Page 16 of Of Blood and Banes (The Arterian #2)

HAUNTING OF A PAST

T awny leads me later in the night to the most northwestern part of Midkeep where there are rows of uninhabited stone buildings.

She tells me that here in the Dragon Lands each town has a designated sector of buildings mostly fitted for dragon riders traveling through the realm.

And at the heart of each sector is one singular building that’s always reserved for Cyrus.

She leads me to the most lavish stone building on the street.

The face of which has two stone dragons sitting on the marbled steps leading up to it.

The scaled creatures curl into pillars holding up the roof.

Tawny swings open the door for me and ushers me inside, apologizing under her breath for any dust the attendants might have missed.

I step inside, my gaze sweeping across the room.

A man neatly folds a plush red blanket on a massive bed near the farthest wall.

The bed’s frame twists up into a convergence of multiple golden dragons, their brilliant sheen the focus of the room.

Other splashes of red decorate the grand space: an ornate rug underneath the bed, curtains lining the windows on the wall opposite the bed, and glittering rubies set in the sconces lining the walls.

The man preparing the bed bows before us and exits.

Tawny turns to me, murmuring, “This was Cyrus’s last residence before he died.”

“So…you know?” I ask as a shiver runs down my spine.

She nods, unsheathes a dagger from her belt, and hands it to me. “Sethan told me you were related to him, yes.”

I slowly take the dagger from her, lifting an eyebrow. “What is this for?”

“Hide it. In case you need it,” she whispers. “You’ll get the rest of your weapons tomorrow.”

My shoulders sag in relief. Just as I’m about to ask her if it was Sethan’s will to return our swords and daggers, the door opens again.

Four soldiers spill into the room, two of which hold someone between them.

I slide the dagger behind my back out of view, then tuck it into my waistband.

Their prisoner—Darian—lifts his head and glares at me through strands of his chestnut brown hair.

I fight against the surge of nervousness that I might have made the wrong decision.

The four soldiers half-drag, half-fight Darian to the far wall parallel to the bed. Two of them take the end of the long ‘leash’ of a chain from his shackles and secure it to a metal loop in the stone wall.

I squint. Why the hells did Cyrus have shackles in his room?

“Don’t worry,” Tawny whispers. “Those chains have been tested and won’t break.

The only way out of them will be if you release them.

And the chain connecting him to the wall is about nine feet long.

There’s another six-foot gap between the bounds of what the chains will allow him to move, and the edge of your bed.

So long as you stay out of his reach, you’ll be safe.

If you need us to remove him, just send word. ”

The soldiers test the chain’s strength by tugging on it repeatedly, before stepping back and turning their attention to Tawny, who nods her dismissal. The men slip out of the room, and as Tawny shifts to follow them, her gaze snags on me.

I can see it in her eyes— are you sure this is a good idea?

I nod, and she leaves. She watches me as she closes the door, leaving me alone with Darian.

“Can you tell me why the fuck I’m in here with you?” Darian growls.

Clenching my hand around the dagger’s hilt, I turn toward his direction.

His breath falls in and out heavily, and he jerks against the manacles like a wild animal.

Every time he stills, his body trembles like a leaf.

My attention is focused on the metal entrapping him and waiting for it to bend or break.

But it doesn’t. Though, it does little to relax my tensed muscles.

Shoving my anxiety out of my own limelight, I stride over to the bed between us and slide the dagger underneath a pillow.

“I’m talking to you!” Darian snarls.

And here I thought I was the one at mercy from his bad temper and egotistical, self-entitlement.

I turn to face him, thankful they at least decided to clothe him.

Wounds still pattern his face in bruises and cuts, though they look mostly scabbed over.

His face, hair, and clothing look fairly clean considering the last time I saw him. At least they’ve afforded him a bath.

“Answer me!” he barks again.

Makes sense he’s the prince of an asshole. Forcing the fear and intimidation out of my body and face, I snap back, “Because I requested it. You’re fucking welcome!”

Gods, the way he watches me, seething with his pupils blown to spheres nearly drowning out his green irises.

It sends a chill racing down my spine. Perhaps this is a mistake.

