Page 30 of Her Cruel Redemption (The Dark Reflection #3)

Chapter Thirty

I nside, the farmhouse was clean, likely just for our arrival, with a long central hallway of dark, polished wood panelling. I wondered where the family who owned the house were, whether they’d been forcibly removed prior to our arrival or whether they’d left willingly. Perhaps they’d fled when they’d heard the news of Port Howl’s invasion. Vic was still lingering in the hallway by an open door, but it seemed the others had already gone inside. He gestured with a sweep of his hand, inviting me to go in first. Through the doorway, I caught a glimpse of a long table, people seated in chairs around it. I watched my step as I picked my way over the raised threshold, worn from generations of feet.

Then I looked up, and there he was.

I’d prepared myself for days, had spent hours trying to talk myself into immunity, had imagined this moment over and over again. But that didn’t stop my body’s very physical reaction: my heartbeat quickened into a mad, erratic sprint and I suddenly regretted my choice of clothing, because in skirts I could have hidden my trembling hands.

Draven’s eyes, sharp and shadowed and weighing on me like a physical touch, didn’t flinch away as my gaze met his. He was all flint and steel and hard edges, holding still and tense, expression blank, hands resting in fists on the tabletop. But the muscles in his throat moved as he swallowed, betraying a ripple of something going on beneath that frozen surface. And in that single, vulnerable movement, I was suddenly back in time and space, pressing my panting mouth into that throat, his body around me, in me, in a dark room with windows foggy from the heat of our bodies, our breath. A thousand words spoken in his voice tumbled through my head as heat flushed my skin, and I imagined his marks were suddenly visible all over me, that everyone in the room was turning to see that he’d touched me, kissed me, there, there, there.

The moment stretched. Everything in me itched to look away, to hide my face, even to make an excuse to leave the room.

But then he’d win, and I wouldn’t let that happen. Not anymore.

Our history unfurled between us, filling the room, growing bloated and grotesque on the tension of our locked eyes.

Someone cleared their throat.

Draven’s gaze flicked to the throat-clearer and I broke free, suddenly mobile again. I had won. I felt ridiculously satisfied in that, and I had to swiftly rearrange my face to hide it.

Quickly scanning the table, I caught sight of an empty chair and made a beeline for it. But slowly. My steps deliberate, measured, gaze fixed pointedly on one of the water glasses perched on the tabletop. When I sat down, I took a quick inventory of the room. Esario sat at the head of the table with his party aligned along one edge. Draven sat on the other end. It was a long table, comfortably seating all twelve of us, and he was far away from me, which suited me just fine. Across from me was a stout, weathered man who seemed vaguely familiar, and I recognised the shaggy-blond Lester, Draven’s half-brother, further down the table. He winked at me when he caught me looking, which I ignored. I would sit here like a stone gargoyle. I wouldn’t contribute, wouldn’t react, wouldn’t give Draven a shred of whatever he hoped to get out of demanding my presence here. And then it would be over, he would leave, and Leela would be set free.

If he made good on his promise, that was. I wasn’t convinced that he would.

The man across from me was the one who made the introductions. His explanations were curt, with only the listing of a name and a title for each person at the table. He introduced himself as Khatar, reigning chief of the Morwar Toth. I eyed him with greater interest, looking for signs of gills and webbed fingers, but seeing none. I wondered if Esario would be seething to be seated at a table with such company the way I was sure Tallius would have been. The representative of the Yoxvese was a man with a mess of silver hair that fell in uneven layers, like it had been cut with a dagger, whose name was given as Kestrel. He looked young, though it was hard to tell with the Yoxvese, and he was eying Mae with a frown. I felt a twinge of disappointment on her behalf. He clearly wasn’t the woman she‘d been hoping and dreading to see. Then there was a woman acting for the Republic of Yaakandale, with sharp features, glossy blond hair and eyes that were darting over us all, assessing. The fact that she was a woman surprised and confused me. Was that usual, for women to hold positions of importance in Yaakandale, or had she fought tooth and nail for her spot at this table?

When Vic introduced our party, I was saved until last, like the treat at the end of the meal. I chanced a glance down the end of the table as Vic spoke.

‘And this, I’m sure you’re aware, is Rhiandra Tiercellin.’

Draven’s finger had been tapping slowly against the wood, but it stilled when my name was pronounced. His eyes narrowed.

