“A closely guarded secret of the Ellesians,” he said, snaking out his other hand to grab Nik by the throat when he lunged forward. “It isn’t precisely that we don’t have magic. We don’t, it’s true. But we do seem to have the ability to temporarily short out the nanites in the Awakened with our touch.”
She yanked on her arm, throwing her entire body weight into the effort as Nik tried to chop at the offending arm with a hand, but the hoplites had converged on them, and Stefanos was clearly hiding well-toned muscles under that tunic. Within seconds, two soldiers had Nik by the arms, and another had belted her against an armored chest with a rock-hard arm.
“You can’t do this!” She screamed the words, panic raking its claws through her guts as she watched the clouds she’d been ready to bring together after sunset break fully apart above them. Not because of the clouds, exactly—Laila and the otherswould take care of those easily. But how long would her locks and bars in the prison hold against Fodur and the Council with her not actively fighting them? No one else had learned how to handle those. “You’re ruining everything, all the work I’ve done. You’ll set Fodur free—”
“I have no argument with your father.” He trailed his fingers up her bare left arm. “He proved a most reasonable ally. But I believe in your absence, the primal of the Aflame will take over, will he not? As the First Seat of the High Council?”
She’d been the one to appoint him to that highest position—but she’d never paused to think about the ramifications. That, yes, since she had no Heir, it meant he was second in command. Daemon, who had scoffed today at the thought of a fair Fjordlandi. Daemon, who made no attempt to hide his disdain for the Fjorders and the Blessed.
He would fight for the thanes, which they needed—but who would fight him for the others? There was no one on the High Council yet besides his own family.
Too late. She had waited too long to trust Laila or Magnus or the others, and now they’d all pay for it.
Writhe and wriggle and kick as she might, the hoplite’s arms held her firm, and she couldn’t even dislodge Stefanos’s poisonous touch. “If you think that you’ll get away with taking me by force—”
“I am within my legal rights. I was promised my bride within two weeks of her Blessing Day, and the agreement stipulates that I can use whatever means necessary to arrange it.” He arched a brow. “I was generous, Kyrja. I gave you an extra two days to come to terms with the arrangement or provide a suitable alternative.”
Another strain, but it was like fighting against Therion steel. “Iofferedyou a suitable alternative.”
“You did not. You offered me a substandard, untested alternative.” He shrugged and lifted his hand from her shoulder.
Hope surged—her connection to the ice didn’t. It took her a moment to realize the hoplite had a bare hand on her right wrist.
When Stefanos reached those fingers toward her lips, she snapped at him with her teeth.
He laughed. “Such passion! I hadn’t dared to hope for such a thing from the Ice Princess. We will suit well, once you get over your anger with me. I am not a monster, Kyrja.”
“Could have fooled me,” Nik growled from her side. He, too, must have continued to struggle while she was distracted, because a third hoplite had joined the other two, and this one had one of those miniature cannons jammed into his stomach.
She had a feeling his leathers wouldn’t stop whatever projectile they used.
“Have I not proven it at every step? Even now, I ordered my men to aim for non-lethal targets on your guards’ bodies. They should all recover, barring infection—and that is out of my control.”
Relief as that was, it didn’t negate the horror. “You cannot force me to wed you. You cannot steal me from my home.”
“You clearly lack imagination.” He nodded, and the soldier who held her lifted her a few inches off the ground and started toward the path.
She screamed.
Nik roared.
Stefanos held up a hand, halting them, his gaze on Nik. “My legal agreement does not cover taking you by force, firebrand, though I could kill you and say, quite honestly, that you were interfering with my claim. But I am intrigued by this new magic of yours. You can come with her, if you like. By your own choice. Let my scientists study you for…” He made a show of considering. “Three to five hours a day, once we arrive inEllas. And otherwise you can do what you like with your time, even spending it with Valkyrja. Does that suit? There will be, of course, limits to what you are permitted to do when together. You will be chaperoned at all times after we’ve wed.”
“No!” Much as she didn’t want to be alone, she couldn’t let this happen, couldn’t take Nik from Helviti, from his family, from the only people in the world who could teach him how to harness his magic. “Nik, you can’t. You…”
Her voice trailed off as she met his gaze. He wore the same expression he had the day they met—a lifetime ago, yet not quite two months ago. The face of a stranger who had no reason to put his life at risk, but who would do it anyway. Because Nikanor Tristansson couldn’t see someone in need and not try to help them.
Yet not a stranger, not anymore. In those weeks, that face had become the one she most looked forward to seeing, the one she dreamed about when she snatched a few minutes of sleep. That expression wasn’t just about helping a stranger—it spoke to his utter unwillingness to let her go anywhere without him.
“Yes,” Nik said, eyes locked on hers. “Take me with you. I agree to your terms.”
“Excellent.” Stefanos turned toward the path. “Herodes, guard the tunnel entrance and neutralize the other firebrands when they appear—non-lethal force, if possible, especially with their primal—we mustn’t leave Fjordlandi without a leader, after all. Demetrios, see that the Vektors are all taken to hospital. Eudoxos, eye on the skies—if that interfering Daryatlean makes an appearance, don’t wait for her to make a move. Deploy the net.”
“No—wait!” Kyrja struggled again, hoping to land a solid kick to a shin, at least. Wishing she hadn’t when her foot reverberated off the man’s metal shin guards. “Nik, you need a volcano—don’t agree to anything without negotiating that, at least.”
“Too late,” Stefanos chirped cheerfully, striding away. “Though we’ll reach some sort of agreement. A dead firebrand wouldn’t teach us much.”
The hoplite slung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour, bare hand clamped on one of her calves to secure her. Kyrja considered pounding against his back, but given the armor…what was the point? Instead, she went limp. Even knowing the hoplites were too well trained to fall for a standard trick, she had to try it anyway. She made herself dead weight as they started down the mountain, let herself feel the rhythm of the man’s body, sense the blood in his veins. She couldn’t reach it, but it was there, waiting.
