Chapter 10

I’M AGGRESSIVELY SHOVED INSIDE AN elevator. The hand still wrapped painfully around my bicep is the only thing that keeps me from tripping and landing on my face. I bite back a growl and swallow the bitchy retort I want to lob at the asshole manhandling me.

If my time with the Tainted taught me anything, it’s that there’s no point making things worse than they already are. Pissing off someone who enjoys lording their power over you always makes things worse. They’ll get their hits in one way or another. It’s better to take them head-on; it gives them less time to get creative.

My escort and I are followed into the metal box by another drake. I don’t recognize either of them, but that doesn’t mean anything. These two could have been part of the team that came to retrieve me, or it’s just as possible that they weren’t. What is apparent though is their pointed dislike. Whether that’s because of the attack against The Horde in Lairwood or my assault on their beloved scion just now, I’m not sure.

One of the males presses his hand to a panel, and the elevator doors close. I expect the car to either rise or drop—like every other elevator I’ve ever been on—but it shoots off to the right instead. Unprepared to be zooming in any direction that isn’t up or down, I go hurtling to the side wall. This time, instead of catching me and keeping me on my feet, the drake whose handprint is now bruised into my arm lets me slam into the reflective metal panel. Pain explodes in my cheek, and my bottom lip splits from the impact, but it’s the quiet chuckle next to me as I slowly straighten that has me studying the drake more closely, learning his face, crafting a plan.

Anger scalds my blood, but I keep myself in check. I give nothing away as I sweep my tongue over my lip and clear away the blood. The elevator abruptly darts forward, and I fall back, hitting the hard panel behind me. My cuffed hands help to soften the blow, but my already abused shoulders feel the hit keenly.

Done with the surprises, I bend my knees, dropping my center of gravity to try to prepare for the next startling shift in direction. It would have worked too, if only the guard didn’t time his shove perfectly when the car bolted left and then down.

My head cracks hard against something—a wall, a fist, this asshole’s audacity—I honestly couldn’t say. This time, I go down with nothing but my knees and face to catch my fall. Warmth slowly trickles from my temple to my cheek, and black spots dance in my vision. I decide it’s probably safer to stay on the ground for the rest of this funhouse ride, so that’s exactly what I do.

By the time the elevator doors open again, I have no idea where we are in relation to Thrasher Keep. We could be above it, below it, or in the fucking mountains on the other side of Drameric for all I know.

I’ve never been sucker punched by an elevator before, but there’s a first time for everything. I exit the car with a throbbing eye that will probably be black soon and some new cuts decorating the left side of my face. I don’t think I have a concussion though, so there’s that silver lining at least.

A familiar numbness sweeps in, claiming my limbs and consuming my emotions. I don’t know if it’s because I’m used to this kind of shit from Wistan and his Tainted or if it’s because I’ve been waiting for The Horde to show their true colors. Either way, I don’t give the dick responsible for my new injuries any reaction. I’ve gone head-to-head with scarier monsters than this prick. Assholes like him thrive on others’ anger or agony; he’ll get neither from me. Not on the outside at least.

Pewter eyes search my face for tears or any other sign of pain. I give him a wink and then proceed to act like he doesn’t exist. As expected, my dismissal invites even more of the drake’s ire, and he grabs me and pulls me down a short empty corridor and into a large shadow-draped room. I’m dumped right in the center, the drake’s footsteps loud in the empty space as he walks away to join the other male now guarding the doorless entrance.

Four softly shimmering walls shoot up from the ground, surging higher and higher until they hit the ceiling. I survey the lambent barriers that form my translucent cage, but don’t bother testing the walls or trying to figure out if it’s possible to escape them. I don’t smell magic or sense any dampeners. The faintly glowing walls are completely silent, not lending me any auditory clues as to what they are either.

I have roughly a twelve by twelve square of darkness to work with, but there’s no bed, bucket to piss in, or drain to allow for easy clean up, so I doubt I’ll be here too long. I take in the smooth floor and ceiling, both the same shade of milky-tan. The earthen hue reminds me of the coffee that Kamay, my Flight’s Tech Major, drinks nonstop—when we can get all the right ingredients, which is rare.

A spark of longing starts in my chest, but I douse it before it can grow into a flare of homesickness. From what I can see, wherever I am is made of a refined-looking, sleek stone. This place could double as a torture chamber or a great hall designed to host fancy balls and other opulent gatherings. Although, in my opinion, attending any kind of archaic dance would be a form of torture.