Vic continued into an opening address. ‘To begin, we would like…’ He trailed off when Draven rose to his feet. I thought he was about to speak, to assert control of the negotiations from the start, but he didn’t. He took hold of the back of the chair, dragged it out, and then proceeded to pull it along the table, stalking behind Lester and Kestrel. The entire room watched as he thrust the chair beside Khatar and dropped into it, sitting right in front of the door.

Right across from me.

Lester sighed, Khatar scowled and Morozov whispered something to Esario. Draven seemed to notice none of this. He crossed one leg over his knee and lounged back in his chair, his fingers tapping slowly against the armrest. Vic cleared his throat and continued, sounding a little less assured as he tried to steer the attention of the table away from me and the wicked, enraging man staring at me like we were the only two people in the room.

‘You tried to annul our marriage,’ Draven said suddenly, again derailing the opening remarks. Any eyes that had been drawn back to Vic returned to us now. The silence echoed for a moment as I gathered myself to respond.

‘I didn’t try. I succeeded,’ I said curtly. Gwinellyn was trying to catch my attention further down the table, but I ignored her. She would want me to stay silent, to refuse to engage. Which had been the strategy I’d been planning on sticking with until this moment. But he hadn’t seated himself right across the table from her to provoke her. I’d like to see her try to remain silent if he had.

‘Because some priest declared it?’ Draven cocked his head as he bored into me with that grey stare, so cold and hard. He was angry. Well, he was always angry. And his rage was no match for mine . ‘On what grounds did they annul it?’

My stomach twisted. I could refuse to answer him. But then he’d win.

‘Enchantment,’ I said coolly while my neck flushed with heat. Half the people in this room had watched me kneel in the dirt. I would have bet they were all enjoying ruminating on that right now.

Draven’s mouth twisted in a humourless smile. ‘Of course. And they’re happy to absolve you of our history if it means having the dowager queen for a political trading piece. Is that what you want? To be bait for an alliance?’

‘Perhaps,’ Vic interjected, his voice firmer this time, ‘we can return to the matter—’

‘Rhiandra is my wife,’ Draven said, cutting him off again. His gaze finally left my face to roam the others seated at the table. ‘Do what you want to try to bury that fact, but it will remain the only truth I recognise. And making attempts at marriage contracts to secure yourselves arms or resources or allies is a very bad idea.’

‘If I decide I wish to remarry, I will. It has nothing to do with you,’ I said hotly. Not that I’d had even the slightest inclination to do so, but there was no way I’d let him think that had anything to do with him. Gwinellyn was getting increasingly desperate to catch my attention, but I didn’t care. Maybe I was as fixated on Draven as he was on me, because the rest of them had begun to feel transparent, like we were in the company of ghosts and phantoms. Let them witness. Let them judge. It had as much an effect on me as whispers in a void.

Draven’s eyes returned to me. The bitter smile was back. ‘That, my dear, would be an excellent way to get someone killed. Perhaps don’t pick someone you like overly much.’

‘Don’t threaten me.’

‘I’m not threatening you. I’m making a promise to anyone who gets the idea in their head to lay a finger on you. You are my wife.’ He turned back down the table, aiming his next words at Esario. ‘And I’ll have the blood of anyone who wants to pretend she isn’t. Make sure your prospective allies know that before they sign any agreements.’

A tense silence followed this statement. Which was a relief, because I needed a moment to strangle the emotional response washing through me. Some potent, incendiary mixture of indignation and pride and embarrassment and gratification. I’d analyse that later. Right now, I just needed to get it off my face.

‘Perhaps we can begin negotiations, since that’s why we’re all here,’ Esario finally said, seeming to have abandoned the opening formalities that Vic had been failing to enact. ‘I want you out of Port Howl. Did you come prepared with terms to make that happen?’

‘I did.’ Draven fixed Oceatold’s king with a cold stare, so different to the burning one he wore when he looked at me. ‘I’ll consider leaving your port. Once you string the heads of every druthi in your kingdom from the walls of Sarmiers, then abdicate your throne.’

Esario leapt to his feet, slamming his hands against the table. ‘Those are not terms!’

‘They’re the only terms I’m offering. You’re outmatched. Your forces are unprepared and inexperienced. The most practice you’ve had with conflict is repelling the occasional Morwarian raid on your coast. I’m allied with those same Morwarians, I have forces from Yaakandale who’ve so recently succeeded in waging a rebellion, and I have magic users among my soldiers. There’s little incentive for me to withdraw from your lands.’

