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And I’m wasting time.
I turn toward the door, but the hag calls to me, “What will you do if you never find your bride again? Or if she is killed by your enemies? For it is into your enemy’s hands she has fallen.”
I turn and say coldly, “If they kill her, I’ll round up every enemy soldier in Maledin and every priest in the Brethren, and they will die slow and painful deaths.” And then I’ll throw myself on my sword because I will never be a true king without her.
The hag eyes me with interest, smoking that disgusting pipe. “Do you wish to know her name?”
I watch her through narrowed eyes. The witch knows I do not possess it. “What do you want in exchange for my mate’s name?”
She puffs her pipe thoughtfully. “Nothing. A trifle.”
A gift from a hag always comes with a price, and though I have no doubt that I can repay such a debt, I will not trade for secrets about mysha’len. “I will have that gift from her lips, not yours.”
I yank open the front door with such force that I almost rip it off its hinges, then let it slam shut behind me.
Scourge is waiting for me back in the main square, his long tail coiled around a squat little house. When he sees me, his red eyes blaze with interest and his nostrils flare—only for him to snort with fury when he realizes I’m alone.
“I know. I thought we had her,” I mutter. It was a waste of time coming here, and the hag will no doubt want payment in the future for telling me that the Brethren have stolen my bride away from me, something I could have figured out for myself.
I climb up into the saddle, anger raging so violently in my chest that I feel like I could breathe fire along with my dragon.
I’ll find her. Even if I have to raze the whole of Maledin to the ground to get her back.
5
Isavelle
My screams echo around the tiny cell. I writhe in pain, my wrists rubbed red and raw against iron manacles. The High Priest watches on, his hands in his sleeves and his eyes burning with sadistic delight as the Brethren strike my bare back again and again with a birch cane.
“Ungrateful, selfish girl. Our king has passed into the afterlife without a bride because of you.” The High Priest’s voice is a low hiss, but he can’t disguise the delight in his voice that he has yet another reason to punish me. He’s never gone this far before. My back feels like a river of pain and blood. Bright red drops spatter on my feet.
“Harder. She has not yet learned her lesson.”
The Brethren grunts with effort and doubles the speed of his strikes. A guttural scream tears from my throat. There’s no point in telling him that I didn’t summon the dragons that attacked the funeral. I could beg for my life, but I learned a long time ago that the High Priest takes sadistic pleasure in girls who tearfully beg him for mercy. He never laid a hand on me himself, and I’ve never seen him touch any of the other girls. Sometimes I’ve wondered if he’s impotent and this is how he finds his pleasure, or if he gets off on wielding one subordinate to punish another.
The cane slices my flesh again and again. The pain in my back reaches a crescendo, and I must pass out because, the next thing I know, I’m being sluiced with freezing water, my cuffs are unlocked, and I slump to the ground in a heap.
With my cheek pressed against the wet, gritty ground, I take painful, panting breaths. My back feels like it’s on fire. Hopefully this is when they kill me because I can’t take much more.
The door to my cell clangs shut and the lock grates, and I’m left alone, but not in silence.
I’m deep within the cloisters, but even feet upon feet of mud and stone can’t mute the furious screams of dragons in the sky. What a dream it would be to be burned to a crisp by a dragon right now. I hope they attack and tear this place apart—and me with it. There’s only so much suffering one person can take. Hunger claws at my stomach, and that saucer of fresh milk seems like decades ago. It was a mistake to return to my village. Of course the Brethren sent guards to search for me there. Stupid, Isavelle. Stupid,stupid.
I wonder where my family is now and how far they’ve traveled from Maledin. A chasm of despair opens inside me as I wonder if I’ll ever see them again.
I’m so alone.
They left me behind, and now I’m trapped in the dark.
Time passes slowly, and every second is filled with pain and misery. Eventually, there’s a tramping sound from above, growing louder and louder, and the door of my cell swings open. Two guards come in and haul me up by my armpits and half drag me, half carry me out and upstairs.
In the main hall, someone is waiting for me, surrounded by Brethren Guard. Torchlight flickers on his gray robes. I can see his cruel mouth, but the hood he wears conceals his eyes. The High Priest. Whenever something horrible happens to me, he’s always there. When I was tithed and dragged from my home. When I was punished for not keeping my eyes lowered and for not speaking my prayers. When I was nearly burned alive for the sake of a dead king.
I have no doubt that something horrible is going to happen now. We look at each other without saying anything.
I gather what little moisture there is in my mouth and spit in the High Priest’s face.
One of the Brethren Guard raises his hand and delivers a stinging backhand blow to my face. Pain explodes in my mouth and I taste blood.