It’s hard to assess the exact size of the space all around me. Anything outside of a fifteen-foot radius is pitch black and impenetrable with my eyes. The only light in the room comes from my cage and the hallway that just barely illuminates the two guards bracketing the entrance, their backs now to me.

I exhale a tired but resigned sigh and then gingerly lie down in the dark center of my new cell. The cool floor feels good against my bruised cheek and the gash at my temple. My thoughts whirl, flapping around in my head like anxious birds that can’t decide on a perch. They glide from my escape in the forest to my run in with The Horde in Lairwood, pecking at everything I’ve learned and swooping around the gaps of what I don’t know but need to.

Why the fuck would the Tainted try to take on The Horde? It’s suicide. I knew my escape was going to piss Wistan off, but I figured he’d work through his anger issues with a good ol’ killing spree. He’d certainly be doing the world a favor by getting rid of some of his lackeys. But to pick a fight with the dragons?

Blood is currency. Blood is status and freedom. Blood is an access point to magic, to power. Which means what’s pumping through my veins is priceless. It made sense that Wistan and the blood brokers would keep me alive, that they’d use Ren to broker my cooperation. Even when it was clear that one of our own had betrayed us, I figured it was for the same motivations: money, power, a chance to leave The Scorch behind. But the attack on The Horde has me looking past all of that and wondering if there’s more to it, something I haven’t considered, something I missed?

Worry flutters back and forth as I think about Enslee and the others. Are they safe? Will I ever make it back to them? I’ve never had the kind of patience something like the long game requires. I prefer a more direct approach. Something tries to kill you and you kill it instead. I’m not cut out for cat and mouse games, especially when I can’t tell if I’m the cat or the mouse.

I jerk awake with a groan. I must have dozed off, or passed out if the cold pool of blood I’m lying in is any indication. I’m freezing and, fuck, am I sore. For some reason, that makes me want to laugh, but I quickly swallow down the urge. My hands are still bound behind my back, and my arms are now numb. I try to shift my clothing around so it can protect more of my skin from the frigid nip of the stone beneath me, but I only seem to make things worse.

I can imagine Ren watching me right now and cracking up. She’d tell me I look like some sand grub trying to wiggle away from a bird only to be snatched up by a snake. She wouldn’t be wrong either. I huff out a laugh at that and stop trying to rearrange my pitiful outfit when my top hikes up so high that the bottom swell of my boobs are peeking out, and the tear in my skirt threatens to rip all the way through the last few inches still managing to hang on by mere threads.

Now I just look like a sand grub with tits.

It’s not funny. I know it’s not, and yet I’m actively fighting off a giggle. My head swims and I realize that maybe I’ve officially lost it.

I survived Wistan only to be bested by an elevator.

I do laugh this time and then wince because it makes everything hurt.

Why the bloody fuck do I feel drunk?

Maybe crazy isn’t so bad if it comes with this sweet buzz.

Something sets off my internal alarms, and I realize I’m no longer alone in this room. I have no idea how long they’ve been there watching me, but someone’s definitely there.

Several someones if my instincts are right.

Discreetly, I draw in a deep inhale, hoping to scent my new company. But all I can smell is the puddle of blood I’m lying in.

I wait.

Something I’ve gotten very good at in the past few months—my Flight would be so proud.

The air around me starts to feel more and more oppressive, and the king’s face appears front and center in my mind. I picture his regal features and wonder if the natural charm he always seems to exude via vid screen will be absent as he scowls down at me in my cell. Will he question me first, or will he do what his sons should have done when we first met—kill me with zero remorse or hesitation?

Will King Noctis be unnerved when he sees my face and finds pieces of my father staring back at him, or will it be just as easy to end me as it was to end his best friend?

The darkness is quiet and unnerving all around me. I watch it expectantly, but nothing happens. Just when I start to think my head wound might be messing with me, a large figure finally separates from the gloom and casually walks toward the front wall of my glimmering cage. It’s not the Noctis I thought it would be.

“I figured you’d be wings deep in canapés and cunt by now. Don’t you have people to handle this sort of thing for you?” I ask, internally high-fiving myself.

Canapés and cunt…good one .

“Come now, Princess, must you be so crass?”

