Page 10

Chapter

Ten

M y vision blurs as I slide to the floor, pulling at the collar with useless fingers. My mouth opens wide as my lungs cry out, but there’s too much pressure on my airway. I can’t get a breath. Terror has pleading words rising to the tip of my tongue, but even if I could speak, I wouldn’t voice them. I refuse to beg this monster for a life he has no right to take from me.

The vein in his forehead bulges wildly as he watches me struggle. Crimson swirls within his deep blue irises, reminding me of a shark attack I witnessed at the docks years ago. The sailor’s blood staining the water had been an omen, warning everyone to stay away. I wish I’d heeded that lesson with the predator before me.

My back arches off the ground as I twist and struggle, desperate for just a single breath, but Baylor withholds it. I stare in horror as his vertere natures overtakes him, and the Beast of the Battle rages beneath his skin. His nails elongate into sharp claws that could slice me open with a single swipe, and those lips that profess to love me twist into a cruel smile. The monster he hides within is relishing my pain.

A few drops of blood trickle from his nose, a reminder that he isn’t coming out of this unscathed. Using the collar is physically draining, always leaving him tired and sickly. His brow creases as blood drips into his mouth. A moment later, his head jerks back in surprise, his eyes blinking rapidly. The collar suddenly releases its iron grip and settles back into place against my skin, a killer lying in wait.

The entire episode lasted less than a minute, but it felt much longer.

“I’m sorry, pet,” Baylor breathes as his eyes return to their normal shade and his claws disappear.

He wipes the blood from his face and hurries to my side, helping me stand as I hungrily swallow mouthfuls of air. He wraps me in his arms and pulls my head into the crook of his neck. The position is meant to provide comfort, but instead I’d compare it to being bound by iron chains. The urge to fight his hold is nearly overwhelming as his scent clogs my nostrils, making my stomach churn.

“Forgive me,” he whispers, his warm breath tickling my ear. “I’m just upset.”

“I know,” I assure him, the raspy words scratching my throat as I force them out. “I understand.”

But I don’t.

I don’t understand how anyone could do this to a person they claim to love. I close my eyes as tears threaten to fall. A burning rage simmers in my gut as his hand curves around my cheek, his thumb brushing away a falling tear.

“I’m under so much pressure,” he says, repeating his usual excuse. His temper is never his fault. “But I’ll do better. You’ll see. Everything I’m doing is for us,” he promises desperately, searching my eyes for forgiveness. “You believe me, don’t you?”

I don’t, but I nod anyway.

Exhaustion joins forces with gravity, threatening to pull to me to the floor as it weighs down my limbs. How much longer can I play this role? At some point, my performance will slip, and my lies will no longer be enough to convince him. What will he do to me then?

Something hot and oily coils in my stomach. The desire to hurt him burns through my veins, sending reckless thoughts to my brain. Whatever this whisperer truly is, it’s powerful enough that Baylor doesn’t want me anywhere near it. Which means that’s exactly where I need to be.

“You should agree to his terms,” I announce suddenly, ignoring the hoarseness in my voice.

I’ll do what Thorne wants and convince Baylor to let me help in the search. But when I find the sword, I won’t be giving it to either of them. Something that powerful doesn’t belong in the hands of a king or a God. It shouldn’t belong to anyone.

His arms fall away from me as he steps back, his features twisting with suspicion. “And why would I do that?”

“It’s the smart move.” I shrug, feigning indifference as I head for the pitcher of water sitting on a cabinet in the corner.

My fingers tremble as I pour myself a glass and swallow several large gulps. Thankfully, the cool liquid soothes my aching throat. Since the attack was short, hopefully any damage it caused was minimal. And with my fae heritage, it should heal quickly.

“Let him think he’s won,” I continue speaking. “Boost his ego a bit. Obviously, his plan is to drive a wedge between us in order to isolate you and get information out of me. So, we make him think it’s working.”

He watches me warily. “For what purpose?”

