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I haven’t stepped inside this tunnel since we arrived in Ulysede, a rivulet of blood dripping from my hand and an unknown world ahead. Now as we move along it again, the lanterns flicker and ominous shadows crawl over the arched ceiling.
Six legionaries stand before the closed gate, their arrows nocked and aimed outward into the darkness.
And on the other side waits a single form.
Zander sidles his horse next to mine. “Are you ready for this?”
I swallow my nerves. “Yes. Why?”
“Because I can practically see your pulse in your throat.”
My heart is racing. And his uncanny—and sometimes annoying—ability to sense it has only grown stronger since we arrived here, rather than vanishing along with his need for mortal blood. “I’m remembering what happened the last time I played Princess Romeria with a guy on the other side of iron bars.” Tyree did not care that I was his sister by blood when he smashed my face into them.
“That will not happen this time.” He nods toward Gesine, whose green eyes cast a dull glow. The shield is already up, and it takes almost none of her power.
I can’t wait to have that kind of control.
“Remember, you are in command here. I am just a fleeing, enamored king, bending to your will.”
“As if you can handle not saying something. I give you two minutes.”
His lips curve. “Care to wager?”
“What are the stakes?”
“I’m sure we can agree to something suitably depraved once we’re back behind the safety of our chambers.” He drops down off his horse, prompting me to do the same, and then juts his chin forward subtly. “Lead the way, my queen.”
The legionaries part ways, their weapons still drawn, allowing me through.
The face that stares back at me through the gate is full of youth and caution. Kienen couldn’t be more than late twenties by mortal standards, his clean jaw giving him a boyish, almost innocent, look. But his leathers and four blades strapped to his honed frame suggest he’s far from it. “Your Highness.” He falters, his focus skittering to the arrow aimed at his head three feet away, but then bows.
Right. I have a role to play.
I ignore the cold air breezing in beyond the gate and assess the situation. A small horde of Ybarisan soldiers waits at his flanks, some twenty feet back, the darkness a suitable veil. Their hands are free of weapons, but I know they wouldn’t need them to cause me harm, not with their elven affinities.
Still, this isn’t a great way to start a conversation.
“Lower your weapons.”
“Are you certain?” Jarek’s raspy voice comes from directly behind me.
If I wasn’t already on edge, he would have startled me, sneaking up to serve as a looming wall behind my slight frame. But I’ve seen how fast Jarek can move. He’d shield me before anyone could draw an arrow, despite Gesine’s protection.
At least he has the good sense not to contradict me in front of them. “Ybarisan soldiers have no reason to harm me. I am their princess.”
A few beats pass and then, from the corner of my eye, I watch the arrows lower.
Kienen clears his throat, his stance still rigid. He’s no less relaxed. Is it from confusion or fear or anger? “I apologize for the delay. When we received word that you were waiting for us in these mountains, we were not sure if it was a trap.” His gaze skims over the legionaries. He’s still not sure, it seems.
He’s confused, I decide.
“You’ve been watching us from the trees,” Abarrane states.
“Yes.” He appraises her frame. Or her weapons. “Did you get what you wanted from whatever poor creatures you tormented in the wagon?”
“Besides my enjoyment?” Abarrane bares her teeth. Even without her fangs, she looks menacing.
If it unsettles Kienen, he does a good job of hiding it. “We saw you defeat the hag the other night. It was impressive.”
“So good of you to lend a hand.”
The faintest twitch of a smile touches his lips. “I would have, if we were sure we wouldn’t end up under your blade next. Besides, it seemed you had a skilled fire wielder to help you.”
Zander remains quiet. Likely chewing on his tongue to keep from taking control of the conversation.
Has Kienen figured out who this fire wielder is? How much does he know? “How many of you are left?” I ask instead.
As if only then remembering that his princess is here, he stiffens even more, any hint of humor on his face vanishing. “Two hundred and fifty-four, Your Highness.”
I resist the urge to meet Zander’s eyes. That’s more than we expected. That’s good … as long as they’ll follow me. And bad if they won’t. “Where are they now?”
“They wait south of here for a rider to confirm it is in fact you here, with the Islorians.” His brow furrows, and the unspoken question hangs.
