Page 11 of On Broken Bonds

I have no faith that the gods really did so much choosing as random selection. Or maybe this is a continuation of our curse? Who knows?

What I do know is that any sort of physical intensity will hurt Lyra. She might not even survive the horse ride to the capital, the jostling of the horses. The cool air and the poor meals. A hard knock or fall could end her life.

And that’s just traveling to the capital.

Whether Lyra is partnered to one or more husbands at the end of the trials, it won’t be good for her. The shadow-touched should always be treated gently, with the utmost care, and things like childbirth were completely out of the question for them. But if Lyra was forced off to the winners of the games, she’d have no say in the matter.

I can’t even bear the thought of her becoming pregnant.

Bile rises in my throat at the image of it.

Her belly growing, her skin pale. Losing my sister to childbirth before she’s even had a chance to live herself. Everything, always thrust upon us like this. A life of the cursed.

“Wait!” I cry, because like before, with Shaw and his men, I don’t know what else to do but use my words. I run to the leader, who’s now making moves to climb onto his horse, and take his forearm in my hands.

He turns to me with surprise, a flicker of emotion crossing his face before it's gone. I don't stop to figure out what it was. I plead with him, very unbecoming of a lady.

“Marriage will kill her,” I say, trying to imbue every word with the truth of it.

Now, behind me, Ivor is holding Hilda in his arms, and the two are looking on at the scene, just as powerless as I am to stop it. Knowing that disobeying the gods’ guards would be suicide for people of their station.

Magic surges beneath my skin as I throw myself toward Lyra’s horse, hot and frantic, clawing for release. It races through my veins in sharp, electric currents, rising in answer to my panic as I shove past the nearest rider.

My arms lock around Lyra’s waist.

For one glorious instant, I think I have her.

I pull with everything I have, trying to wrench her free without dragging hard enough to send the mare into a panic. Terror slices through me at the thought of the horse rearing and throwing her, of Lyra striking the hard packed road beneath its hooves.

The mare sidesteps sharply, tossing its head.

Lyra gasps through the gag as her body pitches toward me, and hope surges so violently through my chest it nearly steals my breath.

Then hands seize me.

One of the vampires catches me around the waist and tears me backward with brutal force. I scream, twisting wildly in his grip as my nails rake uselessly across his arms. I kick hard enough to connect with his shin, but he barely reacts.

“Let her go!” I shriek, thrashing harder.

The power inside me swells in answer, pressing against the restraint I have spent years building. Heat gathers low and fierce, racing through my body as it strains toward release.

Every instinct screams at me to unleash it.

Lyra is sobbing through the gag now, her wide eyes locked on mine as she reaches for me.

“Please!” The word rips itself raw from my throat.

“Enough,” the leader says.

The vampire restraining me releases me so suddenly that I stumble forward, barely catching myself.

At once, the frantic pressure of the magic pauses.

Hope crashes through me, cooling the rising storm beneath my skin as I stare up at the leader. For one impossible instant, I think I have reached him. That a shred of mercy has broken through whatever cold purpose drives these men.

I open my mouth, ready to beg, to thank him, to promise anything if he will only let her go.

He crosses the distance between us faster than I thought possible. Pain detonates across the side of my head. The world tilts violently. The last thing I see is Lyra’s face, her eyes huge with terror as darkness rushes in and swallows everything.