“To use his own plan against him. While he tries to gain my trust, I’ll be spying on him and making sure he doesn’t screw us over.”

I don’t mention that I’m planning to screw them both over.

Baylor is quiet, his expression betraying nothing as he deliberates on my proposal. Tremors threaten to give away my nervousness, but I force myself to appear calm despite knowing that his answer will determine my fate.

“I don’t want you around the sword,” he says finally. “That’s nonnegotiable.”

“Then I won’t go near it,” I lie.

He nods. “And you will report everything you learn to me.”

“Of course.”

And with that, it’s settled. Baylor returns to his desk, riffling through his folders. My outward appearance is neutral, but inside I’m reeling. If I’m successful, this will be far beyond my usual acts of rebellion. The Angel of Mercy started as a small way to fight back against Baylor. It was intended to undermine the city’s confidence in him while also helping those in need.

Taking the sword is different. I’ll be destroying his alliance with the Fifth Isle, which will be a major blow to Baylor’s reign. But there will be other consequences too. Without that grain, many people will go hungry. Can I live with that?

I don’t need to search within myself for the answer. I already know it. No. I won’t be able to live with that. Which means I’ll need to find a way to ensure that grain is delivered with or without the sword.

I shove my worries away as Baylor returns. He hands me a sheet of paper, and I pray he doesn’t notice the way my hands shake as I take it, finding a lifelike depiction of an antique sword.

“The sword’s official name is the almanova ,” he explains. “But many have taken to calling it the whisperer.”

Chills skate over my skin, but I ignore my unease as I examine the drawing. The blade is engraved with markings from an old language I don’t recognize. There’s something almost sinister about it. Glowing rubies adorn the faded white pommel, resembling drops of blood. My stomach twists as I realize the handle is actually made from bone.

I swallow. “It’s certainly unique.”

As I peer closer at the image, the hairs on my arms rise. My trembling fingers trace over the rubies embedded in the sword, noting the familiar shape and color. They appear almost identical to the ones clasped around my throat. Questions spark in the back of my mind but I stop them in their tracks. That’s not possible.

“Very unique,” Baylor agrees, pulling my attention away from the paper. “And very powerful. Which is why you must take great care. If you find the blade, promise me that you won’t go near it.”

I nod, still distracted by my suspicions.

He reaches out, gripping my chin as his eyes bore into mine. “Never let it touch your skin. This is extremely important, pet.”

An icy shiver skates down my spine. “I promise.”

I wait for him to offer further explanation for his strange warning, but he doesn’t.

“Good,” Baylor says, releasing me as he returns to his desk, writing out a quick message. He quickly folds the parchment before stamping it with his seal and handing it to me. “Give this to Kaldar. He’s in the dungeon, guarding the entrance to the tunnels. He will allow you to pass through with our guest ,” he spits the word as he sits back down, effectively dismissing me.

I want to ask him about the similarities between the rubies, but I know better than to expect the truth from him. Instead, I head for the door, ready to escape this horrific encounter. My fingers have just brushed the brass handle when he speaks again.

“When you’re down there, ignore any voices you may hear. The whispers cannot be trusted.”

Baylor’s ominous words follow me into the hall, leaving me jittery and paranoid. I take deep breaths, praying no one notices the way my hands shake as I shove both papers into my back pocket.

Thorne stands outside the study, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His posture appears lazy, but the predatory glint in his eyes tells me he’s anything but relaxed. Amusement plays at the corners of his lips as the king’s guards glare at him.

His attention shifts to me, and the smug pretense momentarily drops. Concern flashes within those nearly translucent eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. His expression smooths over, becoming unreadable. Clearly, I’m not the only one who can don a mask when necessary. He opens his mouth to say something, but I hurry past him, keeping my chin tucked down as I make my way through the hall.

“Are you coming or not?” I call without glancing back.

His footsteps echo behind me as he jogs to catch up.

