Page 42 of The Crowned Queen

“I didn’t—” he choked out. “I wasn’t involved. She was already hanging when I got here⁠—”

Loren stared down at the human man, watching the tears leak from the corners of his eyes. Lie or truth? There was no way to tell. Not with humans.

But it didn’t matter.

The shadows twitched, tightening. There was a sharp, wet crack, the soldier’s body going slack in their grip. The darkness unwound itself from his limbs, letting his body drop lifelessly to the cobblestones, his head bent at an impossible angle.

Loren turned, searching for his next opponent. But the other soldiers had fled—no doubt racing for reinforcements. How long before this street was teeming with Arcanum soldiers? How many could he fight?

All of them, the shadows promised him. Every one that dares to stand against you⁠—

As long as none of them were Jaxon Shaw.

“Can you get her down?” Loren asked the shadows. “Gently.”

Tendrils of darkness stretched upward, wrapping the rebel leader’s battered body in a living shroud. They lowered her gently to the cobblestones, her silver hair fanning out around her like a banner. Caela was there in an instant, her arms still bound behind her back as she dropped to her knees.

“Loren!” Finn shoved through the crowd, staring at Maerin’s body and the dead soldiers like he—the one person who always had a plan—wasn’t quite sure what to do. “We have to get you back under cover. If you’re still here when reinforcements get here⁠—”

“No.” Loren gathered the shadows close again. They came willingly, folding in around him without protest. Waiting for his command. “We’re done running.”

“Loren—” Finn dragged a hand through his hair, glancing nervously around at the fae that still crowded the street. All of them watching—though most kept a careful distance from Loren and his shadows. “This isn’t how we win,” Finn continued, his voice low. “You’ve seen the numbers. We don’t have an army⁠—”

“Yes, you do.”

Raelle’s voice rang out above the uncertain murmur of the crowd. Someone had managed to unbind her, her wrists raw where the cuffs had burned her skin. She closed the space between them, her head held high despite the tears streaking her cheeks.

“Your Majesty.” Raelle dropped to one knee, bowing her head. “It would be an honor to fight beside you.”

Chapter

Fifteen

“—don’t care,” a vaguely familiar voice snapped. “She’ll answer for it⁠—”

“Sir, they drugged her.” That was Kai—his placating tone edged with panic. “She wouldn’t be able to tell you anything even if she knew.”

Araya blinked slowly, the commotion dragging her mind out of the syrupy sweet darkness the poppy had wrapped her in. She lay curled on her cot, a blanket she didn’t remember grabbing tucked around her. Her vision swam, the bars of the cell strangely distant.

Kai stood with his back to her, physically blocking Baran Pryce from unlocking the door to her cell. The High Inquisitor’s face was scarlet, fury radiating off him in waves.

“Move,” he snarled. “That’s an order. You have no authority here⁠—”

“But I do.” Familiar footsteps rang out, echoing off the stone. “This safe house is under my father’s command,” Jaxon said, striding into view to stand shoulder to shoulder with Kai. “The healer forbade her from speaking. I won’t compel her on your orders again, not with her health at risk. She’s too valuable an asset to lose to your heavy-handed methods, Pryce.”

“That’s High Inquisitor to you,” Pryce snapped. “And I’m going in that cell. If you won’t compel her, we’ll turn to more traditional methods of encouragement.”

She was in danger. Araya tried to sit up, but her limbs had gone leaden. The poppy hadn’t just dulled the pain in her tongue to a distant throb, it had muffled everything, leaving her unable to speak or fight or defend herself.

“You aren’t torturing my bond.” Araya was all too familiar with the snap of anger in Jaxon’s voice, his words gone flat and lethal. “Touch her and I will⁠—”

“You’ll what?” Pryce stepped into him, shoving him into the bars. “Threaten a High Inquisitor? I outrank you, boy⁠—”

“But you don’t outrank me, Baran.” Garrick Shaw stepped into view, flanked by a pair of soldiers. “What are you hoping to accomplish here?”

“Your son needs discipline,” Pryce snapped, not moving. “His lack of responsibility with that thing is why we’re in this situation in the first place.”

“I don’t disagree,” Garrick said mildly. “Which is why I’ve come up with a solution. Now, unhand my son before I decide to take this as a personal insult.”