreads his power too thin. I drop to a knee, raise my arm, and fling one of the daggers I stole from Tanner as hard as I can toward Cyrian’s face. The blade spins through the air and thuds into the wash of dark magic protecting the King.
I didn’t expect it to pierce the magic—if it had, I’d be dead—but the movement forces Cyrian to divide his power and attention between my dagger and Christiana’s, weakening his concentration.
“Take the daggers!” I shout, flinging the next knife at Cyrian’s forehead.
It thuds into the wash of magic, distracting Cyrian enough that his angry gaze rakes over me. His magic is spread too thin to deflect the new dagger and maintain the same barrier between him and the first blade. The color drains from his face when Christiana’s knife descends another inch, finally pressing against his heart, but it still doesn’t pierce his chest.
Nathaniel grabs both of the daggers I threw at Cyrian, plucking them from the air in front of Cyrian’s face, drawing back his arms and driving them, one by one, toward Cyrian’s chest.
The blades stop right before they would pierce his skin, frustratingly close.
Nathaniel pushes with all his might, his biceps bulging with strain, but no matter how hard he and Christiana try, the daggers can’t seem to break through.
“You can’t win, Nathaniel,” Cyrian gasps, straining behind the dark light. “You’ll die like your father—stabbed in the back. No… Even better…”
Cyrian grins, a garish sight as he gasps for breath in the effort to maintain his magical shield. “Flogged. Your stomach cut open and bleeding… like Hagan’s was… But who will barter for your life like you bargained for Hagan’s?”
Shocked, I swivel toward Hagan and the two rope-like scars cutting across the right side of his ribcage. Cyrian did that to him and left him alive because of something Nathaniel offered in return.
Hagan begins to stir, dragging at the chains draped across his
chest as he regains consciousness, while Tanner also stumbles to his feet behind him. Thudding sounds on the steps outside tell me the other hunters will soon flood the room.
There’s so much darkness around Cyrian, dark magic that Nathaniel and Christiana are fighting with everything they have. It’s taking all they’ve got and I have no way to help them. I’ve got nothing at all. All I can do is step between them, preparing to defend them against Hagan and Tanner.
The hum of Cyrian’s dark magic grows louder behind me. His teeth are bared. “I will do whatever it takes to kill you, Nathaniel. Even if I have to do it slowly.”
As he speaks, a new wash of dark light spreads along all three blades that are aimed at his chest. The light ascends from their tips to their handles, rapidly progressing toward Nathaniel’s and Christiana’s hands.
Nathaniel jumps back, but Christiana continues to push on her blade, screaming at Cyrian until Nathaniel grabs her, wrenching her away from Cyrian before the dark light touches her skin. “Get back! Don’t let it touch you.”
Just as she lets go, her blade crumbles into dust, falling around Cyrian’s feet.
She fights against her brother’s hold. “He’ll kill you!”
“I won’t let him kill you!” Nathaniel shouts at her. He grips her shoulders in his big hands. “Christiana, I can’t lose another person.”
She stills, her head tilted back to see him. “You have to be prepared to lose me, Nathaniel. Otherwise, how will we ever be free?”
She suddenly chokes and falls to her knees, her face draining of color. Nathaniel catches her in his arms, but she shakes her head, this time in a way that indicates she can’t speak.
Cyrian rises to his full height behind her, ash wafting around him. A burning smell fills the air and the warmth of the sunlight shining through the windows is suddenly sickening.
“Well, that was illuminating,” he says.
He brushes the ash from his coat before he points at Tanner. “Bring my whip, but let’s make this flogging public.”
Tanner gives a swift bow and strides from the room, smiling cruelly at me as he veers closer than he has to. “You’ll die soon, whore.”
I ignore him, keeping my focus on Cyrian.
The King’s pointed finger swivels to Nathaniel, who holds Christiana. “The people will see what happens to someone who betrays their King.”
Chapter 20
Hunters pour into the room, filling the space all around us. They’re carrying spears this time, perfect to poke us in any direction they want us to go.
With a satisfied smile, Cyrian grabs Christiana’s arm, wrenching her away from Nathaniel and dragging her toward the door.
He throws an order back over his shoulder. “You will do everything I say now, Nathaniel. Or I will snuff the life out of your beloved sister.”
Nathaniel’s expression is blank in a way that scares me.
Hagan, too, wears an unbreakable mask absent of all emotion.
Cyrian pauses at the door to spin back to me. “You will also do whatever I tell you, whore. Now, follow me. If you make any sudden moves, Nathaniel’s precious sister dies.”
I’m Aura of the Lucidia, you stinking pile of dung.
Yet here I am, completely shackled, even though I stand free of chains.
Christiana whimpers as Cyrian drags at her hair. Nathaniel catches my arm as he strides toward me, propelling me along with him as the hunters converge behind us. They aim their spears at my face, poking dangerously close to my eyes.
Hagan strides ahead of the others, walking immediately behind us as we retrace our steps back to the courtyard in silence, broken only by Christiana’s whimpers. Cyrian glances back every time he hurts her, making sure Nathaniel understands what’s at stake.
When we exit the building, we find the rest of the hunters—the wounded ones—sitting in rows on benches around the sides while women wearing tattered dresses apply salve and bandages to their wounds.