“Finally speaking to me?” he asks, his eyes drilling a hole into the side of my face.

I scoff. “Excuse me?”

“You didn’t say a word the entire time I was in there.”

“That’s because you were speaking enough for both of us,” I lie, surprised he even noticed. The truth is that I’m smart enough to choose my words carefully in Baylor’s presence. The less I say, the better.

He tsks. “That was rude, but I’ll forgive you since I’m guessing your king agreed to my terms?”

“I’d call them demands,” I mutter. “And I wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t.”

Both of his hands clutch his chest, right over his heart. “You wound me, Angel.”

“Only your ego.” I roll my eyes. “You shouldn’t have pushed Baylor that way.”

“Hazard of the job.” He shrugs, but there’s something about the action that rings false. Since my life is one big performance, it’s easy to spot when someone else is putting on a show. Unfortunately, what he says next proves that recognition goes both ways.

“Have you been crying?”

My head whips in his direction. “No,” I say too quickly.

“My mistake.” His gaze lingers on my eyes, which are always bloodshot after Baylor uses the collar.

Does he suspect that Baylor took out his anger on me? As Killian’s ambassador, he’s likely searching for intel to report back. Either way, I’m not going to confirm his suspicions.

“You know, you aren’t acting very grateful,” Thorne announces, pulling my focus back to him as I arch a brow. “Here I thought you’d be thanking me for not revealing your charming little hobby to your king.”

“Thanking you?” I laugh. “I’d sooner throw another dagger at you.”

His eyes turn heated. “I don’t think that would have your intended effect, Angel.”

“Fuck you.” My pulse quickens as my voice turns breathy. Probably just a side effect of what happened earlier.

“There’s that impressive vocabulary again.” He cocks his head to the side. “You know, I’m sensing you might be slightly upset about my little threat back there.”

I come to a dead stop in the middle of the hallway, my eyes narrowing into slits as I pin him with a glare. He takes a step back, lifting his hands in a placating gesture.

“But,” he continues, “I’d like to point out that I could have done a lot more than make a few threats. Personally, I think I showed impressive restraint.”

I take a step closer, eating up the distance between us as I lift my chin to hold his gaze. “You appear to be under the misguided impression that you have me at a disadvantage. You don’t.”

“Oh really?” One side of his mouth kicks up.

“I could have talked my way out of any tale you spun in there.”

His gaze falls to my lips. “My, what a talented tongue you have.”

“And even sharper teeth.” I smile, giving him the full view of them. My voice is sounding better with each word as the pain in my throat begins to ease.

“Perhaps your bark is louder than your bite? Your beloved king does refer to you as his pet , after all. That implies domestication.” His tone is light, but there’s something disapproving underneath it. Does he not care for the nickname?

“Try me and find out,” I challenge him. “Besides, it’s you who should be worried, given this new alliance.”

A wicked gleam enters his eyes. “Are you the one making threats now?”

I shrug. “Perhaps.”

“Oh please, continue.” His tongue darts across his bottom lip, drawing my gaze. “How would you ruin me, Angel?”

My heartbeat stutters as unwanted heat scalds my cheeks. I drag my attention away from him, ordering myself to stay focused. “Last week, you seemed more interested in thievery than politics. What a coincidence that the almanova was stolen so soon after you tried to blackmail me into stealing it for you.”

He blinks innocently. “I don’t believe I ever mentioned something called a—what did you say?” His head tilts to the side, his forehead creased with mock confusion. “ Almanova ?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” I snap. “The almanova and your whisperer are one and the same. Baylor confirmed it.”

He rolls his lips to hide a smile. “I believe this is called mutually assured destruction. But it would be a shame to destroy someone so lovely.”

“I wouldn’t know.” I shrug. “It’s not something I have to worry about.”

He clutches his heart once more. “Again, my lady? My ego can’t take much more abuse.”

“You’ll survive,” I mutter. “Unfortunately.”

He crosses his arms. “And here I was about to offer you a truce.”

