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The Lord stood with his back to me, shoulders a tense straight line. “Be careful.”
CHAPTER 7
Leaning over the neat row of fiery-pink dianthus, I curled my fingers around the base of a dandelion. Feeling a bit guilty, I tore the little sucker from the soil. With all their medicinal benefits, the weeds wouldn’t go wasted, but I still felt bad for tearing them out for purely cosmetic reasons.
It didn’t help that my mind conjured up woeful shrieks every time I yanked out a weed.
As I tossed the weed into the basket of its cohorts, my attention shifted to the purplish-blue spikes of catmint. At once, I sawhim— heard his voice and felt him.
My Hyhborn lord.
Last night . . . it felt like a fever dream, but the grisly memories of seeing him impaled to that table were all too real, as was the shower. Touching him. The feel of him beneath my palms. The brush of his lips against my bruised skin.
Still, none of it felt real— I’d known I would see him again, but never in two lifetimes would I have expected what had happened. My reaction to him. My want.Need.Any of it.
A faint shudder rocked me as I reopened my eyes and looked up, past the stone walls of the manor, toward the city of Archwood. Dual streams of smoke still filled the air near the wharf.
I swallowed, skin chilling despite the warmth of the early-morning sun.
When I had woken after only a few hours, if that, of sleep, I’d found myself staring at theluneadagger lying on the nightstand beside my bed. I’d snatched it from the cupboard as I left the blacksmith’s house. Taking it wasn’t something I’d consciously thought of doing. I’d just done it, guided by intuition.
And as I’d stared at that strange blade, I’d thought about what I needed to do. Claude had to be made aware of the apparently very active shadow market in Archwood, and the fact that at least two of his guards were involved in not only the trade but the harvesting.
Knowing that Claude wouldn’t be awake until later, I’d headed out to the gardens in hopes of stilling my mind. The gardens and having my hands in the soil would’ve helped if not for the smoke I’d spotted as soon as I stepped out of the manor. I didn’t need my gifts to know what the cause of the fires was.
Him.
It was why he’d said I didn’t want him to answer the question of what he was going to do.
He’d sought revenge. But could it even count as revenge when whatever his actions were likely prevented another Hyhborn from being used in such a manner? Sounded more like justice to me, as harsh as that was.
I hadn’t seen Finn or Mickie that morning, but I hadn’t exactly looked for them as I entered the gardens. I thought— no,I knew— there was no reason to. They were no longer of this realm.
And I didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for them, not even Finn and his nice smiles. What they were a part of was wrong, horrific even. It was nothing like the stories I’d heard of people digging up Hyhborn graves to use what was left of their remains. They were committing torture and murder, and if they had succeeded in draining the Lord of all his blood? Harvesting his . . . his parts and selling them on the shadow market? Eventually, those kinds of deeds always came to light. I needed no intuition to tell me how King Euros would respond if he learned of what had been attempted against one of his lords. He’d send the dreaded Prince of Vytrus to handle Archwood, and whatever unrest was happening at the border would be the least of our problems.
But it wasn’t even that terrible reality that caused my heart to seize. It was the idea that . . . thathecould’ve died. The mere thought made me sick to my stomach, and I shouldn’t havethatkind of reaction to it, no matter the brief past I wasn’t sure he even remembered.
Was he still in Archwood?
I remained still, silencing my thoughts, but nothing came.
But I hoped—
“No,” I whispered, cutting that particular idiotic thought off. I would not hope to see him again. Besides the fact that he was a lord, there was always the risk of a Hyhborn discovering my abilities and accusing me of being a conjurer.
It would be best if I never saw him again.
No,that voice whispered in my mind,it would not be.
A shadow appeared beside mine, blocking out the early-morning glare of the sun. I looked over my shoulder, spotting Grady.
“Been looking for you,” he announced. “You hear about the fires early this morning?”
“No, but I’ve seen the smoke.” I nibbled on my lower lip. “Do . . . do you know what happened?”
“The Twin Barrels and Jac’s— the blacksmith’s place—burned. That’s what Osmund told me,” he said, referring to another guard. “He was on the wall early this morning when the fires started.”
I tensed.
