Page 30 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

Seconds, I have seconds. My hands are already reaching as I spin again, moving so fast my boots slip against the damp ground. Shouting Alden’s name, I can only hope that he’s somewhere near enough to hear me as I grip the cold metal hilt of the longsword and lift it into the air. My eyes scan the pit, heart leaping when I see Alden running towards me, light green tunic streaked with water. He’s pursued by Miles and Hudson. His eyes lock on the sword, and then I drop it.

I don’t have time to grab anything else before my head snaps to the side, the taste of iron blooming over my tongue as my teeth clack together loudly enough to make me wince. Shit. I duck away from the incoming second hit, rainwater stinging my cheek as I drive my shoulder into the guard’s stomach, both of us falling to the ground. The rain intensifies, pelting off our armor with loud pings as water seeps through my clothing, the chill of it pulling a harsh breath from me. Hand at the throat of the guard beneath me, I arch my neck, looking side to side at the guards either felled by me or by Jerrick. The latter has one hand holding a man off while the other blindly reaches into the trunk. To my right, a guard falls, Grayson landing on top of him, his dark eyes meeting mine.

“Sorry, friend. I slipped in the mud,” he says, buying me time.

Blinking against the rain, I spit the blood from my mouth before knocking the guard beneath me out with a punch to his temple, quickly climbing to my feet. Then I run.

Jerrick has been pulled back into the fray, but a quick look down reveals he managed to procure a shield, Miles now using it to deflect Alden’s sword as it arcs towards him. I quickly search the trunk for a smaller blade, finding one and spinning as I look back down into the pit. Shouts sound all around me, battling against the rushing pulse in my ears. Where is he? Where the fuck— There! “Theo!” Curling my arm back, I wait for his eyes to meet mine from where he fights Gavrel who stands half a foot taller than him. With a grunt, I throw the dagger and watch as it spins blade over hilt in the rain. Pain explodes at my side, fire leaping into my veins as I’m jerked back, Jerrick’s furious gaze clashing with mine.

“You’ve always ignored your blind spots,” he spits out, fingers digging into my shoulder as he holds me in place, my shock at the blade in my side robbing me of focus. “As if you’re so feared no one would dare to harm you.” When he pulls the knife out, I stare at my blood coating the short blade, my hand immediately pressing over the wound. It isn’t deep, but in my fury, I forget what I’m supposed to be doing and, instead, lunge for him. The knuckles of my closed fist connect with the underside of his chin, making him growl as he swipes at me again with the blade. Air rushes past my ear as I lean back to avoid it, my boots squelching in the mud. Cold bites at my back, the sting of metal pressing into my wet tunic. An arm snakes around my neck, bicep flexing while they kick at the back of my leg. Another armor-clad arm drags me away from the trunk. The only relief I have is that guards surround Jerrick too, restraining his arms behind his back.

Wheezing, I wince at the pain that flares in my side, gritting my teeth as I contemplate what to do next. I can’t be brought to the king; he’ll either kill my men out of spite or remove me from his Trusted. I would lose access to all inside knowledge of his machinations, and it would make everything harder for the resistance, essentially leaving us blind. Pressing a hand into my wound, I steady my breaths and then relax, turning into dead weight.

“Son of a bi—” When the guard attempts to steady me, I lash out, the unexpected movement creating space between us. It gives me enough leverage to jerk my head back, bone colliding with cartilage in a sickening crunch. The weight behind me disappears, and I’m finally free to sprint to the trunk, hands already reaching for the first weapon I can grab. It’s an axe, the silver gleam still harsh beneath the gray and dreary skies. I shout as I turn, clutching my side and scanning the pit below for bodies as I count them. One. Two. Three… My counting stops, and my arm lowers, the weight of the axe somehow heavier. Three. Only three of the five men are still standing.

“That’s enough!” King Dolian shouts, and everything comes to a sudden halt.

Alden stands proudly, spinning the sword in his hand as if he hasn’t broken a sweat. Theo hobbles up next to him, dagger in hand though he cradles the arm holding it to his chest. His shirt is slashed, but I can’t tell exactly what his injuries are. Farther from them both, holding the shield and a long dagger Jerrick must have managed to throw down, Miles grits his teeth against the rain, blond hair hanging in his face. The bastard survived, but he’s the only one from Jerrick’s team to have done so. Theo and Alden managed to come out on top. They did it.

“Congratulations,” Simon bellows through the rain, his hand rising to push the dripping strands of his gray and black hair back. “It seems Xander has trained the both of you well.” His eyes then drop to the weapon in my hand, a brow raised at the fact that I’m still holding it.

I toss it back into the trunk just as two guards break from the group, joining the king. Simon begins to shout platitudes to the winners, but something about one of the guards catches my attention. When his eyes slide my way, my own narrow as I remember where I’ve seen him before. I’d been sent with a small group to retrieve unpaid taxes from a handful of farmers when I was only seventeen. Their village held hardly a hundred people, most of them only making enough of a wage to sustain themselves before the levies imposed on them by the crown. They resisted, verbally at first. And then physically. They were no match for our training, our weapons, and though it was easy enough to simply apprehend them, collect what was owed, and leave, this bastard—Silas, if memory serves—had decided to feed his bloodlust. He hacked down more than twenty villagers before he obeyed the order to stand down. The crazed look in his eye stayed with me for a long while afterwards. I snap my attention forward, ignoring the mocking smirk that dances over Silas’s face. He had known that I thought he was a barbarian after that day. It was the first time I saw so many murdered at once, and I hadn’t quite mastered how to hide my emotions yet.