“That would require me to trust you,” I say, moving ahead of him as I lead us into a narrow stairwell. “Which, to be clear, I don’t.”

He follows behind me since it’s too narrow to walk side by side, something I’m grateful for. I need a moment to refocus after the direction our conversation has taken. We walk in silence for several minutes, each lost in our thoughts until a footman comes upon us, carrying a large glass vase. We both move to the side, allowing him to pass through the tight quarters. Thorne’s brows pinch together as he glances around, noticing where we are for the first time.

“Do you always take the servants’ passages?” he asks.

“There are people I prefer to avoid.” My mind turns to the courtiers from this morning.

“You mean whoever left those bruises?” he asks, a dark edge entering his voice.

My head whips around so fast I nearly trip on the steep steps. He reaches out, steadying me with his gloved hand before pulling it away.

“If you tell me his name, I’ll make him regret ever laying a hand on you.”

I blink. Seconds pass as I wait for him to smile or laugh, to signal in some way that he’s joking. But he doesn’t. His offer is completely serious.

“Why do you assume it was a man?” I ask. “It might have been a woman?”

His expression doesn’t change. “Was it?”

I cross my arms. “Why do you care if someone hurts me? How does that impact you?”

Two lines appear in the center of his forehead. “I don’t have to be personally impacted by something to care about it.”

I suppose that’s true. I care about the strangers I help as the Angel of Mercy, despite never actually meeting any of them. They only deal with Della and her spies, none of them ever learning who killed their abuser. But still, I care about their pain. Everyone, mortal and fae, deserves to live a life free of senseless violence. My eyes flit back to Thorne’s, searching for the truth in his haunting gaze. Does he truly mean what he’s saying, or is this another tactic to gain my trust? I shake my head, reminding myself that either way, it doesn’t matter.

“Your imagination is concerning, Reaper.” I turn around and continue down the stairs. “If you must know, the bruises were a gift from my sparring partner.”

“Sparring?” He sounds shocked as he falls into step next to me, squeezing through the narrow passage.

I stiffen at his sudden closeness. “I trust you’re familiar with the concept.”

“That’s what these bruises are from?” His attention flits from the cut on my lip to the bruise on my arm.

I nod.

“I see.” He coughs into his fist, attempting to hide the flash of amusement in his eyes. “And are you usually this bad at it?”

I narrow my gaze at him. “I was learning a new technique.”

“Mhmm.” His lips twitch.

“With the intention of destroying you,” I insist.

He cocks his head. “And how’s that going for you?”

“Would you like to find out?” My temper flares dangerously.

I expect at least some semblance of the fearful reactions that typically accompany my threats, but instead, he appears delighted. A full smile lights up his face, chasing away the cold perfection of his features. The beauty of it is so striking that for a moment, I forget what we were talking about.

But then he opens his mouth to speak again, and my annoyance comes flooding back.

“I’m merely flattered you’ve gone to so much trouble on my behalf,” he sighs.

I ball my fist, imaging how satisfying it would be to punch him in his perfect face. “You won’t stand a chance, Reaper.”

“Ah, how unfortunate for me.” He gestures to my arms, lined with bruises from Remy’s wooden sword. “Though judging by your appearance, I’d say my impending demise is still a long way off.”

“I’m a fast learner,” I promise him. “I give it a week.”

“How generous of you to warn me.” His demeanor turns grave. “I’ll set my affairs in order immediately.”

“Be sure to name me in your will,” I tell him as we reach the bottom of the stairs, following a path that leads us into the dungeon. “I enjoy keeping trophies to remind me of my victims.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice as warm as melted honey. “I’ll leave you something to remember me by.”

“It’s only fair.” I hurry ahead, eager to put some space between us as he trails after me.

“You know, I think it’s pretty trusting of me to follow my would-be murderer into an underground prison.”

“I assure you, Lord Thorne,” a dull voice cuts in, “you are perfectly safe.”