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Thea just stared at him, seeing the darkness unfurl behind his eyes as he wrestled with whatever toiled inside him.
‘Should I tell you that I didn’t enjoy ending him?’ he asked her. ‘Because I won’t do that. He deserved to die, and I will always relish the swing or pull of a blade when it delivers what a man is owed.’
Thea went to the corner of the storehouse and retrieved Wilder’s Naarvian blades. She waited for him at the doors. When he reached her, she held them out to him. ‘As will I,’ she told him.
Wilder stared at her for a moment, accepting his weapons in a daze, as though he’d never seen her before.
Maybe they’d knocked him on the head a few too many times. Thea elbowed him. ‘Come on. Let’s find the king and find out what the fuck his summons was about.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
WILDER
Wilder and Thea stood waiting before the thrones on the dais in their blood-stained, travel-worn clothes.
‘Furies save us, what happened?’ King Artos exclaimed as he entered the throne room, taking in their ragged appearances. But his green eyes lit up when they fell on Thea. Wilder had heard that the King of Harenth had taken a special interest in his apprentice ever since the knife-throwing incident, when Thea had made her case to become a shieldbearer.
Wilder didn’t know how he felt about that.
He cleared his throat. ‘We were attacked upon entering the palace grounds, Your Majesty.’ He didn’t quite manage to keep the terse note from his tone.
‘On my grounds?’ Artos baulked. ‘Inmykingdom?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’ Wilder inhaled through his nose, trying to rein in his impatience. ‘But we can discuss that later. We have answered your summons to deal with the threat against the kingdom.’
‘But what of the perpetrators?’ the king demanded.
‘Twelve of them dealt with, Your Majesty.’ He gestured to Thea. ‘My apprentice here saw to that.’
Artos’ demeanour changed completely, to one of awe. ‘Is this true, Althea? You defeatedtwelveattackers?’
‘I had help, Your Majesty,’ Thea replied, cheeks tipping pink with pleasure. But she seemed to remember herself. ‘Your Grace, what of the threat to the kingdom? How can we help?’
This only seemed to make Artos happier. ‘We shall talk more of this incident after. For now, follow me.’ He didn’t wait; he was on his feet and moving.
Whatever Wilder had been expecting, it hadn’t been this – following King Artos and his guard through the lower levels of the palace, to the dungeons. Wilder himself had been down here several times to deal with traitors to the midrealms before they were transported to the Scarlet Tower south of Naarva, but… He’d never seen the cells so full before.
Thea, who he imagined had never stepped foot inside a dungeon, was doing a decent job of masking her emotions.
It wasn’t a pleasant place. To be locked in the royal dungeons, a serious crime needed to be committed, and when it came to serious crimes, King Artos was known for serious punishments.
Torches lined the stone walls, illuminating everything from the guard room and the singular cells to the torture chamber, which was thankfully empty. The deeper they moved into the dungeon, the worse the smell became. King Artos gracefully took a kerchief from his breast pocket and placed it over his nose and mouth.
If they were going this far down into the cursed place, whatever they were about to see… Wilder wished he could push Thea behind him, but knew she’d stand for none of that.
‘We found them on the outskirts of the city,’ King Artos said, stopping before the last cell in the row.
It took every ounce of Wilder’s discipline not to flinch at the sight before him.
A pair of half-wraiths lay limp on the stone floor behind the iron bars. Both bore the evidence of torture. Burns to their bodies and wings, the scent of singed flesh acrid in the air, blood trickling from open wounds.
One was more wraith than not, most of his human skin turned that same leathery texture as the many shadow wraiths Wilder had battled in his time. His eyes were like black orbs; talons protruded from his broken fingers. It wouldn’t be long until he was a full wraith with no memory of his human life, no proof he’d ever had one. Wilder had seen the change himself, had seen men and women lost to the darkness. But the other figure in the cell… A young human man, broken wings protruding from his back, small claws tipping his fingers… He wasn’t lost. Not yet.
‘Have you ever seen this before?’ King Artos turned to him, motioning to the poor creatures.
‘Once or twice,’ Wilder managed, still staring at the half-wraiths.
‘Why wasn’t I made aware this could happen?’ the king demanded. ‘And how is it that they’ve managed to infiltrate my kingdom?’
