My passion fled as reality of what would happen when I left doused me. Looking down at where my hands dug into his forearms, I clung to hope.
“Tyr, I can’t leave without you.” I choked and stumbled over the words, and my body started shaking. “I’m not leaving without you,” I said in a stronger voice. “I’ll wait until you can get out.”
He shook his head, and the silence stretched.
My hope waned, and then I saw a droplet appear beneath the shadow of his hood.
I lifted a finger to catch it and then leaned up on tiptoes to kiss where the tear had been. His skin was warm under my lips. I would not abandon him. “I’m not leaving without you.”
Loud, running footsteps echoed down the hall. We’d missed them in our fear-filled embrace. Tyr lifted his head and then thrust me back, spinning on the spot . . .
. . . and disappeared into thin air.
I gaped at the spot he’d been. I’d already suspected he was Druman, but now I knew for sure. I should feel betrayed, but if Tyr was a Druman, I could understand why he hadn’t told me.
The door was thrown open behind me, and I whirled as a panting Jotun stalked into the room. His eyes were bright and his face lit with eager anticipation. He smiled, a cruel jeer, showing yellow-white in the shadows.
I shoved aside the most recent groundbreaking revelation and told myself to focus on the man here to bring me pain.
Days, Tyr said the rebels would be here in days. I couldn’t screw this up. I couldn’t give anything away. In only a few days, they’d come get me in the fields. But . . . I did have something over Jotun. I straightened and said, “You can’t harm me. The king has ordered it.”
Jotun stopped in his tracks.
I celebrated my victory but didn’t press him further. Oh, but I wanted to. Jotun, remember that time the king hit you and you whimpered like an animal? Remember the other day when Lord Irrik, the guy you hate who also happens to be your dad, gave you the biggest butt-whipping of all time? “Jotun, your face is like a masticated, spat out piece of grisly meat.”
I smiled at my witty inner dialogue, shrieking in surprised fright a second later when Jotun roared and charged at me.
I glanced down, picked up the chamber pot, and swung with all my might.
No one was more surprised than I when it connected with his head. Jotun’s eyes widened then rolled back in his head, and he hit the ground like a sack of rotten spuds. I stared at the chamber pot in shock and then at Jotun. His finger twitched, I swear, and I screeched a second time, bringing the pot down on his head again.
“Having fun?” Lord Irrik drawled, leaning against the bars.
I jumped and moved away from Jotun, but the Drae just snorted, eyeing the chamber pot in my hands.
Fire licked up my arms, followed by an intense prickly sensation. I dropped the pot and scratched at my suddenly itchy forearms. My fingertips encountered a row of smooth rolling bumps. What the hay?
“Clearly I can’t trust Jotun to keep his hands to himself,” Irrik mused. He waved me forward. “Come with me. I’ll return you to our room.”
“Your room, and what about the lesson you were teaching me?” Shut up, Ryn!
He arched a brow, face cooling. “Would you rather stay?”
“Lesson learned,” I blurted. I hurried out of the cell, skin tingling as I brushed past the Drae.
Irrik strode into the cell and searched Jotun, detaching the keys from his belt. Then the Drae joined me in the hall, shut the cell door, leaving Jotun immobile on the floor, and chucked the keys down to the far end of the hall.
I had to say, I almost liked the Drae.
I tried to peer into Ty’s cell as we passed, but Irrik placed me on his other side and hustled us down the hall. My arms itched again, and I traced the bumps in the darkness, wondering what they could be.
My heart rate began to slow, and I let out a short laugh. I had just beat up Jotun! I was going to be in a world of pain if he ever got a hold of me alone again, but drak had it been worth it to see his twin moons go out like a dampened fire. It made me see how far I had come since my first introduction to the dungeon. Perhaps the bargaining chip I now had gave me power, but I no longer felt like the shredded girl who would only do what was necessary. I didn’t feel like I would crawl anymore. At least around Jotun. I couldn’t speak for the cold terror the king still instilled in me.
We passed out of the prison, and I held up my forearms to the flickering flame of a torch set on the wall. Smooth, sun-bronzed skin met my eye. I stopped walking and frowned, running my hands over the previously bumpy skin, but my fingers confirmed what my eyes told me. Odd, I could’ve sworn . . .
“What are you doing, Phaetyn?” Lord Irrik growled.
The day was long over, and I gathered the Drae was not pleased at having to attend me this late. His fault for taking me into Jotun territory. “I thought there were bumps on my arms earlier,” I mumbled. “Never mind.”
He reached me in two steps and turned over my hands.
My heart pounded, and his eyes widened as he ran his finger down my inner arm. I shivered as tingles erupted underneath his touch.
He looked me in the eye. “When is your birthday, Phaetyn?” he demanded.
Avoiding his inky gaze, I tried to free my arms. They were itchy again.
He repeated himself, and I sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what month it is.”
His eyes shifted reptilian again and black scales dusted across the bridge of his nose. “Lunar twelve, day nine.”
That meant nearly three months had passed since my capture. “In a little over a week.”
I brightened, I loved birthdays. Though as I glanced around, my insides twisted. This year might not live up to past years.
Irrik let go and grumbled under his breath in his freaky Drae language.
I brought my arms up. Smooth skin. I shook my head and started after the moody Drae. I guessed his broodiness was my fault. Again. This man had serious anger problems. Still, I only had to deal with him for another handful of days. My stomach churned at the thought, and I wasn’t sure what to make of the tumult I felt. Over the months, I’d discovered Lord Irrik was not at all what he seemed. Though what he was I still had no idea.
It’s why I couldn’t like him. He was still playing a game with the king.
Putting one foot in front of the other, I steadied myself for the days ahead. I hoped Cal and Dyter had something great planned to outwit the king’s Drae because it was going to take a lot more to win than sneaking up to talk to me in a vineyard.
Hope quivered within like an arrow waiting to be loosed from the bow. But if the rebels’ plan worked . . .
Maybe I’d have a dungeon-free birthday after all.
26