“Princess Crass does have a nice ring to it,” I admit. “But, alas, the title is incorrect.”

“Ah yes, my apologies. It should be Scioness Ever Tenebrae, unclaimed daughter of the fallen Syphon king.”

I would roll my eyes at the posh intonation he’s laying on a little thick, but my head hurts entirely too much, and it’s creating an irrational worry that my eyes will get stuck facing the wrong direction. I already have the Frilled Lizard thing to contend with if I ever make it back to my Flight; no need to add backward eyes to the mix.

“Wrong again,” I counter with my own snooty affect. “My father is dead, and like you said, I am unclaimed. Therefore, I have no title. So you can fuck right off with all that bullshit…respectfully, of course, Your Highness.”

“We’ll know soon enough exactly who and what you are. I’m here to verify your claims,” he tells me, and it almost sounds like a threat.

“Oh goody,” I snark in return.

Lorn Noctis steps fully out of the shadows, his black scale armor noticeably absent. In its place are fitted white pants that hug him in all the right places, and a matching top that looks expertly tailored to highlight every plane and curve of his frame. The collar of his shirt is stiff and high, stopping just shy of his sharp jaw. Some kind of sparkling white embroidery licks up the chest and across the broad structured shoulders of the shirt before plunging down the cape that drapes majestically down his back.

What he’s wearing probably costs more than every drop of blood in my body. He looks rigid and unyielding, the white of his clothing matching the exact shade of his hair perfectly. His mere presence is magnificent, formidable, and I can’t help but wonder if the heir ever gets to unwind and just let go.

Maybe if he gets close enough, my buzz will jump to him. Then we can both laugh about grubs with tits and undefeated elevators.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if his not-so-little brother is okay, but I’m not that far gone. I’m also still trying to convince my stupid brain that it doesn’t care. I don’t think I’m winning the argument though; my brain is a real stubborn bitch.

I smile at that and then wince as it pulls on the split in my lip. Lorn’s brow furrows and he steps closer to the barrier, eyes piercing the dark interior of my cell to study my visage more intently.

“You’re hurt,” he states, surprised, like it’s the last thing he expected.

“You should see the other guy,” I joke. My head starts to pound harder, and I close my eyes. “Listen, Heir, the Tainted at least gave me some time to heal between my beatings. Can we reschedule this interrogation for tomorrow? I promise I’ll be more fun then.”

Lorn’s eyes zero in on mine, and anger blooms in his cheeks. Suddenly he’s striding forward, his features furious as he passes through the shimmering wall of my cage like it’s nothing more than decorative air.

I stare, shocked.

Fuck me.

I should have tested these walls. If I could have just walked through them at any time, I’m going to kick my own ass.

The smell of my blood must hit Lorn as soon as he breaches the cell, because his pupils dilate and his lip lifts in an enraged snarl. “Get Zainab in here now!” he shouts over his shoulder before crouching down and reaching for me.

“Don’t touch me,” I growl, the sound filled simultaneously with threat and panic. I attempt to scoot away from him, but I don’t get far, too stiff and cold to successfully scuttle.

He hesitates, looking pained and then pissed, but he thankfully drops his hands and maintains some distance. “Why are her arms still bound?” he seethes, head snapping in the direction of the two guards in the hallway. He calls for them, but I miss what he shouts because the cuffs on my wrists are suddenly released, and the numbness in my arms and shoulders gives way to a needle-stabbing twinge that pulls an involuntary groan from my throat.

I roll forward, pressing my forehead to the floor as the feeling painfully returns to my mistreated limbs. A keen ache pulses through me, and I pant it out until the intensity starts to abate.

I’m lifted off the ground, and a fresh wave of pain washes over me at the unexpected and unwelcome movement. I turn to eviscerate Lorn for ignoring my direct warning not to touch me, but it’s Aeson who’s staring back at me, his face filled with rage.

“You,” I puff in surprise.

“Me,” he rumbles in agreement, repositioning me in his arms until he has me pressed firmly against his chest, one arm at my back and the other under my knees.

“What happened?” he demands as the walls of my cage fall like water from the ceiling and disappear back into the floor. He hastily strides toward the hallway, which is now sans guards.

This time, I do roll my eyes. Just as I suspected, I immediately regret it. My vision goes wavy and my head feels like it was dropped into a compactor, but my eyes don’t get stuck.

“Did you just high-five yourself?” Aeson asks.

