Page 234 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

An arrow flew.

From the balcony, the scent of her blood seeped around him as it sank into her arm. Her starfire dwindled by half, and Garrik knew it was laced with poison. Near feet from shattering through the glass dome, Alora’s cry was like a vise to his chest. But the pain on her face was much more than what the arrow rendered her. That was truth settling in. Shame. Frustration. Forcing her to half-yield before her grip began to falter, almost dropping Jade.

But his mate was stronger than anyone knew—than she knew—and bared her teeth, refusing to allow Jade to fall.

That glass was the only thing keeping her contained, caged like Ladomyr’s beasts. Until Ladomyr’s hand swayed through the air and pointed a damning finger.

And rising before her, twisting and cracking and morphing, the dome turned into a weapon. A sky of sharpened crystal blades.

Faeries were screaming, toppling down the staircases. Fleeing.

Ladomyr tightened his fist as he claimed the railing of the balcony. The dome shards advanced. Driving his mate back and into the hands of hovering soldiers.

A warm hand gripped Garrik’s chin, forcing his hollow eyes to stare at the wings. At the starfire and weapons. The handsripping Jade from Alora’s arms and forcing hers behind her as her powers diminished entirely.

All the fury Garrik could garner flared in his eyes the moment Alora was slammed onto the balcony on her knees. In his piss and blood that had been dripping down the wooden pillar. Pooling from his head and that damned knife in his shoulder. Over the snot and spit from when Ladomyr’s guards struck him overnight.

Alora bared her teeth, her blood mixed with his as Erissa fisted Garrik’s hair and forced him to look down on his wife.

Had he even a grains-worth of power, the entire span of Kadamar would be leveled. But every last kernel of his magic was fortified behind a wall of shimmering green ink. Unable to break into the ironclad fortress in his mind and unleash it from the depths.

He opened his mouth to scream, to curse, to promise to rip the very bones from their bodies, but nothing came out. Gagged but not by cloth. By that drug coursing through his veins.

Fucking fight this,he lashed at himself. For Alora. For Jade. For Thalon. For?—

“Stars, Garrik.” He hated the sound of his name on Erissa’s tongue. “If only you weren’t such a fool, then maybe your mate wouldn’t be calling on Firekeeper right now.” She ran her lips along the sensitive flesh of his ear. Perhaps the princess had visited Galdheir, taking on a quality of serpents and speaking like one too.

“Shut up,” Alora snarled, gravelly and strained.

A guard shoved her on her face and crushed her bruised wrist beneath his boot just as a High Guardsman landed with Jade and threw her at his feet—unmoving.

Ladomyr’s mouth was piercingly cruel as he paced between them and spoke to Alora inches from his boots. “What a shame. Of all the decisions you could have made, you choose to die.”Scraping his boot along the blood pool, Ladomyr splashed her face.

Alora only smiled, wearing Garrik’s blood like war paint in streaks from her hair to her chin. “No.” She raised a defiant chin. “I choose to fight.”

Pride swelled in him as much as caution.Careful, clever girl,he whispered down that broken, empty tether.

Ladomyr Scoffed. “We will see how much fight is left in you. Take her to my chambers.” And flicked his hand as if he were swatting an insect. Then snickered to Garrik, “I have a promise to keep.”

Beneath the pounding in his head, a warm voice spoke. It was an effort to focus on it. To recognize it. To understand the words his mind slurred and obstructed, turning them to mush. But those words continued to flow like a serene stream. Soothing and calm. Slow and precise until Garrik could determine them.

Breathe,that warm voice spoke again. A pressure cupped his forehead.

“Fuck,” Garrik groaned, barely able to rotate his head in the bloody dirt. One eye opened, the other swollen shut. Golden eyes stared back, separated by iron bars as a dark palm brushed hair from his temple. “What an unpleasant sight to wake to.”

Thalon’s laugh was warm as sunlight. A delighted sigh caressed them. “You should see yourself. Positively revolting.”

Garrik barked a laugh and instantly regretted it. He could not determine which was worse; his face or his abdomen. Though his dying heart squeezing and skipping was a close third.

“So.” Inked hands drifted further through the bars and carefully brushed along Garrik’s ribs, inspecting, mindful of every wince. “Your meeting with Ladomyr went well?”

This time, Garrik’s laugh was softer. “Fucking delightful. Though I do not recommend the bourbon,” he slurred as Thalon smirked. Then he tried to contain the grunt when tattooed fingers met his knee. Broken—surely that was broken. The rest of him in pieces by the feel of it. “How bad?”

“Terrible news, I’m afraid.” Thalon’s face gave nothing away as he continued, “Unfortunately, you’ll live.”

Coughing a laugh, he barely heard Thalon’s apology. His fingers twitched in the dirt, attempting to curl in on himself and clench his cracked ribs. “Make me laugh again and I will tie you behind Ghost to collect her shit for a week.”

Thalon blinked. “That’s … a new one.”

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