Warriors of Wind and Ash - Page 89

I watch his stony self-possession shatter into a thousand pieces. No plan, no purpose—just raw panic, naked grief. Yes… grief. He cared about her.

“You—” The flames dance in his eyes and glint on the royal ring through his septum. Both his fists curl so tight his knuckles crack, and his body tenses as if he’s about to pounce, to pummel me into a bloody mess.

I’ve never seen him like this, so out of control.

He manages another word through those clenched teeth. “Why?”

“She refused to fix me, or cure Kyreagan.” A half-truth. More than he deserves.

Rahzien’s gaze ravages me, because it mirrors the grief and rage I’ve felt so often because of him. It’s an exquisitely painful vengeance.

“You said you wouldn’t kill for me,” he rasps. “But you’ll kill for him.”

For Kyreagan. Yes, I did this for him, for his clan, for my people, not just for myself. And therein lies my absolution, the relief of my guilt. Much as I might hate what I did, and dream about it in hideous nightmares for the rest of my life, it was the right choice.

My voice is utterly calm when I say, “Do what you want with me. You can’t ever use Cathrain to bind, control, or hurt anyone, ever again.”

Rahzien grabs my chin so fast that I gasp. His thick fingers dig into my cheeks.

“Fuck you, Spider,” he hisses. “Ever since he showed up, you’ve been different. Without him, you and I—we could have—”

I push his hand away and glare defiantly at him. “Stop acting like you care about me, like I could have cared about you. Whatever you pretend, Kyreagan is the better man—has always been the better man, even when he was a dragon. He and I will always be part of each other, even if you kill us both. And you hate it, don’t you? You hate that you can’t touch either of us, not really, not where it counts.”

“Shut up.” He’s panting, shaking with rage.

Reckless, I laugh. “I should really thank you. See, before Fortunix took me, I wasn’t sure about my path, or how I felt. But you helped me realize who I needed, who I adored, and then when Kyreagan came to save me, I knew he felt the same way. You brought us closer together.”

“Stop.”

“I would die for him.” My tone is vicious, biting, razors in my smile, tears in my eyes. “And I’d live for him, too. If he dies, I’m still his. I’ll never be yours, no matter what you make me say in the dark or before the crowds… no matter what you make me do—”

“Stop,” Rahzien chokes out, breathing hard. “Stop talking, for fuck’s sake, or I’ll—”

Violently he collars my throat with his hand. Shoves me back against the bookshelves so hard that several objects rain down around us. He collides with me, brute force and raging heat. His mouth slams onto mine, rough lips and a thrashing tongue that pushes inside before I can stop him. I scream a protest into his mouth, but he only kisses me harder. His hips ram against mine, his erection grinding into my lower belly.

I twist and writhe, but he’s a huge, bearded warrior-king, and both my knife and my letter opener are on the floor, out of reach. I jab my thumb at his eye, but he grabs my wrist and slams it against a shelf with such force that I scream again.

The impact and my second scream shake him out of his wild trance. He pulls back, steps away. Leaves me shrinking against the shelves.

“Guards!” he roars, never taking his eyes from me. Two soldiers rush in at once. “Get her out of here, before I—” He bites his lip, his glare hot as fire. “Take her to her room. Have Parma clean her up and change her into the new white dress—Parma will know the one. And my little Spider needs a crown—I’ll bring that to her myself. We leave for the market square in an hour.”

I’ve never been so happy to have two Vohrainian guards on either side of me, hustling me through the palace corridors. It’s better than staying in that horrible room, with the smell, with the twisted King who devoured my mouth seconds after he found out I killed his beloved poisoner.

Even as we turn the corner into the next hallway, I can hear him roaring like an animal somewhere behind us. Bellowing like a wounded creature, raging against his pain, howling with fury at his own loss of control.

He’s more deeply damaged than I imagined.

“He’s mad about more than just her,” mutters one of my escorts to the other one. “I heard Kotha saying the one-eyed rebel got out of his cell. Killed his guard, plus a few more. No one knows where he went. He just disappeared. Escaped.”

“Shit,” replies the other guard.

We descend a flight of steps, turn a few more corners. I think I have a few tiny shards of glass in my feet—the pain keeps stabbing deeper with every step.

We’re nearing my suite when I notice someone lounging at the entrance to one of the servants’ stairways. There’s a cap pulled low over his ragged black hair. His face is streaked with ash, and he wears a sullen expression. He’s leaning on an iron poker, as if he just came from tending a fireplace.

Something in his stance is familiar—the cap tilted over his left eye, the way he leans on the poker to take weight off his right leg.

It’s Meridian. He’s wearing a wig, but it’s unmistakably him.