‘You aren’t the only one with magic users among your fighters,’ Esario replied, sinking back into his chair, gaze flicking down to me.

Draven followed his line of sight, and that anger I’d seen lurking flared, casting his expression in danger. ‘You have no business trying to wield forces you don’t understand.’

I bristled at the insinuation, because I was almost positive he was talking to me , not Esario. ‘I’ll show you how well I wield those forces when—'

‘I have two of the most capable druthi in the continent travelling with my army,’ Esario interjected, cutting across me and trying to steal the conversation back. ‘What I don’t understand, they surely do.’

‘Why would you help them, Maelyn?’ The Yoxvese man, Kestrel, spoke now, silver brows drawn low over his eyes as he glared at Mae. ‘You want to align yourself with parasites?’

‘I’m not aligned with the druthi, I’m here with Princess Gwinellyn,’ she replied evenly. ‘And you should be too. She’s going to end the blood trade.’

He shook his head. ‘I never took you for someone so gullible. And to think Orym speaks so highly of you.’

Mae stiffened and her breath caught.

‘She’s right,’ Gwinellyn interrupted, leaning forwards in her seat, angled towards Kestrel. His gaze snapped to her, full of distrust, but she held it. ‘I’m not your enemy. I have the support of your Elders in the Living Valley, and when I reclaim my crown, they’ll have a place on my council. An equal place. Your people will have a voice in what comes next. No more hiding, no more being hunted, and no more blood trade. I promise you.’

Kestrel exhaled sharply, fingers flexing on the arms of his chair. ‘And you think you can just decree this? You think your druthi will accept it?’

When she spoke again, it was in a lowered voice, like she was only speaking to him alone. ‘I think they’ll have no choice.’

Kestrel’s lips curled into a tight, humourless smile. ‘You’re naive to think what your people have done to us can be fixed with the flutter of a crown or the promises of a princess.’

That seemed to open the room to chaos. More voices began to chime in, becoming a hum of tangled words as the Yaakandale representative began hurling her own accusations which Vic responded to while Gwinellyn tried to explain to Kestrel about her time in the Living Valley. He lobbed back a series of cutting remarks and Lester and Khatar were arguing with Morozov about the blockade. But I remained silent. Because I was watching Draven as he watched me, his gaze seeming to run along my features like he was tracing the lines of the face he’d condemned to destruction. He seemed, as always, untouched by those around him, a figure from a different painting carelessly pasted into the wrong scene. His dark hair was stirred, mussed with wind or a poor night’s sleep or hands running through it. His sharp jawline was shaded with stubble. It would feel rough beneath my fingers.

‘Where’s Leela?’ I found myself asking. Though how he’d have heard me with all the noise around us, I couldn’t say.

He leaned forwards to deliver his reply. ‘Safe. You’ll see her soon.’

Before I could ask anything else, Esario called for silence, and I reluctantly turned my attention to him. He waited for the voices to fade out before speaking directly to Draven once again. ‘I suppose this discussion was dead before it began,’ he said gravely. ‘You’ve come here with no intention to negotiate. You’re content to see this conflict settled in blood.’

‘We’re not entirely done.’ Draven tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair again, returning his focus to Esario, surveying him speculatively. I took the opportunity of his diverted attention to pick up the water glass before me and sip it, returning some moisture to my cotton-dry mouth. ‘There’s the matter of a few hundred of your soldiers I’m holding prisoner in Port Howl.’

Esario’s frown deepened. ‘What are you planning to do with them?’

‘I’m not overly attached to them, so if you’d like them back then they’re all yours. Or I can dump them into the ocean. Whichever you prefer.’

Esario exchanged a look with Morozov, who gave a slight nod of his head before the king returned his focus to Draven. ‘And what will you want in return for their safe exchange?’

Draven’s gaze slid back to me. ‘A private conversation with Princess Gwinellyn.’

I choked on the water I’d been sipping, thumping the glass back down on the table while I coughed. A conversation with Gwinellyn ? Had I heard that wrong? Esario’s delegation were leaning into one another, muttering, shaking their heads.

‘Absolutely not,’ Oceatold’s king boomed.

Draven arched an eyebrow. ‘You’ll forfeit the lives of three hundred soldiers to deny me one conversation? I can’t imagine that will make you popular with their families.’

‘I’ll protect the rightful heir to the Brimordian throne.’ Esario was leaning forwards on his hands, his cheeks turning red.