As soon as the King appears, one of the guards shouts to alert the others and the hunters rise to their feet. The women rise too but keep their eyes down. They’re all thin, their faces clean, but their cheeks are hollow-looking. None of them looks any older than thirty.
Hagan steps forward while Christiana glares daggers at him.
“Gather the villagers!” he shouts to the hunters. “There will be a public flogging of…” He trails off, turning to Cyrian. “What is Nathaniel’s name now?”
Cyrian grins. “The same as Christiana’s: Displaced.”
“There will be a public flogging of Nathaniel Displaced,” Hagan shouts. “Get to it. The King is impatient.”
The hunters immediately disperse, some of them running on foot while others head to their horses.
Tanner reappears from the side of the courtyard, carrying a whip with a long, wooden handle and two tails. Each tail is intertwined with metal barbs. Each barb has a small claw at the end of it, designed to rip open flesh.
One hit will be enough to tear someone open.
He smirks as he bows and hands it to the King.
Cyrian takes the whip, carefully folding the tails so he can hold them without gouging his own hands.
Standing beside the King, Hagan fixes his gaze on a point in the distance, but his fingers twitch at his sides. The scars across his stomach suddenly look more prominent.
Cyrian grins at Nathaniel. “You know the way to the whipping post. Get walking.”
Christiana kicks Cyrian while his attention is diverted, but he evades the blow, running his hand down her arm. Dark light spills from his fingers, making her stiffen. She jolts upright, her expression blank and compliant.
The hunters come at me with their spears, poking me in the back. Nathaniel draws me quickly to his side, drawing me along the path.
“Where are they making us go?” I whisper.
“To the White Walls—the buildings we passed on our way to the castle. There’s an arena there. Cyrian wants my death to be a spectator sport.”
I glance back at Cyrian, who shouts at us. “Separate them!”
My gaze passes to Hagan as he strides toward me. I’m unable to tear my eyes from the thick scars across his stomach until one of the hunters jabs his spear at me, trying to force it between Nathaniel and me.
I picture myself shoving the spear back in the hunter’s face and breaking his nose—right before Nathaniel does exactly that. The hunter yelps, blood streaming down his hands as he clutches his face.
At the same time, Hagan plows toward me, dipping his shoulder the same way he did before he tackled Christiana.
I backpedal, glaring at him. “Throw me over your shoulder and I will leave you unable to have children.”
“I’ll take my chances,” he says, hoisting me up and over like I’m a damn sack of grain before he hits his stride, whisking me away from Nathaniel.
Behind me, one of the hunters slams his fist into Nathaniel’s stomach. Another cracks him over the head with the butt of his spear. My stomach lurches with fear that they’ve knocked Nathaniel unconscious, but he rises to his feet, groggy and bleeding as he stumbles along the path again.
I grimly consider that the hunters were preparing to give me a beating too before Hagan whisked me out of their way. His quick stride puts distance between us at an alarming rate and I can already feel the tug as I travel farther from Nathaniel—a gap wider than I’ve experienced since yesterday morning.
“Slow down,” I snap. “Or Nathaniel will want to break your neck.”
Hagan’s rough voice growls back. “Who are you to Nathaniel?”
I scowl at Hagan’s back. I thought it was obvious from the markings on my face. “I’m his wife.”
He makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. “Nathaniel disappeared for a day, claims to have infiltrated Bright, and returns with a wife. You are more than you appear.”
When I remain silent, he continues. “If I can sense that there’s something different about you, then Cyrian ca
n too. You need to be careful.”
My frown deepens, this time wary. “Why are you warning me?”
“Because I owe Nathaniel a debt. It’s the only reason I didn’t kill him this morning when I could have.”
“What happened between you?” I ask quietly.
“That is not your concern.” Hagan’s voice changes. Angry. Sharp. “All you need to know is that nobody escapes Cyrian’s power. Nobody. So I ask you this: How far will you go to save Nathaniel’s life today?”
Pain spears through my heart so sharp, I can’t control it. I’m wary of being honest. For all I know, he could be fishing for information—to see if I have a plan of escape up my sleeve. Hagan has proven himself to be unpredictable and my instincts are frustratingly silent about his motives.
I crane my head to see Nathaniel. He’s far enough back that he can’t hear us. He’s recovered his footing, even though he’s slower than normal because of his wounds. Even from this distance, I can see that a trickle of blood runs from his temple to his chin, sustained during the scuffle with the hunters just before.
His focus appears split between me, the hunters, and his sister. Behind him, Cyrian continues to pull Christiana along like a puppet while Tanner gloats at the side.
My response is quiet. “I will do whatever it takes to keep Nathaniel alive.”
Hagan stops walking and slides me to the ground more carefully than I expected. He grips my shoulders and forces me to meet his tawny brown eyes. “Then you truly are his wife.”
I’m astonished by the sudden honesty being shown to me by this brute of a man, but it draws me to question his motives too. “When you brought Nathaniel here, you knew you were bringing him to his death. You did it because Christiana is in danger. What is she to you?”
“You ask too many questions,” Hagan says, his expression closing off.
I rub my forehead in exasperation, but he spins me around to face our destination “We’re here.”
I face a solid wall made of smooth, white stone with three arched doorways carved into it at intervals. A white pebbled pathway leads through the center entryway into what appears to be an enormous courtyard covered in the same gleaming quartz stones. The pebbles are cut with sharp edges, not smooth, so that walking on them with bare feet will hurt.
