Page 56

Chapter

Fifty-Five

B y the time she pulled out of Loche’s arms, sweat dripped down her back. As they headed to the drinks table for refreshments, Zaddock intercepted Loche, his expression tight as he whispered that he needed to speak to him immediately.

Her eyes trailed them as they walked out of the room, and she wondered what had raised Zaddock’s shoulders so high and turned his expression so serious. The anger coiling his muscles reminded her of Merrick, and she realized she should probably check on the Fae.

He’d seemed exhausted when he came to the debate, and she doubted he’d eaten.

Grabbing a plate and heaping it with meat and potatoes, Lessia ventured out of the room.

As she was about to take the first step up the stairs, angry whispers reached her ears. Her name drifted over the muffled music, and she spun around, searching the dimly lit hallway.

The voices came from one of the alcoves beside the spiraling stairs down to the cellars .

With a hand on the railing, she hesitated, but when her name was mentioned again, she tiptoed over and hid behind one of the white pillars beside it.

“Loche, this is serious! You can’t be seen with her like this! What are you thinking?”

Zaddock’s low voice was urgent, and he must have slammed his hand on the wall, given the loud bang that followed.

“Calm down, Z. We danced, so what?” Loche drawled.

A groan followed, and Zaddock hissed, “ So what? You’re risking everything, and you know it! You can’t do this—not when we’ve gotten this far.”

A guard walked out into the hallway, and Lessia slipped farther into the shadow of the pillar, staying out of the flickering light from the chandelier. A dusty gold tapestry tickled her nose as she pressed herself against it, and she held her breath until the guard disappeared up the stairs.

Her heart thundered in her chest when Loche raised his voice and an icy edge laced it.

“Remember your place. I have it under control. She means nothing to me, and everyone knows it. I have been vocal about the need to collaborate with the Fae, and I need to show leadership in accepting them. She is just the means to that end.”

A sharp pain jabbed her heart, and Lessia stumbled out from behind the pillar.

In her rush toward the stairs, her foot snagged on the thick carpet covering the stone floor. As she tried to catch herself, the plate slipped out of her hands, clattering to the floor, the sound piercing the stone-walled space.

Steps rang behind her, and she abandoned the plate and the stairs. Spinning around, she slammed open the castle doors without daring to look behind her.

Lessia was met with a bone-chilling breeze that blew straight through her wool cloak as she stormed down the castle courtyard, but she barely felt it as a hollow ache spread in her chest.

With the wind roaring in her ears, she sprinted away from the castle toward the towering cliffs and the meadow where she’d last met Kalia and the rest. Swearing to herself as she slipped every few feet, she ignored the darkness that loomed ahead, fixing her gaze on the moon hanging low over the upset sea.

The crashing waves mirrored the turmoil inside her, and she cursed again as she thought of how stupid she’d been to read into her interactions with Loche.

Ardow was right.

She was cleverer than this.

Pretty promises and heart-stopping looks shouldn’t have her act like a mere child.

Still, it was like her heart had cracked in two, every breath she drew feeling like a shard of ice making its way down her lungs.

“Lessia, wait!”

A growl left her throat, her top lip curling back to display her canines as she spun around, finding Loche a few steps behind her.

“Leave me alone,” she snarled.

“Lessia, let me explain.” Loche slowed his long strides, his eyes searching her face.

She frantically scanned the area for a way to escape him, but there was no way she could enter the dark woods behind her or to her right, and to her left, there was only a steep drop into the dark sea.

Although the cold water might be preferable to spending one more second in his presence.

“Listen to me. It’s not what you think. ”

She snapped her eyes to his, her hands shaking by her side as she tried to manage her breathing. “There is no need, Loche. I get it—it’s just business.”

A small part of her truly understood him—understood that he needed to do everything in his power to do right by Ellow.

But it did little to soothe the betrayal.

“It’s not. Please, come back with me, and I’ll explain everything.”

Shaking her head, she turned around again, starting toward the woods anyway.

Maybe the anger would keep her fear of the dark at bay.

A branch snapped somewhere behind her, but she didn’t turn around, only continued walking over the slippery cliffs, grinding her teeth against the snow the wind swirled into her face.

“Lessia!”

She stilled at the urgency in Loche’s voice.

