Page 34 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

“What has the usurper king’s thoughts so grim?” King Cheral asks.

I snap out of my daze. “All those wives and you prefer to watch your servants bathe your prisoner?” The girls have moved to my torso, working quickly to wash away the filth.

He ignores my slight. “It has been days since your capture. You must be thirsty.” He beckons forward another mortal in a simple gauzy white gown, her feet bare. “Give him your vein.”

The two servants shift to the corners, making room for the third to approach me. She’s a young and diminutive thing with flaxen-colored hair, her face barely level with my chest. She keeps her gaze there as she holds her wrist against my mouth.

I inhale the delightful scent. “Jasmine and lemongrass. That’s a lovely combination.” My lips graze her delicate skin with my words, stirring gooseflesh.

She waits a few beats and then peers up at me through green eyes. Her slight body trembles, but no fear stirs in her pulse. All I sense is the heady anticipation that I’ve sensed many times before from mortals offering their vein.

Interesting.

“Just water, if you will. Please.”

Shock flitters across her face, then disappointment.

Also interesting.

“You are refusing her?” King Cheral’s eyebrows arch with surprise, but then his shoulders sink as if with understanding. “Ah, yes, of course. You fear the poison. I assure you though, it has not crossed into Kier.”

They have no idea what Romeria has accomplished. But why would they? Still, it’s best to keep that secret as long as I can. If they believe me weak from lack of blood, they’ll eventually become lax with their guard.

“You’ll understand if I don’t accept assurances from a man who holds me captive.”

He snaps his fingers and the young mortal darts away. “He cannot be trusted. Keep his chains on, and if he tries anything while they finish bathing him, shove a spear through his gut. See if he can withstand that.” King Cheral leaves and the woman in white trails behind him, stealing a glance at me.

The guards who remain keep their weapons aimed as the two servants scrub away blood and dirt. I hiss at the sting from the wound I cannot see on my shoulder and one drops her bucket, splashing water at our feet and earning the guards’ snarls. She’s sent off to fetch a new one while the other continues. This one is not feigning anything as she moves to face me, washing the dried blood from my neck. No doubt she grew up hearing bedtime stories of Malachi’s demons and believes every word.

“I will not harm you,” I whisper, infusing as much sincerity in my voice as I can muster.

“No speak to her!” a guard barks, fumbling with my language.

I bite my tongue against a retort that will likely earn me a fresh wound. There’s no point in any of it. Even if she did understand me, my words do nothing to ease her fear.

14

Tyree

I cover my eyes with my palm, the rising sun’s glare against the sea especially blinding this morning.

“You may fare better with proper rest,” Captain Aron calls out. “There is a second pallet in the cabin the princess occupies.”

“Lie next to the Islorian who aims to slit my throat? I fare just fine where I am.” I haven’t moved from this spot on the main deck since the first night we set sail, save for the need to relieve myself. The wooden crates grant me a place to sit and a decent vantage point. The mast at my back holds me up.

It seems as good a place as any to die.

He sighs. “Suit yourself.”

“You are one to speak. Do you sleep on your feet?”

Captain Aron rarely leaves the helm, never for more than an hour or two at a time.

He throws a smirk over his shoulder. “I don’t think you want me lazing in bed. These waters promise many trials, and my second did not make it to the ship in time. The rest of this lot? I wouldn’t trust to get us all the way there.”

“Whatever you need to do.” I unfasten Annika’s silk belt and check the dagger wound on my thigh, grimacing as I note the trickle of blood. It’s been days and there’s no sign of stemming it. This is far worse than any of the wounds inflicted upon me during my weeks in captivity.

But I’m sure the princess knew what she was doing when she plunged the blade into my thigh. I study the smooth, bronzed handle of the dagger. A fate’s token. Of course an Islorian princess would carry nothing less. It’s deceivingly dainty, much like its owner. It will likely be my downfall.

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