‘I won’t harm her. All I’m asking for is ten minutes. You can even have my own brother as a hostage until she’s returned safely,’ Draven replied, waving a hand at Lester, who muttered under his breath as he folded his arms and slouched lower in his chair.

‘I wouldn’t allow even one minute without—’

‘It’s alright. I’ll do it.’ Gwinellyn’s voice managed to cut through the rising tension, even though she hardly raised it. There was a furrow scored between her brows and she was sitting very straight in her chair, but I knew just from looking at her that her mind was already made up. He would have known she’d agree with a promise of that kind of exchange. How could she not? But how could we let her?

Esario settled back in his seat, expression grave. ‘Perhaps we can discuss this before you make a decision.’

But Gwinellyn only smiled. ‘I can’t justify refusing with so many lives on the line.’ The smile slipped away when she looked to Draven. I could see the bob of her throat as she swallowed, the paling of her cheeks. ‘Now?’

‘No. I don’t want to be overheard. We’ll stay when they all leave. Your Yoxvese friend can stay too, if you need an assurance that I’m not using magic.’ He gestured in Mae’s direction. ‘But she’ll have to wait outside.’

Gwin nodded. ‘And when will you release the soldiers?’

‘As soon as you’ve rejoined your friends and Lester has been returned to me.’

My sense of how wrong this was steadily rose as I watched them discuss these arrangements. What could he possibly have to say to her? How could he possibly be trusted not to kill her, even with Lester as an assurance and Mae close by?

‘Is he lying?’ I whispered to Mae.

She shook her head. ‘I feel no deceit or aggression. I think he really does want to talk to her.’

‘What if he’s just shielding so you can’t read him accurately?’

‘Well, that’s the funny thing. He isn’t shielding at all.’ The sidelong look she gave me when she said these words, so heavily laden with some kind of insinuation, made me deeply uncomfortable. I wanted to ask her what she meant by that, why she was looking at me so strangely, but I didn’t. I just sat back in my chair, determining my own course of action as the meeting was officially drawn to a close. There was an exchange of threats, about the meeting on the battlefield of Port Howl. The usurpers rose to leave—all except Lester, who sighed and began picking at his nails—while Gwinellyn sat with a ramrod-straight spine. I stared at her, trying to catch her eye, but she was gazing determinedly ahead, chin lifted, looking like she was keeping a very tight control of her emotions. And then with a final nod to Esario, Draven was stalking out of the room followed by those he’d brought with him, and suddenly it was all over and I was left sitting in the vacuum he left behind, wondering if that was really it. All that effort to make sure I was sitting at this table couldn’t have been all just for that little bit of needling, could it? Had he really just forced the issue to prove that he could make me bend? Well, yes. I supposed he would do something so petty. And I didn’t care about his reason, only that he made good on his promise.

‘I don’t like this,’ I heard Vic mutter to Esario as I rose to my feet.

‘Neither do I. But I don’t like a few hundred soldiers being his prisoners, either.’

I didn’t stay to hear the rest of the conversation, heading for the door myself. The hallway was empty as I stepped into it, and I looked towards the outer door, wondering if he’d followed outside to see them all off.

‘Looking for me?’ My heart jolted. I spun around to find Draven leaning against the wall by the doorway, arms folded. ‘You didn’t think I’d let you leave without saying goodbye, did you?’

‘I’m not leaving until I know where Leela is.’

He pushed himself off the wall. ‘She’ll be released when the soldiers are.’

‘Is she alright? Have you hurt her?’

‘She’s fine. Well fed and kept in comfort. She’ll tell you so herself when you see her.’

Some of the tension in my chest loosened, and I took the first full breath I’d taken since I’d realised she was his prisoner. Even though I couldn’t take his word for it. Even though anything he said was likely to be a lie. He moved towards me and I stumbled backwards without thinking, heart hammering already, remembering the chase through the streets on the banks of the Cro. He paused, something crossing his face too quickly for me to read.

‘So what was this all for, then?’ I said, trying to smooth over that show of weakness with bluster. ‘You dragged me here just to show that you could?’

He smirked, cocking his head. ‘I suppose you’re disappointed I didn’t ask for you in exchange for those soldiers. I still could.’

My breath caught for just a moment as something thrilled down my spine.

‘Or,’ he continued, ‘I could go in there and tell them what a bad girl you’ve been. Always such a good liar, though. Enchantment .’ He scoffed the final word.

