A knife slices through the thick cords Fhord used to bind my wrists and I feel them drop to the ground. Metal wraps around my neck, tight and cold, but I barely notice. My mind is trapped in my cell, ten years ago. It’s dredging up every horror I’ll soon be reliving. My skin itches, and for a moment, I can almost feel the knife slicing off parts of me, blood oozing out for hours after they were done.
Without warning, the guard yanks at something attached to the collar on my neck and starts to haul me … somewhere. Twice, I stumble and lurch forward, prompting cursing. Finally, he rips away my blindfold, pulling out even more of my hair, then tugs on the chain he’s using to lead me through the tunnels.Bastard. My kill list is growing by the minute.
“Keep up,” he demands as he continues dragging me along. I can only scramble behind him, hoping he’s taking me to a cell. I’m not ready yet for the other rooms they have down here.
“Where the fuck is she?” Fhord’s voice rings through the hallway, and my treacherous, treasonous body responds before I can stop it. I literally get weak in the knees—to my eternal disgust—as a shiver rolls down my spine.
And then my heart skips a fucking beat. Because it forgot for a moment that he betrayed us. We hate him.
The guard doesn’t stop. He may not even realize Fhord’s after me. He’ll know soon enough. Fhord must be terrified I’ll betray his secrets to have gotten here so fast. I just hope he did all he could to help Astarot before he left. I’ll kill him in this life or haunt him in the next if he didn’t.
“You! Stop!” Fhord’s voice rings down the corridor, echoing off the walls, and the guard finally realizes he’s after us.
Turning, he eyes Fhord, who’s nearly running down the hall. “Who are you?”
“I’m the dragon rider who captured that prisoner,” Fhord explains in the voice that demands compliance, “and I’m here to make sure she’s still alive when the Dróttning arrives.”
“The Dróttning? Why would she come here? Or want to see this prisoner?”
“How fucking stupid are you?” Fhord demands, his tone dripping with derision. “This prisoner killed a guard and subdued a dragon. She may have been responsible for the freed prisoner. Of course the Dróttning will need to interrogate her. And this prisoner sure as fuck better be alive when she gets here.”
The guard’s eyes widen as the truth of Fhord’s words settle into him.
And my stomach flips as they settle into me. I’ll take the blame for everything. If I tried to point the finger at Fhord, it wouldn’t matter. It would look like vengeance against the man who caught me. The Dróttning will do everything in her power to wring the truth out of me, even if it’s really a lie. Because as much as I hate him, exposing Fhord means exposing Tindera. I can’t do that.
The guard’s throat expands and settles twice as he thinks about his choices. “I am commanded to take her to the rack,” he says after a moment.
Fhord’s eyes flash to mine as what looks like … fear, or maybe worry … erupts in them. In a beat, though, it’s gone, replaced by a cold disgust. “She deserves the rack,” he utters, his fists curling into balls as anger breaks through his emotions. Turning back to the guard, he wrests back control, his features dropping into a menacing calm as he releases his fingers to splay them across his thighs. “But that must wait. Hold her in a cell, ensure she’s fed and kept safe until the Dróttning arrives.”
“Those aren’t my orders,” the guard croaks. He’s terrified of the position Fhord’s placing him in.
“They are now.” Fhord watches him for a moment, then strides forward to wrest the chain from the guard’s hands. “I’ll take her. If anyone asks, tell them to take it up with Tindera’s rider.”
Without waiting for a response, Fhord turns back toward the entrance, pulling me with him. His pace slows when we’re out of the guard’s sight and he walks close enough to whisper to me.
“I need you to trust me, Sifa,” he breathes, sending a tingle down my unfaithful spine. It’s supposed to toe the line. We hate Fhord. Instead, it’s melting as it searches for the touch every part of me craves, even after what he did. A flicker of hope erupts in my gut, but I smother it. I won’t let him destroy me with the betrayal I know is coming. “I can’t get you out now, but I will. I promise.”
“Where are you taking her?” A commander I don’t recognize approaches from a corridor to the left. He wears his authority like a shield and a sword, protecting him as he attacks anyone who stands in his way.
“Did you order her to the racks?” Fhord’s tone is belittling, dismissive.
“I did. You have no authority to belay my demand.”
“Perhaps you don’t know who I am.” Fhord drops the chain as he adopts his warrior stance. He’s all threats and intimidation as he stalks forward. “I ride Tindera. I hold authority where dragon matters are concerned. This prisoner killed a trainer and stole a dragon. She will be held until the Dróttning can get here to question her.”
“This prisoner appears to have helped another prisoner escape, and killed many of our guards. She belongs to me. She goes to the rack where we can find out who helped her.”
“Would you challenge the Dróttning?” Fhord’s voice is low and dangerous. The tension in this narrow passageway feels thick, like it’s wrapped around me, draining the heat from my body. Few humans can stand up to Fhord when he’s in this mood.
This commander, though, doesn’t give up easily. He straightens his back and takes one step, placing himself in Fhord’s space. “I don’t believe the Dróttning would give one little shit about this prisoner,” he proclaims, his arm gesturing toward me in a move that nearly smacks Fhord.
Fhord’s eyes flick down to the errant limb, and I wonder how hard he’s fighting to keep himself from killing the man. “Then you’re just as stupid as your guard. The Dróttning controls the dragons and this prison. Nobody threatens or challenges that control. I will say it again. This female”—with an angry, contemptuous glare toward me—“was able to kill a trainer and then take control of a powerful dragon. She may have done what nobody has for years, breaking into the Nest to help a prisoner escape.”
Fhord pauses for a moment before leaning in to snarl his next words. “The Dróttning will need to know how. She will come here herself to question the prisoner. And the prisoner sure as fuck better be alive and healthy enough to withstand the Dróttning’s interrogation when she gets here.”
At last, a hint of doubt sneaks into the commander’s stance. Because I do sound pretty powerful when you put it that way. His shoulders drop, and he takes a step back as he glances at me. “Where would you take her?”
“Where the fuck do you think?” Fhord demands. “She needs to go to a prison cell. A secure one that can’t be compromised.”
