Page 4 of Of Blood and Banes (The Arterian #2)

THEY’VE MADE A MISTAKE

S inister pools of blood splatter the stone floors all around Darian.

His chest flutters with ragged breaths, and as he hunches forward to cough, the thick metal bands shackling his wrists clink as he catches himself on the ground.

More blood spews from his lips. His arms tremble with the miserable effort to keep himself upright.

“Tell us,” Sethan thunders, his attention set on Darian.

As slow as if he were lifting the weight of the world, Darian’s sullen gaze sweeps off the floor and up to Sethan. Dark shadows trace his eye sockets, with bruises and cuts littering his skin. His bottom lip is swollen on one side to the extent it makes me flinch.

I wait for the snicker. The sneer. Those venomous insults he never hesitates to spit. But rather than antagonizing his captor, his eyes flutter closed as his head sags, accepting his fate.

Sethan nods at the armored man next to him. The soldier turns to the farthest wall and retrieves a whip hung up on a hook. My breath catches in my chest as the man walks back toward Darian and circles around to stand behind him.

“Then I suppose we’ll bleed you dry,” Sethan threatens with an icy calm.

The man behind Darian plants his feet, pulls his arm back behind his head, and rips the whip down across Darian’s back. Not even Darian’s clenched teeth can hold back his cry as he jolts forward. My stomach bottoms out, and I shudder.

The man raises the whip again, and I race out from behind the cover of the staircase wall.

“Stop it!” I grab at Sethan’s shoulder to turn him to face me.

He swivels, anger sparking in his brown eyes as he instinctively snatches my wrist. Instantly, I recognize the shade of brown in his irises, realizing exactly where Melaina got it from.

“What are you doing here? Get back to your room,” he snarls.

“Fuck you, you don’t command me,” I hiss, attempting to slide my forearm out from his strong grip.

“Need I remind you, girl, that you are no longer in Arterias? Which means you fall under my authority.” Sethan nearly throws my gloved hand out of his grasp and turns back toward the man with the whip. “Again, Corvin.”

Corvin hesitates, staring directly at me with wide eyes. His short brown hair is cut close to his skull. Swallowing, he flicks his gaze from Sethan to me and back again, as if he’s contemplating the lesser of two evils.

Sethan narrows his eyes as he demands, louder, “Again!”

Corvin raises the whip behind his head, his arm now shaking.

Shoving past Sethan I spring forward, throwing my hand out to stop the whip before it cracks down on Darian’s back.

Corvin swings down, and the wicked leather snaps into the back of my hand.

I bite down a scream, buckling to my knees before Darian.

I can only imagine how it would feel on someone’s bare skin.

Pain rises to the surface, throbbing in the back of my hand and bubbling beneath my wounded ribs.

Corvin drops the whip to the floor as he shuffles backward until he bumps into the wall. “I-I’m so sorry…”

Darian lifts his head enough to look at me. Those desolate green eyes, hazy with pain and a distant delusion, watch me through slow blinking lids. His face. Oh, Gods, his face.

I break eye contact with him, unable to bear the heaviness of his stare as I glare up at Corvin, then back over my shoulder at Sethan. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“How else do you expect us to glean any information to help save Arterias?” Sethan asks, his arms tucked behind his back, ever so nonchalant.

I rise to my feet. “There are other ways!”

“No. No, there aren’t. And if you want to win this war, you’ll do what is necessary.”

“This is not necessary!” I spit. “And who said I want any part in your war?”

The slight lift to his lips lowers as he tilts his chin down at me. “If you want to save your dragon, then surely you will come to your senses.”

“She’s safe, we’re in the Dragon Lands.”

“Not for long,” he counters.

I narrow my eyes at the open-to-interpretation statement for both Daeja’s safety and our residency here in the Dragon Lands. I haven’t had long to consider what our plans will be, but Daeja can’t go back to Arterias. She belongs here. And if she belongs here…well, I suppose I do, too.

My voice dips low. “If that’s your attempt at threatening me, you’ll be sorely mistaken.”

A step sounds behind me, and I turn back to Corvin edging the side of the wall as if he might not be noticed.

“Get. Out,” I growl. And I swear to Gods the man flinches.

“You stay, Corvin,” Sethan calls behind me.

The poor soldier flicks his attention from me to behind me, his forehead glistening with nervous sweat. The longer the seconds tick by, the harder the realization washes over me. He’s weighing mine and Sethan’s commands. He’s hesitating because of me.

