“Tell me where she is.”
“She’s to be locked in her chambers. Guarded.”
“Then you’ll take me there.”
He shakes his head. “If I do, Arion will know within the hour, and she’ll pay for it.”
“Then I’ll kill you and find her myself.”
His eyes flicker to the cleaver that I grabbed shortly after running away. “You won’t get within ten steps of her before the guards tear you apart. The palace will be sealed shortly after the threat is extinguished.”
The fury drains just enough for me to step back. He straightens, rubbing his jaw where I hit him.
“Get out before they see you,” he says. “Leave this place. She did this to stave Arion’s hand. Don’t let her sacrifice be in vain.”
“I’m not leaving her.”
“Then die,” he mutters, dragging a hand over his face. “Fucking stupid brute.”
He turns his back on me, and I consider stabbing him right there. But then he lets out an exasperated breath and runs his hand through his hair. “Damn it. South wing, third floor.”
I don’t understand what game he is playing. I watch him go, every instinct screaming to drive my blade through his spine.
Instead, I do as he says, getting far away from the palace. I’ll find another way to get her before the wedding.
Of that I am positive.
Chapter 23
ARLET
We are rushed out of the room, and guards bar the doors behind us. Fists begin to beat against the wood, and blood pumps through my veins.
He came for me.
Arion’s hands are all over my body, and a bit of blood still leaks from his shoulder, now well down to his elbow.
Yes, and that…man seemed to arrive with the intruders.
Women. Hundreds of them, presumably from Mrath’s Enclave.
Did those women bring…bodies?I think, horrified.
It definitely seemed like it, Cursed One responds.
The screams follow us down the corridor, echoing off marble and wood. Crimson tracks in from the ballroom and smears beneath my shoes, each step sticky and slow. Guards continue to flood in through the shattered doors, shouting orders, dragging corpses, and sealing exits.
I don’t know how long it’s been since the first explosion. Time feels broken, and I feel weak.
A dizzying sort of drunkenness comes over me every time I think of Vann’s hands on my waist.
I don’t want to be near Arion anymore, but his hands never leave my shoulders. He keeps me close as we walk, his leathersleeve brushing mine. I gulp down air as fast as possible, but the collar chokes me. I pull at it, and heat sears my throat. My instinct is to pull it off, but the metal prongs holding up the gems bite deep when I try to adjust it even a little.
“Stop that,” Arion bites out behind me.
I do. The floor is slick with blood, and my gaze keeps catching on faces. Courtiers. Servants. I can’t tell them apart anymore.
One of the mirrors that lines the hallway falls from the tremors and cracks into a thousand pieces. The shards glitter like ice, and I slow my pace.