Page 27 of What Lies Within Masks & Shadows

His hand … like ice crystallizing over a winter lake, sending shivers waving across her skin.

It became crushingly clear that if she had any hope of jumping off the horse and running, that was now impossible.

“Stay calm.” She felt his chilled, caressing murmur seep into the depths of her—as if he truly cared. But that was quickly rectified, because as their horse pushed through the darkness, they entered the main street of Telldaira. Straight into the path of awaiting soldiers.

Whatever plans of survival they had … it seemed that self-preservation wasn’t one of them. As far as her eyes could see—an ocean of silver and purple—were the High King’s soldiers. Some carried chains latched onto grief-stricken faeries’ shackled wrists, others stood in conversation, gripping the pommels of their sheathed swords. Torches were shoved into the dirt, horses tied to posts, the scents of blood and burned wood and bodies so strong it forced a sting in her eyes.

There was a choked scream—a wail of deafening heartbreak—laced with something final, and she shuddered. Some faerie was being ripped apart by the sound of the screams.

An unsettling heat raged through her veins, and she dared a pleading whisper. “We can’t go this way.” The fools would have them flogged at a post or burning on a pyre. Anywhere but there.

Anywhere, even—The Manor. The west side was certainly protected by Kaine’s status and dealings with Castle Galdheir. Protected from attacks such as these. The High King’s advisers and noblemen and appointed lords were housed in such places in every city in Zyllyryon.

“Get to the western gates inside the city. We’ll be safe there. My”—Kaine’s—“manor. We’ll be safe there.” Keeping the tremble from her voice took effort. At least for tonight, Kaine would be gone.

“It is not safe there.”

And this is?she thought and moved to speak again, but he raised his hand in the air.

Their group slowed at his simple command.

Alora stiffened.We’re riding right for them. Stop. Stop. Stop!She shifted in the saddle once more, her boots prepared to meet the ground and escape. Her thighs loosened, legs sliding down the saddle when his icy grasp enclosed her hip and shoved her upright, pulling her against his freezing body.

So much for running.

He shifted in the saddle, reaching down to pull a new cloak from his saddle bag. Before she could protest, dark fabric gently draped around her shoulders, and he closed it around her front, secured by a fire-spitting dragon clasp. The same one she had glimpsed in that meadow. A strong leather and metal scent covered her when the male positioned the hood over her cloud-colored hair, completely obscuring her view of the glowing amber night sky.

That icy grip stopped on her upper left arm, as if in emphasis, when he murmured again, “Keep this on. Do not remove it.”

The realization hit her before he finished his words. Her tunic … it had been torn. And that death mark she was cursed with would’ve been on full display. Along with her secret,her shoulders, upper arms, and chest were exposed to any wandering eyes.

Her chest tightened as she fought for each breath. Twisting around in vain, she strained to meet his gaze, desperate for some shred of reassurance. But all that stared back were cold, haunting eyes.

“Eyes forward. Do not turn around unless I say,” he demanded. Something in his voice … was enough of a warning to have her shaking hand clutch the clasp, not daring to meet his eyes again.

The air thickened the closer they moved forward. And by her rider’s posture, it was as if they were strolling through a field of flowers. Something lazy in his bearing—almost pompous in the way he sat tall against her back. Unaffected by the vicious sights and the screams filling the street around them. And by some miracle, none of the buildings had been destroyed. Not yet. Though the glistening silver bodies adorned in their proud purple capes held torches, it was evident they were ravenous to shatter windows and set structures ablaze.

They were approaching the first blockade of soldiers, with plenty gathered and positioned behind them further down the street. Surrounded. And until that moment, there may have been a chance to fall inside the shadows of another alley, but when the head of a patched commander turned, that moment fled.

Their approach stirred a motion of signal commands and shouting, the clanging of metal and rushing footsteps the first warning to turn away.

Only, by no surprise, they didn’t.

Facing capture and death, they moved forward, toward the commander with swords drawn and soldiers falling shoulder to shoulder in formation. Beyond the blockade, rising tall above the buildings and a mere fifty feet away, salvation—the red-stonedwalls surrendering to the northern gates—danced with shadows from the city’s flames.

Her rider stiffened as if an iron rod had been shoved down his spine, lifting his chin high. With a flick of his wrist, he motioned, and one rider moved alongside them.

Strength rolled off him in waves as he sat perched upon his ebony horse, towering over her rider by one hand length. He stiffened, and for a moment, it seemed as if there would be conflict. Visions of bloody bodies and blades, with her at the end of a sword, peppered her mind…

Until his smooth voice sliced the tension as if it were a sharpened knife. “Youdare?”

The commander’s face blanched. Almond eyes darted from the rider to her own, stumbling a step back. Whatever the meaning, those words had rippled across the street like a solid wall, and he rasped to the soldiers alongside him, “Stand aside.”

The blockade, without hesitation, split, like the six of them were on fire, and they cared not for a searing burn as they passed by. Keeping a wary distance.

As her rider broke through the crowd, Alora glimpsed something unsettling. Unnatural. And if anything from tonight didn’t send every bit of her consciousness into a fit of petrified worry, this certainly did.

For when they rode through, the soldiers didn’t stand glaring at the riders, swords ready to run them through. They didn’t attack in a fit of fury or pride.

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