But it’s too late now—if I go back to Sethan and request Darian be returned to the dungeons, it will only look bad.

It’ll make me look weak. And I can’t afford for Sethan, or anyone else for that matter, to think that of me.

Besides, I have to start believing I have this under control.

I turn my back to him and hesitate for a moment before undressing.

I shouldn’t care. He’s already seen me naked.

Lifting my chin, I undress down to my undergarments with my back to him, ignoring the metal chains clinking and screeching against each other as he tests the shackles again and again.

I find sets of clothes in an ornate wooden dresser near the bed and pull out a nightgown before sliding it over my body.

“You might as well quit trying. You’re not getting out unless I see to it,” I call, shifting into the sheets and wrapping my hand around the hilt of the dagger tucked beneath my pillow.

“Listen, bitch,” he hisses from the far wall. “If you don’t let me go?—”

I flip toward him and pin him with a glare as he strains against his confines. “Watch how you speak to me.”

“Bi-tch,” he pronounces slowly.

Throwing the sheets off me, I whip out the dagger from beneath the pillow and tear out of bed, anger fueling each step as I storm toward him.

I have to set these boundaries. And I have to set them now.

If I’m to share such an intimate setting with him for an unknown amount of time, I must establish the rules.

I will not take his bullshit.

I will not be scared of him.

If anything…he will be scared of me.

He’s fucking lucky I don’t throw him outside and let the dragons have him. This is his last option, unless he wants to stay in the dungeons again. At which point, I’d have no control over what happens to him.

I close the distance between us, watching him with a lifted chin as I press the tip of my blade to his throat and growl, “Don’t. Fucking. Test. Me.”

He tips his head back in defiance, a grin tilting his lips as he swallows against the blade. Testing me. Narrowing my eyes at the challenge, I inch my hand forward, letting the edge of the dagger prick his skin. A thin river of blood trickles down his neck.

“Look at that…the kitten has claws,” he purrs. “Come a little closer, won’t you? I want to see how far you’re willing to go.”

Funneling all my anger into my narrowed eyes as if he’ll back down from the intensity, I clench my teeth.

He thinks I’m bluffing. And here I used to think he’s a cunning man.

I drag the blade up his throat, leaving a slow trail of blood under his chin, and apply pressure until his head tilts back as far as it’ll go.

I slink closer to tower over him, my hair sweeping down into my face. “You will obey me. And you will respect me. And when I tell you to shut the fuck up, you will close your godsdamned mouth. Do you understand me?”

He snickers as if I only told him the most humorous joke.

Taking the blade off his throat, I wipe both sides of the dagger on his cheek, smearing blood onto his skin.

Jerking forward, he grabs behind my knees and rips my legs out from under me.

I lose my grip on the dagger as I fight to catch myself in the backward fall, landing straight on my ass.

The dagger clatters to the ground a few feet away from me.

We both lunge for it.

He snatches one of my naked legs with one hand and tries to grapple for the dagger with the other.

I kick at him, my heel connecting with something hard before I swipe the dagger off the ground and escape his grasp.

I crawl over to the bed like my life depends on it.

After I’ve cleared his chained perimeter and scramble up into the bed, I glance over at him.

A wicked look of amusement and disdain burns in his eyes, with a small trickle of blood seeping out the corner of his mouth.

He swipes the blood away with the back of his fist. I must have kicked him in the mouth.

Good. Fucking asshole.

“Don’t try that shit again,” I warn as I burrow into bed. With my hand still tight around my dagger, I watch him, unable to turn my attention away for more than a second.

He shifts down to the floor and mirrors my body language. His fingers dance along the stone tile, a faint trembling still in his hands. “Sweet dreams, kitten.”

It feels more like a threat than a well wish. And at this rate, those sweet dreams will be filled with gutting his pompous ass.

Thump.

My eyes flash open, waiting for another sound. But nothing comes, and I chalk it up to a groggy delusion. Closing my eyes, I begin to slip back into sleep.

Thump.

I jerk up out of bed, whipping my gaze around the room before stilling. Darian’s eyes are closed, an easy rhythm to the rise and fall of his chest.

Thump.

