My brows draw together as my gaze snaps back onto his face. What is he talking about?
King Arion grins, slow and sharp, like he knows something I don’t. His hands wrap around my shoulders holding me in place. It’s forceful, and he tightens his grip when I squirm.
A scream rips through the cavern, followed by the thunderous crash of stone splitting. My head snaps toward the entrance just as the massive tunnel leading to the exit fills with movement. There are two giant warriors, bare-chested, and wearing hardened leather chausses to cover their legs. One has brown hair, while the other has pale, orange-red hair, tied behind his head.
The enemy.
Each swings his axe in a brutal arc, cleaving through two enduares before anyone can react. Blood sprays across the cavern floor, the coppery scent thick in the air. My breath hitches. My feet refuse to move.
The Elf King doesn’t flinch. I try to twist out of his grip but his hold is tight. When I try to speak, he puts a hand over my mouth to silence me. Tears start to leak out of my eyes.
This is too similar to another memory. My body locks up. Terror is icy. I haven’t been so afraid in a very long time.
“Just a little longer, Arlet.”
His two personal guards step forward, bows already drawn, their arrows glinting in the light of the cavern. They don’t fire. Not yet.They remain poised, unreadable, waiting. The ten other elven guards spread out along the periphery, bows raised but fingers unmoving on the strings.
My heart slams against my ribs.
“Why aren’t you helping?” I demand, and Arion laughs.
A roar splits the air—deep, furious, unmistakably enduar.
Vann, The Cleaver.
I take in the chaos just in time to see him close the distance between himself and one of the giants in a terrifying burst of speed. His braid flies behind him as he twists his body, his cleaver flashing in a clean, deadly path.
The brown-haired giant bellows in pain as his axe falls to the ground, along with his severed hand. The floor trembles under the force of his howl, and Vann doesn’t hesitate—he lunges, a second blade sinking deep into the man’s side before he can recover.
It is the first time I’ve ever seen Vann so deadly, and it takes my breath away—makes me afraid.
Despite how he fights, destruction falls on the city that had been so beautiful just a little before. My perfect, new home.
Tears fall from my eyes. They are cold against my clammy skin.
The elves continue to hold their ground, though everyone else is darting away, looking for shelter in homes and caves leading away from the main cavern.
It all happened so fast. Fear and the king’s arms have frozen me to my spot. I look up at him, eyes wide and tremble. It’d been so long since I felt so small.
I open my mouth to speak, but am abruptly cut off.
“Now you know what I do to those who have wronged me. Keep my gift close,” the king whispers in my ear, releasing me. He takes the stone flower from the spot where he’d tucked it, and hands it to me, “Now run, little flower. While you still can.”
Panic surges up my spin, from my belly to my neck. I turn to run—then stumble as I dart from the tunnel’s entrance. I run past one elf, then another. My heart gallops—their bows are at the ready.
But they don’t shoot. When I draw closer to the Enduar Palace, I search, frantic.
Where are Teo and Estela? They’d disappeared after the festival.
I lose sight of myself, and slam into a solid chest.
Warm, strong arms wrap around me, and I look up to see Joso. His hair is streaked with dust, and his jaw is clenched so tight that it looks painful. But the firmness of his touch, the tightness of his grip, is exactly what I need right now. It awakens some part of my peculiar brain, something that cowered under Arion’s grip. This is pressure plus safety. Trust. This is good.
“I’m so sorry,” he bites out. His grip tightens around me, protective, urgent. “We need to get you to safety. It will be all right. You will be all right.”
And then he whisks me away as the cavern continues to ring with the screams of the dying.
Chapter 4