Page 58

He Has Subordinates

“ T here’s a vine to the right!” I shout, but the wind tears my words apart, scattering them like leaves.

“What?”

“There’s a?—”

Everything changes in a spark. Netharu’el’s fingers clamp around my forearm tight, and then, with a sharp yank, he pulls me down.

I fall.

Air. Weightless. What is happening? Why did he drag me with him?

Why, why, why? I blink rapidly. Rain. Water.

Filling my mouth, my eyes, my nose. Air.

Is he trying to kill me? The world spirals.

My heart slams against my ribs. Storm clouds, treetops, and clawing branches whirl past in a chaotic blur.

I’m going to die.

Endless air. No sense of up or down. Where are the vines? I must catch something! Arms out. Grab anything! Hurry, hurry, hurry!

The ground blurs beneath me, roots like dagger points. The storm howls, and rain lashes like a whip.

I land. Land? On something soft.

It’s only been a spark. Fabric. Skin. Arms? Netharu’el’s?

What?

He swings between vines, shifting to a lower branch, his footing sure even in the storm.

Then, with a swift roll, he pulls me into a hollow carved into the tree’s bark.

The space is barely enough for us to lie side by side, nothing more.

Outside, the rain pours in an unbroken sheet, a veil of water.

Droplets trail down the edges of the hollow. Drop, drop, drop, beating in sync with my pulse. It’s cold, stifling, and damp.

Netharu’el holds me tight, his hands locked around my back. He’s drenched. So am I. The air is thick with the scent of wet earth and soaked fabric.

“What in Saxx was that?” I blink the last drops from my lashes. My body is pinned beneath his, trapped under his weight and warmth. My lips tingle.

“What in Saxx was what?”

Pressed against his shirt, I can’t see his face, but I sense the smirk in how his chest trembles with quiet laughter.

“You pretended to fall, didn’t you?”

“Who’s to say?”

“To pull me down with you!” I twist in fury, but there’s nowhere to go. No space. No escape. It’s as if we’re breathing the same air that’s been trapped inside this tree since the dawn of time.

“You truly are clever, aren’t you? Perhaps it would?—”

“I thought you were going to fall!”

“That was the plan, my de?—”

“Don’t you get it? I thought you were going to die!”

I shove him. Hard. With my shoulders, my chest, every ounce of strength I have. My breath is ragged and unsteady. My teeth grind together so tightly they ache. My fists clench as much as they can, pinned beneath his weight.

“Do you hold such a low opinion of me?” he asks, smirking. “I may not have grown up in a forest like you, but I know this terrain well.”

“As little as you think of me. Clearly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I had everything under control!”

“Oh? Did you now?”

“You didn’t have to trick me down here.”

“Then I apologize.” His voice is smooth and deliberate, silk brushing against my forehead. The kind that could lull a child to sleep or stroke a cheek with ease. The rain roars outside, distant but steady.

“How fiery noble of you,” I mutter.

“Iszaelda?”

“What?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

“Tell me, my dear.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“You’re not who I thought you were, that’s all.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said. Unlike you, I don’t speak in riddles.”

“If I put it differently… What have I done to make you believe that?”

His weight presses down on me, heavy, inescapable.

I brace my palms against the rough wood beneath me, pushing against it, anything to keep a sliver of space.

To resist the pull. My neck strains back, arching away from his breath, which is hot enough to burn away the rain clinging to my skin.

He smells good. He smells like Netharu’el.

A scent I shouldn’t crave, but I do. A fragrance that curls around me lingers in my lungs, makes me want to?—

Stop, Iszaelda.

“Well, I don’t know,” I snap. “Maybe torturing birds?”

He stills. Silent. For once caught without an answer.

“I heard everything, Netharu’el. Everything! I was right there, wasn’t I? Just a wall between us.”

“That was?—”

“Everyone says there’s something wrong with you. Looks like they were right. Looks like?—”

He moves, lowering himself until his face is level with mine, his breath warm against my lips. Closer now, his scent wraps around me, stronger than ever.

He exhales in short, sharp bursts, each one fanning across my skin. His finger presses gently against my mouth. “That wasn’t a bird.”

“Oh? What was it then? A fiery goat?”

“A spy.”

“Mm. Sure.”

“I swear it.”

“A spy?”

“Exactly.”

“Unlikely.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

I let out a raw, bitter laugh. His finger stays pressed against my lips, damp, firm, unmoving.

The laughter ripples through my chest, and he follows, his body rising with mine, inevitable in the narrow space between us.

