Page 70 of Scourged

She wanted all traces of the past nine weeks, all traces of those hands that had touched and taken and tried to break her wiped clean. Even if that meant she had to rip off the layer she had, to allow it to be replaced by something new.

Chapter 28

The palace looked just the same as it did in Andrian’s last memories—massive, imposing, and mocking.

He had bits and pieces of other recollections, blurred images fading in and out, like remembering a dream or a nightmare. But one of the last real moments he remembered before he was woken by the silver-gold bond burning through his soul was him furiously spurring his stallion out of the palace gates and down the gold-cobbled streets. Straight to the city manor of House Laurent to confront his father.

After that … it was all darkness and shadow.

Andrian watched Feran pull his horse to a halt, Mariah seated in front of him. Watched as they both dismounted, as she took lurching steps toward the palace.

Every single instinct in his chest, in his heart, in his soul screamed at him to follow, to go to her. To be near her.

But the beats of frustration and anger and sadness flowing from her down that freshly forged bond held him firmly in place.

That new bond … it was so much.Toomuch. He didn’t know if she felt the same, or if this was how all the bonds felt. If this was something she was simply accustomed to. Perhaps she was still so closed off by whatever had happened to her back in thathellish castle. But all he craved was her nearness, her touch, her smell and taste and the feel of her on his skin.

He urged his horse forward with a grimace. A stableboy scampered out from the shadows, hair still mussed from sleep. The boy grabbed hold of the horse’s reins as Andrian dismounted. He had no possessions—the horse had carried nothing beyond a meager change of clothes, probably intended for one of the other Armature. He was filthy and tired and knew he smelled, but none of that mattered to him.

He’d just taken a single step after Mariah when a familiar figure blocked his path. A second stalked up to the first’s side, and Andrian could only watch in frustration and a pang of longing as Mariah disappeared around the side of the stables to the rear entrance of the palace, Feran beside her.

“Not so fast, Armature.” Sebastian’s voice was low and rigid, his posture just as tense. Quentin stood beside him, palming the knives strapped to his chest, chaos dancing in his eyes.

“What? I’m tired,” Andrian said, his defensiveness rising like hackles along with his magic.

Quentin’s fingers twitched. Sebastian’s lips pressed into a hard line.

“There are some questions you need to answer for us first. Before we can decide what to do with you.”

“Decide what todowith me?” Andrian glared at Quentin and Sebastian, before looking quickly at Drystan, who had sidled up beside Quentin. “Are you sure you have the authority to do that?”

The men stared at each other for several tense heartbeats before Sebastian rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Andrian didn’t miss the threat.

“Just come with us.” Sebastian turned on his heels, leaving Andrian glaring darkly, Quentin grinning, and Drystan watchingAndrian with a contemplative expression. Quentin broke first, following after Sebastian.

“Put his mind at ease. Please.” Andrian glanced at Drystan. The man was always so calm, so level-headed. It often was a comfort to the group, Andrian included, especially knowing the man was a deadly warrior—the best among them—when he needed to be.

Right now, though, his words achieved nothing beside pissing Andrian off. There was only one thing Andrian wanted to do, and it was not humoring Sebastian in whatever power-play this was about to be.

But as he held Drystan’s stare, familiar doubt and self-loathing twisted in, cooling his anger. His friend was right. He’d been gone for nine weeks, taken the same night as Mariah. He would suspect himself, too, were the roles reversed.

Fuck, if he were them, he would’ve likely killed himself on sight. The fact that they had superior levels of self-control than he did was not lost on him. Besides, he’d grown up with these men. They knew him, as well as anyone.

“Fine,” he growled. With steady steps, he followed Sebastian and Quentin, trailed by Drystan as they strode into the familiar, gilded palace halls.

Sebastian ledthem not to their usual wing, but to an older, quieter area of the palace, one reserved for guests but hadn’t been used in years. He pushed his way into one of the many rooms lining the corridor, Quentin on his heels. Andrian went next, and Drystan closed the door behind them with asnick.

The room was clean, if not a bit stale. There was a modest dining table, a bed, and a door on the left that must lead to thebathing room. Andrian took a step toward the table, wanting to take a seat on the dark wood chair, when something cool and sharp against his neck froze him in place. He glanced at Quentin, grin back on his face, a blade that was the twin to the one against Andrian’s neck clutched in his left hand.

“Give us one gods-damned reason we shouldn’t kill you right now.” Sebastian’s cool voice rang through the small, quiet room.

Drystan stepped around Andrian. “Sebastian?—”

“No, Drystan. I need to hear his answer.”

“Myanswer?” Andrian’s response was a growl. He could feel his shadows in turmoil, the blade against his throat making them beg for freedom, pushing off his shoulders and reaching desperately for Quentin and that dagger. He held them back … for now.

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