Page 150 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

Chapter Forty

“If you hurt her,” I snarl, baring my teeth, “you will be sorry.”

The man restraining Tiffy, who I deem to be the ringleader, only laughs. “There’s nothing more you can do to me.”

I swallow my retort, instead, flicking my eyes to his companions. On each side of the throne room, are two more rioters: one archer and one swordsman. How they got a hold of these weapons, I don’t know.

But I do know that those darkened blades aren’t just any metal.

They’re pure iron.

Turning my head slightly, I glance over at Viridian. The heavy look in his eyes tells me that he knows, too.

I take a deep breath to keep myself calm. Panic sends jitters skittering across my skin, and pumps adrenaline through my veins. Unlike steel, which is made from iron mixed with enough alloy to nullify its effects, pure iron is harmful to fae. One touch, even the gentlest of taps, is enough to leave blackened burn marks on fae skin.

Being demi-fae, I don’t know how it will affect me.

But I have no intention of finding out.

Looking away from Viridian, I study the archers positioned on either side of us. They stand at attention, their arrows drawn. Based on the darker color of the arrowheads, I know they’re iron-tipped, too. All it takes is one wrong move, and they’ll set them loose.

I raise the crown of my head, straightening my posture. I may be afraid, but I don’t want the humans to think I am. I want them to see a formidable opponent.

Someone that won’t fall easily.

Mirroring me, Viridian does the same.

The ringleader smirks, motioning to Tiffy. “If you cooperate, then maybe I’ll let her go without a scratch.”

Tiffy closes her eyes, squeezing them.

I stay silent, my brows drawn together.

“We’re looking for the High King,” the ringleader says, moving his focus to Viridian. “And you’re going to tell us where he is.”

Viridian swallows, jaw ripe with tension. “The High King is dead.”

“Dead?” one of the swordsmen barks. “What do you mean he’s dead?”

“You told us he’d be here,” an archer says to the ringleader, voice sharp.

“He is here,” the ringleader booms, silencing the others. His face red, steely gaze still pointed to Viridian. “They’re lying.”

“We’re not lying,” I interject. I brush my hair behind my ears. Hopefully, the sight of my rounded ears will make them trust me. Make them think I’m one of them. “He was murdered. Someone else got to him first.”

“No!” the ringleader shouts, applying more pressure to Tiffy’s throat with his knife. She cranes her head back, wincing. “You’re going to tell me the truth. Or your little friend gets it.”

At his sides, Viridian balls his hands into fists. That quiet rage seeps from his expression, and the faint, blue flickering around his arms tells me he’s a second away from unleashing his magic.

The ringleader draws his lips back and sucks in a breath through his teeth. With one hand still pressing the dagger to Tiffy’s throat, he yanks a fistful of her hair with the other, jerking her head back.

Tiffy lets out a scream.

“Tiffy!” I call, instinctively.

“I won’t ask again.” The ringleader’s voice drops with lethal intent. “Where. Is. He.”

My heart rises to my throat. My lungs constrict, every breath more ragged than the last. I wrack my mind for solutions, for anything that can get all of us out of here alive.

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