Page 122 of Red Demon

I squeezed Faruhar’s hand, pulling her head to mine. Pain flickered in her eyes as I brushed a reassuring kiss to her lips.

The warmth of Asher’s hug was grounding. I gave Istaran a pat as well.

“Stay safe—I want you among the living at my wedding.” Asher’s eyes twinkled.

“Please tell me you’ll give Mira at least a month before you propose again.”

He laughed, a hollow sound despite joy in his eyes. “Brother, I already said yes. Telesilla said she’d do the ceremony as soon as this is all over.”

“Voids.” I had to choke my laughter into my hands to stay quiet this close to town, but I turned him around by the shoulders. “I’ll be there.”

“Faruhar, I want you there too, of course,” Asher said, turning to her.

“Sure. Oria can only kill me below ground.” Faruhar’s bittersweet smile bloomed as she looked between me and my brother.

Telesilla nodded.

I took a deep breath and turned toward the little settlement, where lights twinkled on the stone gates in the misty morning.

I gave it a few minutes so the others could take their positions, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

I entered the frosted clearing, giving a friendly nod to the guards. Removing my cloak, I shook out the blond curls I knew were on my wanted posters in the temple. With every casual step, with any words they let me speak, I planned to contradict Mahakal’s lies.

Nearing the gate, I looked up to see the guard’s crossbow trained on me. “Hi! Good morning! My name is Jesse Eirini. I’m here to—”

A crossbow bolt ripped through the air, stealing the air through my lungs where it landed with a thud in my chest.

My breath hitched as I crumpled to the ground, the bolt pressing deeper into my chest with a kaleidoscope of pain.

Chapter 49

Prisoner

My world blurred at the edges of the dark, my head pulsing. Pain lanced through my chest with each ragged breath. I forced my head to clear and hauled myself up from the floor, only to feel cold steel chains binding my wrists and ankles. A dank chill wove through the fabric of my undershirt and pants.

I’d been unconscious long enough to lose my sense of time. I pushed through the haze, realizing my wound would be a clue. No arrow pierced my ragged shirt, but my chest burned with each breath. I couldn’t feel a bandage against my skin; it felt like my shirt clung to me with dried blood. A day? Hours, I decided—not days—but the darkness here was so thick I could practically choke on it. Even my eyes couldn’t see with no light at all.

Long, fearful hours passed before footsteps echoed through the stone. The light from the door blinded me as an outline solidified. My eyes adjusted to the electric brightness overhead. Major Mahakal, wearing his glimmering raven-wing armor, smiled down at me, patronizing and hungry.

I knew then—with a hollow drop in my gut—that Plan A had failed. Although we’d planned for my capture, the Disciples of Reic were supposed to attack Mahakal en route to collect me, or attack on the road after he took me prisoner.

“It brings me pleasure to see you humbled, friend,” he drawled, cold as the room.

I brought my head up, nodding at his pants before his face. “I’m sure it does.” My voice sounded dry and weak to my ears, but I forced a smile. “How have you been, friend?”

His black eyes, devoid of any warmth, met mine, and I could not hide my shiver.

He crossed his arms, the silence heavy with malice. “The deal I offered you was yourself and the Red Demon in exchange for amnesty for your friends. Why didn’t she turn herself in?”

“Ask her yourself.”

He gave a feral grin at that, black eyes glittering. “Did she think she could track you here? How would she do that? We checked you for both tech and Asri magic, and found nothing.” He stared a minute more. “Her ghost, I imagine.”

I clenched my jaw. I steeled myself to remain silent as he unclipped his sword.

“Or maybe it’s that nose of hers, sniffing you out like the mutt she is,” he said, lowering himself down to get a good look at me. He gripped my chin, assessing, then ran his fingers through my hair. “But you’re no mutt, are you, friend?” His low voice tickled my ear. “You just lack proper training.”

He ripped my shirt away from the wound, reopening the scab that healed against the fabric. I closed my eyes tight through the pain, hating that hand under my chin most of all—his shushing tone, the gentle way he drew a finger down over my throat.