I took the sheet from Ronan, laying it back down with reverent care. Clay’s arm was a mangled mess, sinew and torn skin hanging in twisted fragments.
He was such a sweet soul. He didn’t deserve this. His only crime had been his loyalty to Kallias, his devotion to his passions, his love for his friends and his goats. Tears pricked my eyes, a searing agony splitting through me, threatening to tear me apart from the inside.
“How did you find them?” I dropped beside the bed, fingers brushing against his raw, battered arm. I wanted to cradle it, to hold his hand—but I dared not jostle him.
The Harvester’s eyes flicked to mine, brows drawn into a tight frown. He stayed silent, giving me a moment to retreat, to be delicate, to tell myself I couldn’t face the truth.
But I was a Radaanian queen who had burned a fleet and witnessed cities turn to ash.
He drew in a long breath, lowering his gaze to the stitches. “He was their feast. They fed on him, siphoning the power in his blood. Gayle’sol was staked in the great hall, but spared their teeth. She was cut, her husband forced to watch.”
My heart skipped. Pain stabbed like a jagged knife.
“They wouldn’t have let the blood go to waste.”
I snapped my gaze back to the Harvester, but he remained absorbed in his task, in the careful tug of thread through skin, uncaring of my reaction.
“Power is power. Claydon’sol has suffered not only the breaking of his body but the shattering of his mind. When he wakes, he may not be the man you once knew.”
My fingers dug into the sheets, gripping them until the fabric crinkled, as though I could tear through the Velli themselves. Clay was bitten, sucked dry, and that hadn’t been enough for them. They had to torture Gayle, force him to watch as they licked the blood from her—storming eels, they were monsters.
Ronan’s face was pale, white as a beached whale. “This was Tallon’s work?”
“There were many Velli in the manor. Who fed from them is unknown,” the Harvester said quietly.
“But he was here. He allowed this.” Ronan met my gaze, hatred radiating from him. Not anger, only stark, unfiltered horror. Fear.
He had befriended Tallon, chalking his immaturity up to his youthful age. They were both still young, still figuring themselves out. My brother had given his blessing for our marriage contract. Without his approval, Father would never have signed the blood oath.
If I married Tallon, it would’ve been because of him.
And now he saw the true monster.
My attention shifted to the corner of the room, to the woman I once called friend. She crouched, forehead pressed to her knees, trying to make herself smaller, invisible. Clay and Gayle’s daughter, bound and guarded. But what was the extent of her treachery, her betrayal? Tallon was a beast, but Fyrn—raised by the most loving souls I’d ever known—could she truly betray her parents for the enemy?
I straightened, spine stiff as iron, and crossed to her crumpled form. Her dress was torn and soiled, delicate fabric smeared with dried blood.
I crouched before her. “What happened to you?” I whispered, disgust thick in my voice.
Pale blue eyes, bright as wildflowers, met mine. Ashen blonde brows lifted, pleading, tears spilling down her cheeks.
What if I had misjudged her?
Doubt seeped in, tiny fissures splitting my resolve like a chisel on marble. What if her cries in the stable had been pain, not pleasure? Tallon could’ve used her father as leverage against her. No sane child would willingly harm their parents—not without cause. If faced with that choice, what would I have done? How could anyone choose?
I pressed my lips together, held my breath, and reached for her gag.
“This woman… she’s the one who tricked you?” Ronan’s leathers creaked as he dropped beside me, questioning my actions.
I met her gaze, letting my fury shine. Let her glimpse the unyielding rage of a Draconis queen. “She can speak for herself.”
My nails fumbled at the knot, freeing the gag. It fell around her neck, and she recoiled with a gasp. Her lips were chapped, raw, crusted with old blood at the corners.
“Water… please,” she whispered, trying to lick them with a dry, cracked tongue.
I held out my hand, and Seliora produced a waterskin, face unreadable, dagger still lingering at her side.
Fyrn drank long, greedy gulps, eyes squeezing shut in relief.
