It’s…terrifying.
He abruptly lets me go.
I’m so stunned, I take a step back, not even thinking of trying to stab him again.
We stare at one another for several ragged breaths.
He swallows hard, composing himself. His voice is devoid of any emotion, cold or otherwise, as he says, “Get on the horse.”
Fury still simmers under the surface of my skin. But now there’s fear, too, if I’m being honest—and my father always told me to be honest about that. Fear can’t always be trusted, but ignoring it is rarely a good idea.
And right now, that fear is begging me not to do anything foolish.
With one last wary look at the king, I walk to his horse and hoist myself onto its back, struggling somewhat with the unfamiliar saddle and the gigantic size of the animal; neither is easy to navigate with one eye.
Once I finally manage to balance myself, the king swings up behind me without a word, circling an arm around my waist and pulling me more firmly against him. His heart pounds against my back like the persistent beating of a war drum calling us to battle.
“Now, keep still,” he mumbles, leaning closer, so that only I can hear him. “My magic can only do so much to shield us, and there are far fouler things than dragons between here and my city.”
Chapter Nine
We ride straight through the night, arriving at the main gate of Lucindris as the sun rises.
The gate is massive, taller than any building that existed in Halvgate, even before Emberfall. Black stone doors rise from the earth like a cliff face, their surface carved with scenes I'm too exhausted to decipher. Intricate ironwork runs across the top, while two gilded statues—both of them life-size dragons—loom from the corner of the wall on either side. One dragon rests its talons on a large shield; the other sprawls in languid repose, wings half-furled as if it might take flight at any moment. The sunlight strikes their golden eyes, reflecting straight into my face, and the brightness finally drags me from my daze.
Even then, I still feel faint.
How long has it been since I ate? Since I slept? The hours have all tangled together into one miserable blur. There was water at some point, and a brief stop where we dismounted and I was allowed to relieve myself under guard, but thatfeels like days ago now; I'm starting to think I might have hallucinated it.
I've spent years learning to survive on scraps and willpower, yet I can't remember many times when I felt worse than I do now.
Come to my city as my guest, King Reave said.
If this is how he treats hisguests, I shudder to think of how he treats his enemies.
Then again, I suppose we both know I'm not really a guest. We may have struck a tentative bargain, but hours of hard riding with barely a breadth of space between us has done nothing to ease the tension. I haven't attempted to stab him again—not yet—but I've made no effort to soften the hatred radiating off me, either.
And the disdain is undeniably mutual.
The few words he's spoken to me have been clipped commands or cold observations. His arm remains locked around my waist like an iron shackle. Every shift of my weight, every attempt to adjust my position, draws an immediate response—a tighter grip, a growled warning, or his magic biting against my spine in cold pulses that leave my skin tingling and my breath short.
He's clearly trying to sink his hold in as deep as he can. To break me down as much as possible before we reach his palace, presumably so I'll agree more readily to whatever lies in store for me once we get there.
What he doesn't understand is that I've already been broken for years. All my jagged pieces are just armor now.
So if he wants to try and crush me, I hope he's prepared to get cut.
The gates open without a sound, swinging inward. We pass through with no ceremony, no announcement. The kingstill wears his mask, as do all the riders flanking us. I'm the only anomaly, and someone—one of those accompanying riders—instructs me to keep my scarf raised and hood up before we enter the city proper.
They're hiding me, though I don't understand why it matters. Even if this dragon bond is real, it's not as if the citizens of Lucindris would recognize me or know what I've done. And the hatchling itself is miles behind us, traveling at a slower pace with the larger group of Mouren soldiers.
Maybe they just don't want people to see their glorious leader arriving with such a filthy woman—and one from the slums of an enemy kingdom, at that.
The thought makes my jaw clench.
It would probably be satisfying to rip off my hood and shout about the deals their beloved king has been making in the dark. But I don't. Instead, I force myself to focus on the city unfolding around us, committing every detail to memory.
Because if I'm going to infiltrate and tear any part of this world down from the inside, I need to understand it first.