The walls scrape against my shoulders, my head, and my arms, pressing in from all sides, a constant reminder that I’m trapped.

“You don’t believe me?” Netharu’el swallows, watching me with an unreadable gaze, as if he genuinely expects his words to be taken as truth.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Considering what?—”

“You just pretended to fall to your death!”

“But—”

“You’re not exactly the most trustworthy person, are you?”

“That was?—”

“So don’t stand here and claim you never lie, that you’re dependable, that you?—”

“Iszaelda, stop.”

His hands close around my face, firm, holding me still. His gaze locks onto mine, tethering me and giving me nowhere to look but at him.

And I falter. The fire in my blood cools, the pounding in my skull dulls, and my clenched fists slacken. His eyes, dangerously attractive, pull me in deeper and deeper. I could drown in them.

“There are those who want me dead,” he murmurs, voice so low it nearly vanishes beneath the storm.

I watch him with suspicion. He looks sincere. Perhaps it’s a trick, but something in me says he’s telling the truth, revealing something he hasn’t shared with anyone else. Something personal. Something I shouldn’t mock.

“They want to kill you?” I ask.

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a dark past.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Well, that didn’t sound cliché at all.”

“Because I’ve done things I wish I could undo… and things I don’t.”

“Oh?”

“Wicked things. Horrible things.”

“But why?—”

“And in doing so, I’ve made enemies.”

“You’ve worked with Akares, haven’t you?” I whisper the words, barely more than a breath against his lips. “You’ve worked with ’Ksnaka.”

He holds my gaze. And I know the answer before he speaks. I can see it forming in his mind, the admission he is about to make.

“Correct.”

“Ah, perfect. Brilliant. Just fantastic.” I twist beneath him, struggling to get free, but his weight keeps me pinned. “It was lovely knowing you, Netharu’el, but?—”

“I don’t work for him anymore.” His grip tightens on my chin, tilting my face toward his. “That was a long time ago. It’s over.”

I shake my head, my breath uneven. “You worked with ’Ksnaka.”

He says nothing and watches me, his expression carved from stone.

“Why?” My voice is sharp. “Start with that.”

He hesitates. He opens his mouth as if to answer, then closes it again. Rain glistens on his lips, slipping down in slow, shimmering rivulets.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demand.

“It’s not exactly something one shares in casual conversation.”

“But we’ve known each other long enough, haven’t we?”

“I suppose so, my dear.” His fingers brush against my forehead, tucking back a stray strand of hair. The touch lingers, tracing the curve of my hairline. A thousand shivers race beneath my skin, sending a tremor through me.

“Don’t touch me!” I snap.

He pulls his hand away. I hate that I miss it. I hate that I want to feel his skin against mine, his fingers tangled with mine, his lips pressed to mine.

“You have no idea how much I despise him, Netharu’el. He’s vile. A monster. A snake, a demon. A ’Ksha.”

“You mentioned before that he?—”

“Murdered!” The word cuts through the damp air. “He murdered my family and took my sister.”

“I see.”

“And he will pay for it. When I drive Voenriel straight through him, he’ll regret it. Last time, he nearly killed me. I won’t let that happen again.”

“You never told me that.”

“It’s not exactly the first thing you share with someone. Nobody gave me a medal for it.”

“When did this happen?”

“A few lunar cycles before I arrived.”

“That’s why you were injured?”

I nod.

“And that’s why you hate Akares?” His voice dips into something gentler.

“Partly. But not only for that reason.” The words slice out like throwing knives, sharp and aimed to wound. My voice is the only weapon I have at my disposal. I can’t move. I can’t escape.

“So why?—”

“You have to know everything, don’t you?” I snap.

“No, I?—”

“Two of his so-called ‘warriors’ abducted me and four other girls when I was nine.” I close my eyes, trying to tell it without reliving it.

“A star elf and a flat ear. They took us to a cave and said they were delivering us to Akares. They… claimed they were interested in our abilities, even though we had none yet.”

Netharu’el is silent, as still as a misty glade in Valeanrae. His eyes, glossy and vacant, lock onto me, unmoving.

“But they wouldn’t hand us over until they knew what we could do.

They tortured us. Tried to force confessions out of us.

” My voice tightens, but I force it steady.

“One of the others, Lysaea… They raped her in front of us. She was older, thirteen at the time, but she looked fifteen, maybe. They touched and licked us and dragged their weapons along our cheeks while speaking a language we could not understand. Arzakean, I think.”

“How did you escape?” Netharu’el asks softly, barely parting his lips.