Page 80 of Queen of War and Ruin

“I don’t want to be responsible for two of them,” Varitan says. “And she does have another husband, no?”

Malrik nods. My chest burns; I feel like I’m drowning.

“If you could keep the woman somewhere close,” Varitan adds. “In case he needs a bit of…motivation.”

“Sure, sure,” Malrik says, with a flap of his hand. He’s already moved on to more important matters than the life or death of the woman I love.

Varitan gives me another sharp, empty smile. My lips peel back in a growl.

“Come here, boy,” Varitan says.

“Fuck you,” I snarl.

Varitan turns slowly, so he’s facing Lilias.

And then he kicks her.

I scream as the dull thud of his boot hitting my wife’s stomach echoes across the balcony. She moans in her sleep; her brow contracts, like she’s having another nightmare. Varitan turns to me with a gleam in his pale eyes.

“Come here,” he says again. “Boy.”

I clench my hands into fists and walk to the elf.

“Wonderful,” Varitan says. “Now, give me your hand. I’m going to knock you out as well, so we can transport you with fewer complications.”

I glance down at Lilias. Her hair is streaked with soot and dust, and I can only imagine the bruise she’ll have on her ribs where this monster kicked her.

But she’s still alive. And, gods help me, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her that way.

I hold my hand out to the monster.

Chapter 42

Lilias

THE WEAPON

The world feels like it’s rocking back and forth. Am I on a boat? Or in the back of a cart being pulled by a very slow horse?

I try to open my eyes. It’s hard to move anything at all; I almost feel like I’m pushing back against something that’s trying to hold me immobile. My chest is heavy. My arms and legs are numb.

My eyes finally open. I blink at sunlight slanting through rough wooden rafters. Dust dances and swirls in the thin shafts of light, little flecks of gold suspended in the air. The low hum of voices drifts in from somewhere, but I can’t make out the words. I pull in a breath, then try to move my hands.

My fingers twitch against something rough and prickly. Old straw, I think. I try to lift my arm, but it’s too much effort. My eyelids sink, and darkness swallows the light.

Where in the gods’ many names am I? The last thing I remember is⁠—

Zarek. On the balcony. With his arms around me, holding me after⁠—

Oh, gods. My gut curls, and I gag on the bitterness in the back of my throat. I roll over, spitting onto the straw.

Please, let it be another nightmare. The screaming. The sound the earth made when it tore apart. The cloud of dust rising from the blackness that swallowed Ethiria’s army. My eyes open, and I stare at an uneven row of straw-covered floorboards. Dust dances all around me. I’m in some sort of barn, or shed.

I have no idea how I got here. Or where here even is.

“Sit, please,” a cold male voice says from behind me.

My breath catches. Some part of my mind screams that he won’t see me if I hold still.