As she turned her head over her shoulder, her muscles locked.

Loche was still a few feet behind her, but it wasn’t his shadowy figure that caused icy dread to fill her veins.

It was the twenty or so black shapes that filed out of the trees beside them, the glinting swords in their hands.

She froze as the figures closed the distance between them, and it wasn’t until Loche spoke again that she snapped out of it.

“Darling, come to me.” Loche’s voice was soft, beckoning, and it was all she could do to take a faltering step toward him when something glimmered in his eyes.

He was scared.

And that made her terrified.

When she didn’t move fast enough, Loche bridged the space between them with three assured steps, pulling her behind him.

The figures were only a few steps away now, and goose bumps rippled across her skin when she realized they were all cloaked, dark hoods shrouding their features.

And most importantly—their eyes.

There were too many for them to take on alone.

Especially if she couldn’t use her magic.

Her nostrils flared when they slowed to a stop before them, and she unsheathed the daggers she had tucked into her waistband. Loche cast her a quick glance as he gripped the sword hanging by his side, and while the flicker of fear in his eyes remained, resolve sharpened his features.

His free hand cupped her chin. “Don’t let them get you closer to the drop.”

When she nodded, his eyes moved forward again, and Lessia’s body thrummed with adrenaline as one of the men let out a low chuckle before ordering “Get them.”

Two of the cloaked men were instantly upon her, but she planted her feet wide, and turning her body sideways to throw them off, she lashed out with a dagger, grimacing at the sickening sensation of it burrowing into soft flesh.

The man she’d struck tumbled to the ground with a stifled cry. The other gripped her arm, and as she tried to elbow him, he stepped out of the way, twisting her arm at a painful angle behind her back.

Remembering Merrick’s lessons, she bent down, driving the hilt of the dagger in her free hand between his legs. When his grip loosened, she ripped her arm free, spinning around and closing her eyes as she slammed the dagger deep into his chest.

Yanking it out, she turned around again, kicking at another figure to keep him back.

But he continued advancing, and when his sword whistled through the air, she wasn’t fast enough.

The blade sliced her wrist, and the dagger she’d held clattered onto the cliffs.

“Lessia!”

She caught Loche’s gaze as he fought off four men, and his eyes widened as he screamed, “Watch out!”

Whirling around, she found three more men stalking toward her, crowding her against the steep drop.

Lessia cursed loudly and tried to jump to the side, but the man that struck her blocked her way, laughing when she snarled at him.

“Not fast enough, little Faeling,” he taunted.

“Take off that hood and tell me to my face,” she growled.

He laughed darkly again. “I don’t think so.”

She prepared to lunge at him, but as she took the first step, arms wrapped around her chest, and another hand gripped her wrist so tight she had no choice but to let the other dagger fall to the ground.

Kicking and twisting, she tried to get free, but the men behind her locked her arms against her body, their sharp breaths brushing her cheeks as they pressed against her.

“Throw her off the cliff,” the man before her ordered.

“No!” Loche screamed.

Pushing off the men he was fighting, he sprinted toward them, but they caught up with him, and he had to stop to continue parrying their blows, spinning, lunging, and dropping low so not to get impaled by the long blades.

The men started dragging her toward the sea, and Lessia continued to desperately kick to get out of their hold, but it did little to stop them from soon reaching the edge.

As they shifted her to face the wild waves, she thought of Amalise, Ardow, and all the children, praying that Loche would make it out alive so he could keep the promise he’d made and give them a chance at a better life.

Just as they were about to push her off, the air stilled.

A rush of ancient, wild magic tinged the whistling wind, and harried whispers boomed in her ears. Oily vibrations tangled with the icy winter night, softly layering over her skin.

The men around her screamed, their hard grips releasing her as their shrieks cut off midway. The whispers softened, drifting away with the salty squalls from the sea, leaving a deafening silence in their wake.

Shakily taking a step back from the icy drop, she spun around.

Merrick stood tall amongst the fallen bodies, the air surrounding him rippling and whirling and his silvery hair blowing wildly around his hard, bent-down face.

Loche also stood straight amongst the men on the snow beneath him, his eyes wide and snapping back and forth between her and Merrick. Emotions raced across his features as understanding—too much understanding—filled his gaze.