‘That isn’t a lie.’

‘The lies you tell yourself always seem to be the ones you defend the most aggressively, my lovely wife.’

‘I’m not your wife anymore.’

‘See?’ His smirk widened. ‘You make my point for me.’

There it was again. That familiar old urge to smack him or shake him or wipe the smirk from his face. I couldn’t let him draw me into this sort of exchange. It was just giving him what he wanted. ‘What do you want to say to Gwinellyn so badly?’

‘That’s between me and her.’

‘I’m not leaving her alone with you. I don’t trust that you care enough for your brother to let her go unharmed for his sake.’

He huffed a laugh. ‘You’ll leave if you want the soldiers returned. I know the lives of faceless innocents isn’t much of a motivator for you, but your beloved Gwinellyn will be very unhappy if you jeopardise them by refusing to comply.’

I took a step closer to him, simmering with heat and menace. ‘If you lay a finger on her, I’ll make Lester scream so loudly that you’ll hear it all the way from Lee Helse. Maybe you think Esario wouldn’t resort to torture, but just know that I happily would. And then I’d come for you and do the same.’

His eyes darkened. ‘I know you would.’

The mood seemed to shift, the memory of the way he’d chased me dissolving into the feeling I’d had when he’d sank to his knees. Something was clawing at the walls of my chest as I stared up at him, something hot and sharp and rabid that reeked of smoke and writhed with screams and blood and the hideous pain of a vulnerability I should never have trusted him with. His gaze roamed my face, hungry, searching for something to devour.

‘What have you let them do to you?’ he said quietly. He gently touched a hand to my chin, lifting it, turning it. For some reason, I let him. ‘You’re covered in stolen magic.’

It broke me from my trance. ‘That’s none of your business,’ I snapped, shaking him off, but he caught my hand before I could step away. And then he went completely still, his eyes now fixed on my wrist. When I followed his attention, I saw my sleeve had slipped back, the edge of the bruise peeking out past the hem. I watched as he slid his fingers up my forearm, rolling the sleeve up, revealing the rest of the mark, the purple colouring, the raw patches where the rope had rubbed.

‘And this?’ His voice was deadly calm. ‘Who did this?’

‘Also none of your business.’ I pulled out of his grip, surreptitiously tugging my sleeve back down as I folded my arms.

‘You and whatever hurts you are very much my business,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Let me make them suffer for it.’

I studied him, trying to work out what his angle was. Why the pretence? Why the display of possession? ‘You were trying to kill me the last time I saw you, and now you want to pretend some kind of concern for my welfare? You can’t seriously think I’d be stupid enough to believe such a ploy.’

‘If I’d been trying to kill you, you’d already be dead. I only wanted to scare you.’ A sly smile curled the corners of his mouth. ‘After all, you did stab me.’

‘I’m not sorry.’ The urge to get the upper hand in the interaction finally became too much to deny and I gave into the temptation of power whispering through my veins, drawing on my magic until it was sparking along my fingers, desperate for that shield of deadly energy to hide behind as I raised a hand between us. ‘And I can do far worse than stab you these days,’ I hissed, holding the crackling sparks even as my head began to ache.

We stared at each other for a long moment, the light of the sparks throwing strange shadows across his face.

‘They haven’t taught you anything, have they?’ He looked all too serious now, all traces of that sly smile gone. There was a thread of anger in his voice.

‘I know enough to make you hurt.’

‘They wouldn’t teach me, either.’

‘I know,’ I snapped, ‘I’ve heard your whole life story by now, from everyone other than you.’

‘I could teach you.’ He moved a step closer, as though the lightning in my hands was nothing. ‘After all, I’m the only one alive who’s anything like you. I’m sure all they want to tell you is that human blood and magic don’t mix, but I’m the only one who can teach you how to avoid the worst of what that means.’

My focus on the magic wavered, my surprise diverting my attention to recalculating what I thought he would do next. He was offering to teach me? The sparks died down, becoming little more than flickers. I hated how he always seemed to be able to catch me off guard.

His gaze darted to the receding lightning, bitterness twisting his expression. ‘But I suppose that would interfere with your plan of killing me.’

‘I want more than to just kill you,’ I hissed, drawing closer, wanting to catch him off guard the way he always did to me, drawn in by the almost static hum of the space between us, making my skin thrum with awareness the way it did when he was about to touch me. ‘I want to see you beg first . I want to hurt you and own you and destroy you.’ I glowered up at him, burning from something, from everything, from more feeling than I could contain in my skin, and he didn’t flinch, didn’t waver in the face of it. I had the sense that he was burning, too. ‘Only then will I kill you.’