I slide the dagger out from underneath my pillow and edge toward the sound at my door, constantly checking Darian’s slumped figure over my shoulder.

Thump.

Turning the knob slowly, I open the door a few inches to peer out.

Nothing stirs out on the cobblestone streets.

The other buildings are dark and quiet. Opening the door a bit more, I poke my head out.

A few feet to the right of my door, Cole stands on one leg with the other bent, his sole resting on the exterior wall of my room.

His thick arms are crossed over his chest, his head slowly sagging forward as his eyes flutter closed.

As soon as his head reaches the lowest point, it dips and he jerks back, slamming his head against the wall behind him.

Thump.

He struggles to keep his eyes open, each dragging blink threatening to keep his eyes closed.

“Psst!” I whisper.

Jerking awake as if thrown into a frozen river, he spins toward me, his expression wide and still dazed.

“The hells are you doing out here, Cole?” I grab him by the jacket and pull him closer to my door, scanning the streets around us as I whisper, “Did you forget we have a curfew!”

He takes a breath, blinking the haze of sleep out of his eyes as he runs a hand through the crown of his head. “Oh…shit. Sorry. I…umm…” He glances around, clearly embarrassed.

“Are you seriously guarding my room? It’s well past midnight. Darian is chained to the wall. I’m fine . Go back to your room, and get some sleep.”

He blows out a breath. “It’s not Darian I’m worried about…or at least, he’s not my main concern.”

I pull him inside and shut the door silently before I lead him out of the main room where Darian sleeps, down a side hallway and into a lavish bathroom. Gods, even the bathtub gleams in the moonlight with an expensive porcelain sheen.

I release my grip on his jacket. “What’s your main concern that you’d risk breaking curfew, then?”

He takes a few steps forward so I can catch his mumbled whisper. “The rebels. There’s something they aren’t telling us.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“No,” he growls. “I’m not. I don’t trust them. Something is going on, and they aren’t telling us. Something that involves you.”

“They don’t necessarily trust us either, but we all have to start somewhere. We have to work together.”

“Fine, you can trust them all you want. You made a blood pact—but I didn’t. These people might want to save you because you’ll save the world, but I want to save you because I love you.”

“Cole…” I sigh, taking a step back away from him. Now isn’t the time for late night confessions. As much as I don’t want to hear those three little words from him, I’m hungry for it all the same.

He splays his hands out to the side in a silent apology. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just trying to protect you.”

I snort. “By guarding my room?”

“By making sure anyone who tries to hurt you has to go through me first.” His warm, honey eyes search mine. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to make any rash decisions?”

I cross my arms over my chest, leaning back into the wall. Tossing a glance over my shoulder down the hallway, I scan the shadows like I won’t have to agree. “Maybe.”

“I need a yes, Kat,” he nearly pleads.

I meet his eyes. “Fine. Yes. What is it?”

He grabs my wrist gently, twisting my hand so his mother’s ring catches the moonlight and glimmers brilliantly. “Marge told me this ring needs to stay with you. On you. You cannot take it off.”

Sethan’s words ring in my head. This ring has much power, more power than you could ever imagine. As far as I know, it has enough power to release a ripple. But what else can it do?

“Why does Marge say I can’t take it off?” I murmur.

“Because…” He blows out a quick breath. “...because it links you to the King.”

“What do you mean ‘links?’ And since when do you have private discussions with Marge?”

“This ring links your life to King Aaric’s. Which means, if you die, he dies. Arterians won’t kill you, even if you’re a dragon rider.”

I recoil, the news striking me with a sudden rush of panic. “How…how is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. Some ancient magic, Marge said. She didn’t want me to tell you, and I was hesitant because we didn’t want you thinking ahead of yourself. But…I don’t want to keep things from you anymore.”

Must be why I woke up with healed ribs. Not because of anything Daeja or I had done…but because the King must have done something to mend them. I thumb my ribs, testing to make sure they’re still healed over, and am met with a faint soreness. “Then what’s this rash decision she’s wary I’ll make?—”

As it dawns on me, my eyes round, and my face falls. If I die, King Aaric dies. I could shove a sword through my heart, sacrificing myself to single-handedly take down the King.