I turn back to Sethan and point down at Darian, betting on my intuition. “Leader of the Dragon Lands or not, you will not touch him again.”

Sethan snorts, seemingly amused at the conviction in my tone. “Then I suppose you’ll be the one responsible for questioning him? Please. Go ahead. Find out why the King wants all the dragons dead.”

He holds my gaze. Waiting for me to back down. I clench my jaw, forcing myself not to break under his narrowed stare. To not flinch at the thought of uncovering a truth I’m unaware of. But part of me is just as eager for the answer.

Finally, he waves his hand as if pestered by a horse fly. “Let’s go, Corvin. We’ll try this again tomorrow.”

Corvin hangs the whip back up on its hook with a speed that reeks of desperation to get out of this room and throws me an apologetic look over his shoulder as he meets Sethan at the staircase.

Sethan levels me with a look. “I’ll show you this one act of respect—and mercy. Do not be quick to forget it.”

He and Corvin ascend the staircase out of view, their footsteps fading into silence.

A wheezy breath tugs my attention away from the stairs, and I turn to face Darian.

The wounds patterning every inch of his face, neck, and chest makes me hurt as if I sustained the injuries myself.

They’ve stripped off his shirt, revealing more lacerations than I can count.

Ungodly amounts of blood stain his matted hair, his pale face, the stone floors, and his filthy pants.

My stomach churns at the realization of how long he must have been down here to have so many brutal injuries. I’ve been out for several days.

Days… my stomach does an uncomfortable flip at the thought. He’s miserable looking. Painful to behold. He doesn’t even look up, eyes still squeezed closed as he uses every bit of his strength just to fucking breathe .

“Are you okay?” I whisper, crouching to his level. A distant pain spiders in my ribs at the maneuver. Gods, he needs Marge. Desperately. I pat my sides, searching for anything I have on me to help him but find nothing.

“Leave…me.” His voice is ragged. As if those two words took every ounce of his strength, and he forfeited a few precious breaths to mutter it.

“I’m not leaving you. Darian, they’ll kill you?—”

“Fuck ‘em. If they do…they’ll be doing me a godsdamned favor—” He’s ambushed by a violent cough and attempts to cover his mouth with the inside of his wrist while sputtering bits of blood and drool.

I reach out to him with a shaky hand, gently place my fingers under his sharp, stubble-dusted chin, and tilt his attention off the floor to me. Anything to beg him to listen. “You need a healer. You need Marge.”

He snatches me by the wrist and throws my hand away from him, the metal chains on his shackles jingling from the motion. “Get your fucking paws off me.”

His bloody handprint is wrapped around my wrist, and I stare at the splash of red against the black leather of Marge’s glove. He retreats, sitting back to lean his head against the wall.

How he’s managed to lose so much blood without passing out is beyond me.

But if anyone can do it, it’s Darian. This man would stare death down in the face and have it running for the fucking hills.

But there’s no denying the hint of defeat in the way his shoulders sag, and the dullness in those green irises.

His rich, olive skin now borders ghastly.

“Darian…” I try again, gently.

Lifting his head off the wall, he glares at me with a fierceness reminiscent of a wild animal before it bites.

I inch toward him. “Let me help you up. We need to get you out of here so we can find someone to help.”

“There’s no helping me. It’s far too late.”

“Humor me.”

He doesn’t move or argue. His gaze is still locked on mine, though his eyelids flutter like he’s fighting a losing battle.

Don’t make me regret this. I slink forward and slide my arms underneath his, then lock my hands over my opposite wrists. He wraps his arms around me, and with a grunt, I help pull him up to his feet. Pain throbs in my ribs with warning, though I ignore it.

Darian finds his footing and releases me, his legs trembling as he leans back slightly against the wall to gather his balance. I pull back away from him, and my hands brush over his manacles. I pause—stuck on the metal slick with grime and blood constricting his movements.

He’s the prince of Arterias. His grandfather murdered countless dragons, riders, and rebels.

Daeja and I are a target. Any doubt he isn’t led by his grandfather’s beliefs is whisked away by the memory of him executing two men who were reported to be sympathizers.

He nearly killed Archie in a sparring match the first time I saw him.

And who knows what other things Darian was responsible for?

He’s a prisoner of war. Perhaps he deserves this. Perhaps this is fate or karma.

And yet, Gods…looking at him crosses that line of morality in me?—

Darian lunges at me, taking full advantage of my hesitation. He raises his fists to wrap the chain connecting his shackles around my neck and shoves me backward in one swift motion.