“Then you remember too much,” I murmur, and pull my hood back up as I forcefully carve space between us once more.
I slip through the door into the narrow back street, the cool night air thick with the smell of smoke and jasmine. I quickly send a message to Ayla and the others, then pull out a speaking stone, uttering a few words that I hope will bring comfort to the sovereigns back home.
They both live. I will help make sure they come home.
Then the festival music that had filled the city earlierturns to chaos. At first, I think it is the regular drunken changes that happen after too many hours of party.
But as I make it to the end of the street, I see soldiers swarming the roads. Crowds of elves push past one another, scattering from the main avenues.
“Search every street!” a commander bellows. “Attack on the king—but he lives! Find the rebels! No one leaves the district!”
The words freeze my blood. I thought they were keeping it a secret.
Castien curses under his breath, and my head snaps to the side, shocked to see him yet again. “It seems I was mistaken. This is bad.”
I tighten my cloak around me and pull Castien deeper into the shadow of a broken archway.
Across the street, two soldiers drag a bleeding elf past us. She’s alive, but barely. That’s when I recognize Elanila. The sight twists something deep in my chest. This isn’t good. Not at all.
“She’s one of the women I traveled with,” I say, trying to rush forward.
Castien draws me close and looks down at me. For a second, I can’t breathe. “No, Liana. We can’t be discovered. Think of your friends. I think it’s better if you come with me.”
I nod, stilling my body even as my heart races.
“You remember how to travel with me through the shadows?” he asks, and I swear I can hear him slightly breathless.
I nod.
“Come, I will take you to meet with the others.”
“I can find them on my own,” I respond.
He shakes his head.
“I must keep my people safe.”
Chapter 31
VANN
Sound returns like knives stabbing into my eardrums. At first it’s only ringing. Then other noises become clear. I hear boots. And shouts. Someone sobs and is quickly shut up with a smack. Someone else prays in a language I don’t know.
I open my eyes into smoke. I blink away the sting.
The prison is dark and dank. I hate the smell of blood, oil, and sweat, and the way the iron beams supporting the stone are thick with rust and soot. We’re not in a cell—not yet.
My first breath burns. The second makes it worse. I push to one knee and the world pitches. Chains of light cinch my wrists and ankles. They tighten when I test them and bite into my flesh, which is already stinging with pins and needles from loss of blood.
Fuck. The seed. Arlet. My things. Where am I?
“Hold him,” someone calmly says above me.
Thorne.
He comes into shape through the haze, sword drawn, jaw locked, sweat dark on his collar. I look into his green eyes and feel the burn of hatred. One of his powers is smelling lies.
So this will be an interrogation.