Severed.
My blood becomes ice, causing my pulse to slow, then stop. Long enough that my vision blurs.
Arkyn cut it free … because he knows it’s mine. That it came from me.
And it’s quite possible he knows what it stands for.
Meaning—
I stifle a whimper as Arkyn presses the lark back into shape. It wriggles in his grip, frantically flitting about in a manner that sends a chill shooting down my spine.
He pinches the return fold and tosses it free.
The lark bounces in a tight circle, gathers its bearings, then darts straight for Arkyn, swoops into his open palm, and lands, tipping sideways.
I stare at it, confused.
That lark was to Sereme, fromthe Elding.
My gaze cuts to Arkyn, his smile gleaming at me from within the darkness of his hood. Like a taunt.
A poignant
stabbing
taunt.
My heart slams into something solid.
Arkyn’s the Elding.
I choke on the poisonous theory as jagged pieces begin piercing into place, too fast for me to inspect properly:
The blood bind.
Sereme’s love for the Elding, and her equal hate for me.
The special treatment I never asked for.
Understanding stabs deep, purging the blood from my face until I’m so lightheaded the room’s wobbling, threatening to topple my chair onto the ash-dusted ground.
If Arkyn’s the Elding, that means—
This is The Flourish.
Thisis where I’ve been funneling folk with the promise of a better life away from corruption and heartache. Thesame placethat’s snapped me across its knee like a stick more times than I can count.
This.
Fucking.
Place.
My breaths come hard and fast, slitting through flared nostrils as Arkyn pockets the lark, then pinches the uhloo, lifting the braid like a dead serpent. “You really thought you could flutter away from me?” he asks, voice mocking, serving to make me feel even more stupid, naïve, and—
So, so blind.
“You should’ve known better, Fire Lark. Truly.” A smirk is thick in his voice as he dangles the uhloo over a lit candle, lowering it.