“This is why,” Simon continues, and I stare down at the way Theo’s head is canted to the right, a strange look twisting his features, “there is now only one position left in the Trusted.”

What? I look back to where Simon and the king stand, Silas and another guard flanking them. The king already filled two of the positions? Shit. Looking down at Theo and Alden, I watch as the latter takes a step towards Theo, rotating his sword again in his hand. Alden then lifts his arm and slashes the sword out to the side. The slice of the blade is unmistakable, even through the rain. My heart drops to my stomach, my knees threatening to give out as Theo’s head lands in the mud, his body collapsing right after. The silence that descends is deafening, and my mouth falls open as I stare down at where one of my men just murdered the other.

“What is the meaning of this?” Simon shouts.

Keeping his grip tight on his weapon, Alden lifts his chin as he addresses the king. “You said there is only one position, my king.” I swallow my anger down when he glances my way. “And I am ensuring that I have the best opportunity to fill it.”

Chapter Twenty-One: Siyala

My ears strain to listen for Immie’s heartbeat a few cells down, the rhythmic sound just barely noticeable over the harsh beating of my own. It has been a few days since Xander has come down to the dungeon to speak, and I can’t help but let my mind wander to reasons why he hasn’t returned.

Turning, I flop onto my back and look up at the ceiling, fingers tapping along my stomach. You’re just bored. That’s why your mind drifts to thoughts of him. Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head like I might dispel the picture of him sitting with his back to me as I washed away the dirt and grime clinging to my skin. Like it might erase the memory of him handing me the parchment-wrapped lemon loaf, an almost smirk teasing one side of his mouth. They were strange moments. I hate him, hate everything that he stands for, that he is vowing to protect. Yet I have been treated with a kindness that I know—even in my own bitter head—is not normal. I smelled the sweet tang of lemon before I opened the package, but looking down at it in my hand triggered a wave of nostalgia to wash over me before I could stop it. Rhea squealing with delight at the lemon loaf Alexi surprised her with. Her eyes shutting and lips curling into a bright smile at the taste of it. I’d been thrown from this cell and back into the tower, watching as the woman I considered a sister hummed in pure satisfaction at being given the very same treat.

It should have brought me joy, to remember her that way, but it only made my stomach sour and my fingers curl, nails digging into the cake. She was free—free—finally living a life away from the king, and I… I was here. Stuck. Imprisoned. Again. Forced into a corner and made to relive every single thing I wanted to run away from. I desperately want to escape the things that haunt me, yet they are trapped here with me. The memories are chains that bind me to an existence where I am nothing but that scared girl in the Shifter Kingdom, left with a choice I should have never had to make. You need to use him, my mind whispers. Take advantage of his kindness in order to escape. But I just don’t know how.

My eyes flutter open again, and I force my thoughts to quiet as I pretend that I’m not staring up at the cold stone of my prison but the night sky. A sky too clouded to see the stars, but one that feels fathomless. Like it might swallow me whole. And for a long while, I fantasize about drifting out of this world until the sound of the guard coming down the stairs stirs me out of my daze. Sitting up, I turn my head and search for the steady beat of his heart, finding a strange kind of familiarity in its pattern. Xander appears on the other side of the iron bars just as I swing my legs over the edge of my cot, bare feet pressing into the ground. A strange look pulls at his features, his midnight hair disheveled in a way that speaks to a night of restless sleep—though I’m unsure of what time of day it actually is. My heart leaps to my throat, the feeling so peculiar that I lay my hand around my neck as I stand and take a step towards him.

“You look…” I swallow, unable to verbalize exactly what I am seeing. The guard has always come down here with a certain measure of control. Hiding behind that golden armor, an even more steely demeanor always masking him. But he stands before me now armorless, in more ways than one, with bruising on his jaw.

He huffs, folding his arms over his chest and wincing. “I’m fine.”

The bite in his voice draws my eyes to his, his gaze unforgiving as he stares me down. My lip curls, my words half snarl. “Like shit. You look like shit.”

“Charming.” He reaches for the brown leather strap crossed over his chest—a chest, I note with disapproval, that is broader than I expected without his armor on—and tugs the satchel he carries over his head. It causes his tunic to lift, the tanned skin of his abdomen coming into view and showing off a gauze-covered wound on his side, just above the trim of his pants. A noise curls in my throat, where I manage to trap it before it slips out. Watching as he begins to rifle through his bag, I study him more closely. His movements are sluggish, and though the beat of his heart is still steady, his breath sounds slightly labored. What happened between his last visit and today? “I’ve come with a bargaining chip,” he says, lifting a leather-bound book from the satchel and holding it out in front of him. “Give me something I can take back to the king, and you can have this.”

“A book,” I say incredulously, eyeing it as I draw my hair over one shoulder to begin braiding. “You think you can tempt me with a book?”

“I think you are desperate for an escape.”

The cruelty in his tone surprises me, my eyes widening briefly before I level out my expression. “Not the escape I’m looking for,” I retort.

“But the only one you’ll be offered.” He waves the book in front of him, mocking in a way he never has been before. “Why didn’t Rhea ever use her magic when the king beat her?”

“I don’t know.”