Page 115

His eyes went wide. He tried to scramble back, away from me. “What—fucking hell! Did you kill—”

“You do not get to complain.” I slashed again. He thought I was going for his throat. I freed his bindings, only to wrap them back around him just as quickly and drag him forward in the dirt on his knees.

Arran and Lyrena burst into the small storage room a half second before I leveled a kick to Percival’s gut. I didn’t stop myself.

He doubled over in pain. I waited for satisfaction.

None came—disappointing.

I handed Lyrena his tether. “What’s the fastest way out?”

“Ancestors below—” She cursed, eyes raking over the state of him. I tracked the emotions across her face. Concern, then relief. Good, her assessment was the same as mine. He’d been beaten, but he’d live.

Arran was the who answered me.

Or rather, he ignored me and turned to Lyrena and took Percival’s leash.

“Find the others. Who knows what information this traitor spouted while they were beating him. We have to get out of the festival and well away,” he ordered. “Veyka, with me.”

“Obviously.”

He snarled. I snarled right back. Percival quivered in fear on the ground.

There was the wave of satisfaction I’d been looking for.

52

VEYKA

Arran threw him down hard enough to break bones. I wasn’t inclined to care.

I was breathless, sweating, adrenaline coursing through my veins, the thin human blood still dripping from my knives.

I watched as thousands of blades of grass rose from the ground to wrap around him, holding him flat on the ground. They encircled his arms, his legs, his throat. Arran could snap his neck in an instant.

Maisri gasped behind me. Cyara and Osheen dragged her further away.

Not too far.

We had to stay close together.

We were a few miles away from the festival. That gave us some time, but not much. The humans would be able to reach us eventually if they were motivated enough. Though based on the shrillness of their screams, I doubted we’d have any pursuers.

I waited until those blades of grass were tight enough that Percival’s brown skin turned lighter, a crisscross of pale brown lines underneath the earthy green grass. I stood right over him, letting the tip of my knife hang down so the blood dripped.

Down. Down. Down.

Drip by drip.

He was at our mercy once again.

His eyes flared. He was afraid of me—of us. He’d finally seen us for what we truly were.

Good.

“What was so important that you risked not only your own worthless life, but exposing us as well? We cannot very well help you rescue your sister if we are enmeshed in human nonsense.”

His face contorted with pain. He’d looked like that before—when we’d caught him after the burning village. I knew humans were weak, but Percival seemed to have no tolerance for pain at all.