Page 95 of A Dagger in the Ivy

I blink in surprise. I’d known Dante was a bastard, and I know sirens hail from the islands of Messanya, but I hadn’t known how he’d come to live in the castle. “What did the king say?”

Dante’s lips twist into something between a smirk and a grimace. “At first? Nothing. He was… shocked, I suppose. And the queen—” He shakes his head. “She wasn’t pleased. A bastard son showing up out of nowhere? It hadn’t exactly been part of their plans. They didn’t know what to do with me.”

I can imagine the scene, the tension in the air, the queen’s disapproving gaze, the king’s uncertainty. Dante doesn’t seem the type to stick around where there’s so much adversity. Somewhere where he’s sure to be judged. He’s got too much pride for that. “But you stayed,” I say gently. “Why?”

Dante’s eyes soften, just a fraction. “Because of Torbin. He was there that day, standing behind his parents. I remember it like it was yesterday. He didn’t care about the politics, didn’t care that I was a bastard. All he saw was that he suddenly had a brother. He begged our father to let me stay. He wouldn’t stop until the king agreed.”

I grin at the thought of a young Torbin, stubborn and determined. The Torbin I knew once upon a time. “He really stood up to his father like that?”

Dante nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “He did. And it didn’t stop there. He made sure I wasn’t treated like an outsider. Introduced me to the court, trained with me, fought for me, even when others didn’t think I belonged. I know he has a temper at times—no doubt inherited from our father, but Torbin has always been the best of us.”

There’s a warmth in his voice now, a fondness that I haven’t heard before. It catches me off guard, how much Dante cares for his brother. I knew they were close, but this… this is deeper than I realized.

“You two must have forged quite a bond.” I try to imagine what it must have been like, two boys thrown together by fate.

Dante’s smile fades, replaced by something more serious. “We did. And that’s why I can’t let anything happen to him. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

I nod, understanding more now. It’s not just duty or a promise that drives him—it’s loyalty, love, and the memory of the boy who fought to give him a place in the world.

“Wewillfind him.” I lift my chin, determined to keep my promise. And for the first time, I feel like we’re truly on the same side.

Dante looks at me, really looks at me, and nods. There’s no need for more words. We both know what’s at stake, and we’ll do whatever it takes to bring Torbin home.

The forest stretches out before us like an ancient sentinel, its towering canopy shrouded in a veil of mist that clings to the gnarled branches like ghostly fingers. The icy air is thick with an oppressive stillness, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the eerie creaking of branches swaying in the wind.

The trees seem to close in around us, casting twisted shadows that dance upon the forest floor. The dense undergrowth is a tangled maze of thorns and brambles, reaching out with grasping tendrils that threaten to ensnare us at every turn.

Even our horses seem to sense the foreboding atmosphere of the forest, their ears pinned back and eyes wide with unease. The silence that surrounds us is deafening, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl or the occasional scuttling of unseen creatures in the underbrush.

The forest begins to thin, the dense canopy overhead giving way to skeletal branches that reach out like gnarled fingers grasping at the darkening sky. As we emerge from the woods, a blast of cold air hits us like a physical force, stealing the breath from my lungs and sending shivers racing down my spine. The chill bites through my layers of clothing, sinking into my bones with a relentless ferocity. Each breath feels like daggers of ice piercing my lungs, leaving me gasping for air. I pull my cloak tighter around me, trying in vain to shield myself from the biting cold.

Dusk settles around us. A vast expanse of snow-covered plains stretches on endlessly to the horizon. Our horses move with a nervous energy, their hooves echoing hollowly against the forest floor. They toss their heads and snort, their breath visible in the frigid air. A sense ofunease settles over me, a prickling sensation that digs into my skin like icy tendrils.

Dante’s features are set in grim lines as he surveys the desolate landscape before us. Even he seems affected by the bone-chilling cold, his breath coming out in white puffs of vapor that hang in the air like ghostly apparitions.

As Dante and I crest a rise in the snow-covered plains, a sprawling campsite comes into view below. The air is heavy with the stench of smoke and unwashed bodies, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.

My heart hammers in my chest as I take in the scene before me. The valley appears to be set up in some kind of tribal camp. There are three tents, and a few wooden posts stand tall among a number of metal cages. The cages seem full, though I can’t make out what or who they contain. Carnoraxis are being led through the camp, restricted by metal collars around their necks attached to thick chains. Their gaunt forms cast long shadows in the dim light. Men move about with purpose, some tending to the creatures with whips and spears, while others stand guard with weapons at the ready. They wear Dulcamaran uniforms of red and black, representing the army of the Shadow Tsar.

What the hell?

With a silent understanding, Dante and I dismount. We draw closer to the edge of the valley, taking cover behind some large boulders to scan the camp.

Then I see him.

Oh, shit!

Torbin’s figure stands out amidst the chaos as he is led, shirtless, through the camp by a group of armed men. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts.Oh gods, they’ve captured him.

Dante’s hand tightens on the hilt of his sword, his gaze fixed on the scene below. I can see the tension in his muscles, the coiled readiness that speaks of years of training and discipline. We exchange a wary glance, wordlessly communicating our shared apprehension.

But as I turn back toward the camp, a realization dawns upon melike a bolt of lightning. Torbin’s movements, the rigidness of his back and shoulders, the determined expression on his face. He is not a prisoner here. The men surrounding him move with deference, their actions guided by his silent commands.

He is their leader.

CHapter

Thirty-Five

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