Irdelron narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips as he studied Lord Irrik. He glanced at his son and Dyter and then the Druman around me. They melted back several steps.
The silence in the cavernous room added to the weight surrounding us, and the very walls seemed to be holding their breath.
The king turned to me after several moments. This time there was no superficial smile of friendship. The intensity of his fury radiated across the space, and the glower he wore twisted his face beyond the realm of anything I’d ever seen.
I knew he knew, and the calm that had settled over me didn’t waver in the face of his wrath. His rage was almost as sweet as nectar.
He continued to glare at me, but his question was directed at Lord Irrik. “A good try, my Drae. You cannot kill your own blood. My Druman are compelled not to hurt each other, so tell me . . . how did she get loose?”
My heart stopped, and I prayed the consequences of my escape would fall to me.
Irrik dropped the parcel in his other hand next to Jotun’s body. “It appears someone was helping her.”
Lord Irrik pinned me with a dark, veiled look. But my eyes fell to the dripping black bag in his hands. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even breathe because . . . because . . .
Only one person had helped me.
“Tyr,” I choked on my strangled whisper, dropping to my knees.
The king’s growing smile froze. “What did you say, Phaetyn?”
His question rolled right past me. I brought my bloody hands to my lips, eyes fixed on the blood dripping from the saturated material Lord Irrik held. The bag hung with a round weight inside, and I groaned low from my stomach as it occurred to me what and who was inside. My heart would know it. I began to shake. My soul would know it!
By now, my head knew better. Souls only existed so men like the king could destroy them.
“What did you say?” the king screamed, standing up from his throne. His voice rang to me as though from far away, but my eyes lifted to him as he stomped down the first step toward me.
Tyr was gone.
His head was in that bag. His blood was on this ground. And it was this man’s fault.
Something deep within me snapped. I was done being a victim of this man’s brutality. I was finished having him steal everyone I loved.
Five steps stood between us.
My hand grasped the dagger, pulling it from the leather sheath underneath my stolen aketon. Irdelron was still moving toward me.
Four steps away.
Three steps.
He stood over Jotun’s body, screaming profanities.
Two steps.
I stood and lunged at him, shrieking at the top of my lungs, half in anticipation of killing and half in soul-deep pain.
I thrust.
The blade slid into the king’s abdomen like it was butter, and he stiffened, gasping in shock. His hand wrapped around mine, his grip crushing my fingers to the hilt of the blade, but I barely felt it. My wild gaze was fixed on him, lapping up the pain in his eyes with desperate hunger.
Grasping my hand in an iron vice, he forced the dagger out, with me still attached.
He dug his thumb into the groove of my wrist, and a stabbing pain shot up my arm, causing my fingers to reflexively relax. I would not let go of this weapon until he or I died, or both of us. I owed it to Tyr. For what could have been.
Irdelron torqued my wrist, the pressure driving me to my knees. “How dare you?”
His blood oozed from the wound I’d created, saturating his white aketon. This time it was his own blood. And I had drawn it. Panting, he struck me with his other hand. My stomach churned, and bursts of white exploded behind my eyelids.
“Irrik!” Irdelron growled. “I require your talons, my Drae.”
I stared at the seeping red spot on the king’s side, willing it to grow faster, to drain him of his strength and energy, to end his life. But if will alone was enough to make things happen, I would have been gone from this place long ago.
“I will not,” Irrik said in a quiet voice.
The king chuckled, relaxing his grip enough that I was able to blink the room back into focus.
Dyter was struggling against three Druman. He stared at me with wide eyes, scarred face blanched in horror. The prince, also surrounded by the king’s guard, studied me as if I were a puzzle, which I assumed meant he was ignorant of my Phaetyn nature.
Tyr was gone.
I longed to see his hooded face, his wry smile. My heart yearned to feel his lips on mine one last time. We’d shared one kiss. . . I’d hoped to share many more with him.
Irrik tossed the black bag, and my throat squeezed in horror as it hit the ground with a sickening squelch and the head inside rolled out. I didn’t want to see further evidence of his death or Irrik’s forced cruelty, but never once had I seen Tyr’s full face, and I wanted this one last thing before I died. I swallowed the lump of emotion at the back of my throat and let my gaze go to the decapitated head.
I blinked, my mind refusing to accept that the face of the Druman before me was Tyr. He was nothing like I’d pictured him. I tilted my head to the side, examining the young man’s face. His dusky skin was smooth, but his lips seemed thinner than I remembered, and his chin . . .
The king released my hand and grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat.
“Kill her!” he screamed. “I command you. I invoke the power of your oath to me. Slay this traitor.”
My gaze collided with Lord Irrik’s dark eyes. The Drae stepped toward me, lips pursed, his eyes filled with haunted sadness. He was the bringer of death, and he would deliver me from the torment of King Irdelron. “Don’t be sad,” I said, choking on the words. I would be in the stars with Mum and Arnik in the blink of an eye. “I’ll be free.”
“U? ti nikdy neubli?ujem,” Irrik said, shaking his head. He held out his hand, and as he stretched his fingers, his skin darkened, his hand shifted, and black talons appeared on the end of his scaly digits. Razor sharp.
“Make it fast,” I wheezed.
Lord Irrik broke eye contact with me, and then he lunged forward.
I closed my eyes, feeling the whooshing air of his movement brush my cheeks. The hair on the top of my head rippled. I felt the warmth of Irrik’s body, and his terrible snarl echoed in my ears. The last sound I would ever hear.
I wasn’t afraid.
32
There was no pain.
There was no darkness.
There was no end.
The warmth receded. The air settled around me.
The king released my hair, and my eyes flew open.
Lord Irrik stood before me, boxing me between his legs and the king’s. I twisted to look up.
Shock drove me out from between them, and I scrambled back, unable to tear my gaze from where the Drae’s black talon was punctured clear through the king’s neck, several inches of the tip visible on the other side.
Irdelron opened his mouth and gurgled. His eyes wide and disbelieving.