“It’s for my eyes. I’m proud of them,” I explain, but he looks even more confused.

“Aes, Zainab is already on her way. Where are you going?” Lorn calls to his brother’s back as we practically race off.

“I’m taking her to Jori. He’s closer,” Aeson grunts, completely ignoring the censure in Lorn’s tone.

“She’s not clear to leave until we figure out what the fuck is going on,” Lorn points out as he catches up to us, his cape billowing out behind him, which forces the other drakes following us to keep their distance.

Something about that makes me want to laugh, but I get a grip and stay quiet.

Why do I feel so warm…and weird?

I didn’t pee myself, did I?

“We’re not leaving, we’re changing rooms. And you can just as easily ask her whatever you want in the infirmary. She’ll be good, won’t you, Claws?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” I chirp honestly and then giggle.

Aeson looks down at me, concern floating in his gaze. I’m right there with him because something is wrong with me, and it’s not because I’m injured or in pain.

Pain, I know.

Pain, I can deal with.

This is something else.

“Tove, Ogdan, pull up the feeds and see what happened between the landing pad and the Warren,” Aeson orders.

“On it,” a husky, feminine voice replies from in front of us.

I turn my head to try to see the female I recall from my ride in the lirocar.

“Ooh, Tove, let me rub your head for good luck before you go,” I call out.

Several chuckles sound off around me, but when I try to track them, the movement sends a spike through my temple, and I’m forced to close my eyes to stave off the tunneling my vision starts to do.

Fuck, I’m tired.

“No naps just yet, Claws. I want your eyes on me,” Aeson barks.

“That’s not my name, you bossy fuck,” I snap and then titter when it comes out more like a drunken mumble.

“You tell him, Frills,” Chastain encourages.

“That’s not my name either,” I whine, and it takes all of my focus to get my lips and tongue to form the words correctly. “What did you do to me?” I demand, suddenly confused.

“Ever, did you grow up near a Source?” Lorn asks out of nowhere.

I wave a finger at him and tsk. “Nice try, Heir, but you’re not gonna trick me. Ooh, my mouth works again!” I declare excitedly when it doesn’t feel like I’m talking around a pound of sand in my mouth.

“I’m not trying to trick you. Source magic is a vital need for our kind. If you’re depleted, being near a Source can have…an effect,” Lorn explains, but I’m having a hard time focusing on his words and not the bright spots of light now dancing around his head.

How did lightning bugs get in here?

“I think you’re Source drunk, Princess,” Lorn tells me, flecks of amusement now dancing with the halo of lightning bugs.

I know what he just told me is of vital importance. It’s setting off warning bells in my mind, and I should really care about that. But there’s something else that’s really bugging me, and the need to know is shoving everything else out of the way.

My eyes leave Lorn and jump back to Aeson. “Why won’t you kill me?” I ask the commander, perplexed, but it comes out petulant.

Fiery blue eyes snap down to mine, shock and confusion blanketing his features. “Why would I do that?” he counters as though that’s an answer.

It’s not.

I hate when someone answers a question with a question. It’s a dodge, a way to exercise control or reclaim it. It’s another game, and I’m already so over playing them.

I don’t know what Enslee was thinking. It’s only been a couple of hours with The Horde, and I’m already fucking things up. Maybe the person I was before the blood brokers could have pulled this off, but I’m not her anymore. She was confident and capable, driven and focused. She would have had all these bastards eating out of her hand already.

I don’t even know what I am now. Judging by how battered and broken I feel, whatever it is, it’s not enough. Not anymore.

I huff out a sigh and rest my head against Aeson’s chest, too tired to continue to fight to hold it up. “Why?” I parrot, shaking my head. “Because you killed my dad. Not you specifically,” I correct with an amused snort as I nuzzle against him. “You would have been too young, your dragon too small. It was a bigger dragon that killed him.”

We stop moving.

“What did you just say?” Aeson demands, his voice slightly strangled and a little too loud in the now quiet corridor.

I bark out a laugh.

He asked that exact same question when I told him who I was.

I try to sit up in his arms, but my body screams a refusal. Aeson must see what I want and lifts me, bending his head so my mouth is closer to his ear.

“You think he was killed by wyverns,” I whisper, captivated by the goose bumps that abruptly rise on his dragon-marked neck. “But he wasn’t. I was there. I saw it. It was dragons . But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”