Page 64 of Court of Treachery

She suddenly realised the flow of the battle had changed. Even as the dwarves retreated with renewed vigour at Saradon’s appearance, so the goblins advanced with new purpose. A great knot of them surged for Harper and her companions, just as Saradon locked eyes with her across the valley. She saw the gleam of white teeth as he smiled with open satisfaction.

There was no way to hold them off, for the scourge of goblins was so overwhelmingly huge. The dwarves around them either fell away in retreat or were cut down where they stood. Rough, clawed hands dragged at them all, overpowering them, evenBrand, with the sheer weight of numbers. But they were not torn to shreds, though the goblins made no effort to be gentle.

Instead, Harper and her companions were pulled and dragged—sometimes in opposing directions until her muscles and joints strained—heaved in a great, writhing mass, deafened by the shrieking that was far too close for comfort. They were prodded and poked all the way to Saradon’s feet. With a flick of his finger, they fell to the ground, where he immobilized them with half a thought, so they lay unable to defend themselves in the blood and dirt.

Harper turned her head as far as she could, looking up at Saradon, who glared down at them all with grim glee. Her attention flicked when Dimitri loomed beside him, his face marred by barely concealed worry as he met her gaze—and then looked away, as if fearful Saradon would see his attentions upon her.

Saradon spoke in a harsh, jarring tongue, his attention straying to them for a moment before the goblins once more leapt upon their prisoners and rushed them into the dark of the mountain. The clutch of their claws bit her arms once more as they dragged her away. The last thing Harper saw before the darkness enveloped them and the ruined doors boomed shut was the last of the dwarves fleeing into the tree line.

The jarlshalle of Afnirheim, ruled by a dwarven lord rather than a könig, was smaller than the königshalle of Keldheim. It was made even smaller by the darkness within. Columns loomed in the space, but above them was darkness. No faelights shone in the tall, thin alcoves at the side of the hall. The floor was dark with ash and blood, and the emptiness stank of death and decay.

Saradon awaited them, like a king standing before his throne. Dimitrius was nowhere to be seen. Harper did not know whether to be comforted or more terrified by that. With a single word from him, their captors hurled them to the floor, then rushed out in a cacophony of shrieks and snarls. The doors boomed shut, the sound echoing from the bare walls, until all fell to silence. Unconsciously, Harper drew closer to her companions as they tightened their knot, all warily eying the dark figure standing on the dais before them whilst they knelt on the bare rock.

His raven hair—so like Harper’s, she realised with a shock—was an even darker black in the dim light, but his skin glowed an unsettling red in the ruddy light of the braziers burning about the hall. They belched smoke that added to the stench of the tainted halls, but it at least covered up the worst of the death blighting the air. However, the dark could not hide his piercing violet glare. His attention sent her skin crawling as she inched closer to Aedon, Brand, and Erika, wishing she had paid more attention during the battle. Perhaps if she had stayed closer to them all, if she had not strayed so far, they could have escaped.But as Saradon’s gaze swept over and through her, she knew she could not blame herself. The moment she had set foot upon that battlefield, she had sealed her own fate. She would not have outrun him. Perhaps she ought to have heeded Dimitri’s warning.

Even though she felt as weak as a fawn before Saradon, she was grateful for her companions. At least she could find strength in their presence. For the first time, she truly realised how much she needed them, relied on them for her safety. Terror sawed through her already shredded nerves as Saradon advanced. The raw tang of his power preceded him, whipping and crackling through the very air until it hummed with the strength of it. It felt wrong in a way no other magic did, turning her stomach and tainting her own well of power in a way she could not explain.As he drew closer, she realised how very small she felt, for he towered over her in both height and imposing presence.

“Daughter of my blood, I welcome thee to my halls,” he said to Harper, baring his teeth in a terrifying smile which curdled dread in her belly.

55

DIMITRI

Serpentine fear slithered through him, sending his nerves on edge and making it almost impossible to stand still. But Dimitri had a role to play. So, like a statue, he stood at the fringes of the hall behind Saradon, not letting the chasing trepidation take him—or allowing Harper to see him. He lurked beyond her perception behind a column. It cut him to see her, but he knew that all would be lost if she saw him, for she was painfully transparent to a flaw. She was in no true danger, whether she knew that or not—yet. He would intervene if that threatened. His own skin be damned, Dimitri knew he would not hesitate if it came to it.

Harper and her companions lay upon the floor, bound where Saradon had restrained them with invisible bonds of magic after the hulking Aerian and the feisty nomad had tried to attack him. Dimitri knew it would have been fruitless. It irked him. Were they so ignorant as to believe such folly had any chance of success? They should have protected themselves better—protectedherbetter. He despised them for placing Harper in more danger. Yet he could not miss the desperate glint in their eyes. They knew what they faced, but it was not within them to die anything other than a warrior’s death. He respected themfor that, as futile as it was. They were better, braver, nobler individuals than he.

Not like me. