Page 98 of A Dagger in the Ivy

Torbin saunters over to the guard holding our weapons and takes the dagger from him, running his finger along the flat side. “The tsar has plans, plans he’s been working on for years, and he won’t tolerate anyone getting in his way.”

His words send a chill down my spine, the implication clear even as he dances around the truth. I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, a silent challenge to defy him at my own peril.

“If you want me dead, what are you waiting for?” My voice remains steady despite the rising tide of unease within me.

Torbin’s expression shifts, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “No, the tsar wants you alive. You are integral to his vision.”

Me? Confusion spins in my head. What could the tsar possibly want with me? He doesn’t even know me.

“But you, dear Brother,” Torbin says as he approaches Dante with a sinister sneer, “are not part of his plan.”

Torbin thrusts his arm forward, my dagger tight in his grip, and I let out a scream as the blade sinks into Dante’s chest.

CHapter

Thirty-Six

Blood spreads languidly on his shirt. With a strained face, Dante leans forward and collapses to his knees. My breath leaves me, my eyes wide with horror.

No. No, he can’t die. Especially at the hand of his own brother.

Dante’s hands are trapped behind his back, so he can’t catch himself as he falls forward. He takes the impact on his shoulder.

I try to rush forward to help him, but the Dulcamaran guard holds me back.

I twist my head to face Torbin. “What did you do?”

Torbin’s eyes are cold. He only glances at his brother’s form for a second before refocusing on me. “He’s not crucial to the Shadow Tsar’s vision.”

“So, death is the only option?” My heart is thrumming in my chest, my blood hot. I cast my eyes on Dante, praying to the gods that he’s still alive but knowing he’s losing a lot of blood. My instinct is to go to him and try to heal the wound, but I’m trapped, my wrists in shackles and my arms restrained by Torbin’s guards.

The clouds in the night sky part, allowing the moon to shinebrightly onto the camp. Torbin lifts his chin to its light and takes in a deep breath. “It’s time.”

His words are lost to me, but the guards around him immediately jump into action, bustling about with their spears and whips, and the carnoraxis release screeching whistles and growls, lifting their deformed faces into the sky.

What is happening?

A low groan from Dante gains my focus. I mentally thank the gods and release a shuddering breath of relief. Two guards lift him by his arms and prop him up, waiting for Torbin’s command.

“Chain them to a stake near the pit.” Torbin gestures to someone in the shadows. “I want them to witness the promise of power firsthand.”

The guards yank me forward as we all move to what Torbin has referred to as “the pit.” The shrieks of the carnoraxis grow louder. Dante and I are forced near one of the tall stakes on the edge of the pit, and the guards attach our shackles to a chain wrapped around the stake.

Dante hisses, his eyes unfocused as he struggles to stay upright. He has to lean back against the stake to keep from collapsing.

“Dante,” I whisper. “Hang on. Please.”

He blinks slowly before he gazes at me, his head hanging. “I’m trying.”

The guards who chained us to the stake march off to attend to whatever is about to happen, so I reach for Dante’s hand behind our backs, trying to make contact.

“You need healing magic,” I say as my fingertips find his.

It’s not enough, I know. Ideally, my hand would need direct contact to his wound in order to do any good, but I have to do something. This has to help a little. I close my eyes and send whatever I can muster through to his fingers, hoping the magic will work its way through his hand, his arm, to his chest, to mend the flesh, at least enough for us to come up with a plan to get out of this.

The warmth of my magic flows, but then a whip cracks in the air, rousing me from concentration. A guard comes to stand near us, and I lose my grip on Dante.

The guards move out of my line of vision, giving me a better look at the cages that lie on the outskirts of the pit. I gasp at what is revealed to be inside them. The flickering torchlight casts eerie shadows on the faces of terrified people, their eyes wide and their gazes darting. I look that their clothes, some of them depicting uniforms or banners from villages throughout the realm, and it hits me. These are the missing riders. The ones who had the duty of scouting their lands and upholding the responsibility to alert the beacon masters of an attack. Now they are trapped within the cages, their faces and bodies crumpled with dread.

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