Slowly, he reached out a hand. Slid his fingers onto my hip, stealing tiny stretches of fabric one millimetre at a time, like he thought I’d bite him if he made any sudden movements. I might. Holding my gaze, the hunger blazing in his was dark and thrilling and it made me hate him even more because I wanted him so badly it hurt.

‘Please,’ he said.

The handle of the door behind Draven clicked and it swung open to reveal Lester. He froze mid step as I sprung away, sparks zapping out of existence, flushing like I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t.

‘Are we leaving?’ I blurted out, quickly trying to regain my poise.

Lester’s brows were raised. ‘Yeah. I’m eager to play hostage.’ He shot Draven a salty glower. ‘Thanks for that.’

Draven didn’t look at him. He was still fixed on me.

But Lester was followed out of the room by the rest of Esario’s people, and I caught sight of Gwinellyn still sitting at that table, looking so small surrounded by all those empty chairs. Vic paused nearby when the others had passed.

‘Come on,’ he said after a moment, making it clear he was waiting for me. Draven finally turned his gaze from me, assessing the other man with dark calculation.

‘She’ll come when she’s ready,’ he said, voice low.

Vic drew himself up, though he didn’t have Draven’s height, or the sharp air of menace that seemed to cling to him. When he spoke, he addressed me, but his eyes were locked on the Blood King. ‘Let’s go, Rhiandra. King Esario wants this business finished.’

Draven turned fully now, squaring up against the other man. ‘How about you rethink your address? You’re talking to a queen. You don’t handle her name like you have any right to have it in your mouth. Especially not in front of me.’

Vic opened and closed his mouth a few times as he visibly shrank.

‘Just go, Vic. I’m fine. I’ll be there in a minute,’ I said, glaring at Draven, seething at the spectacle he was making.

Vic dithered a moment longer, before finally taking a step back. ‘Alright. But be quick about it. I’ll see you outside.’

Draven watched him walk away looking for all the world like he was about to follow him. ‘I think Vic,’ he said, spitting out the name with a hearty dose of poison, ‘could use a few less teeth.’

‘And you could use a cold dose of reality. Don’t speak for me or try to defend me. It only reminds me of the time you didn’t.’

That seemed to douse that vicious energy. I waited for him to say something when he turned back, maybe to make an excuse or to explain himself. But he didn’t. He seemed to struggle for his next words, which was unusual for him. He usually had some clever remark ready to roll right off his tongue.

‘I met Igor Lidello in Sarmiers,’ I found myself saying. I didn’t know why I said it. Maybe because I wanted to see him remain impassive, so I could release the terrible, squirming feeling I got whenever I thought of the encounter. Wanted to see him smirk, laugh it off, make some reference to how he was going to dismember him or something.

But he didn’t do any of those things. He flinched.

‘What did he tell you?’ was the demand that followed, heated and abrupt.

‘Not very much,’ I replied, instantly regretting bringing it up. Because now I was gripped again with the intense, violent desire to claw the druthi’s face off.

‘Good,’ Draven replied, and he was so tense now, drawn so tight in his shoulders and his jaw, and I clenched my hands against the absurd urge to reach out and touch him, to comfort him. He didn’t deserve my comfort, I reminded myself. I stirred from my stasis, smothering the compulsion I had to remain here, locked in this pointless stand-off as though I didn’t want to walk away.

‘Don’t try to summon me to any more of these pretend negotiations,’ I said, trying to harden my voice again, ‘and don’t harm a hair on Gwinellyn’s head.’ I paused as I went to walk past him and watched his jaw tick as he looked down at me. ‘When I see you next, it won’t be under truce terms. You’re going to regret everything you’ve put me through.’

His mouth twisted into a cynical smile. ‘I already do.’

I bet he did. He’d made himself a formidable enemy as a result. I swallowed and forced my feet to move, following Vic back out the door, feeling Draven watching me as I went. I was sure we were stupid to leave Gwinellyn here with him, but the decision wasn’t mine to make. I hoped Mae would be able to protect her. I hoped Lester really was enough of a motivation to keep him from harming her.

As I mounted my horse, I realised my hands were trembling. I gripped the reins tightly so no one would notice.