“A few more questions for you, first.” His voice is like a steel trap, polished and patient but clearly ready to snap if I make one wrong move. “Answer them,” he says, “and I'll be happy to let your friend go.”
I look to Briar, debating. She shakes her head, urging me not to cooperate no matter the cost.
But one of the women helping to hold her hostage has taken out a knife and is brandishing it with a cruel gleam in her eyes, as if she's just itching for the opportunity to use it. Several of the soldiers hovering in the background have bows at the ready as well, just waiting for an excuse to shoot.
Turning back to the officer, I nod curtly. “What do you want to know?”
“Last night, our campsite was attacked. Some things were lost…and other things, stolen.”
“A campsite pilferage?” I study my nails. “Doesn't ring any bells, I'm afraid.”
He holds out his hand, and one of his soldiers steps forward, placing an arrow into his outstretched palm. I recognize it as one of Briar's immediately. The head made of deer bone. The fletching made of crow feathers, which are common in the Burn because they're cheap and easy to come by. Even more damning, though, are the red painted bands around the shaft.
She justhadto include an extra flourish in her weaponry, didn't she?
“It's odd that you don't seem to recall anything about the attack,” says the officer, “because I recovered this from the neck of one of my dead soldiers. And it looks almostidenticalto the ones your friend is carrying right now.”
My mouth goes dry as one of Briar's captors lifts a quiver up for me to see.
Briar's quiver.
They've disarmed her entirely, taking not only that quiver, but also the short sword at her hip and the knives that were strapped to her thighs. Her hand remains clenched against her body, though; I don't think they've taken—or even noticed—the tiny ball of chaos she’s hiding in her palm.
“Well?” prompts the officer. “Wouldn't you agree that it's strange?”
“A strange coincidence, maybe.”
The officer chuckles darkly at my impassive tone. “Not a big believer incoincidencemyself.” He studies me with calculating eyes. “I know you're lying. And, unfortunately for yourfriend, there's usually only one punishment for those who choose to murder Mouren soldiers.”
I can barely breathe with the tightness in my chest, but I don't give him the satisfaction of showing fear.
He takes a step closer. “Perhaps we can work something out, though.”
I swallow down the urge to vomit, knowing what sort of deals these corrupt soldiers have been known towork out. How the bribes they expect don't always involve money.
My hand is reaching for my mother’s sword when the man says, “We've been tracking a young dragon into this area.”
I freeze.
“And this dragon seems to be trackingyou. Your trails intersect with one another's. It's clearly close by now.” His gaze sweeps over the blood staining the steps. “So, I want you to tell me why it's following you.”
“I…I don't know,” I answer, honestly.
“You realize that any and all dragons are property of the Mouren crown, of course.”
My fists clench. “Yes.”
“So, if you're attempting to manipulate or hide this creature in some way, you?—”
“Why would Ihideit?”
“You tell me.”
I can't even think of a response that makes sense.
“Because otherwise, one has to assume conspiracy against your king. A flagrant disrespect for his laws. Add that to your murder charges, and the king himself would?—”
“Reave Callahan is not my king.” The words fly out of me before I can stop them. “He is the rightful king ofnothingandnobody, his entire family full of nothing butthievesand?—”
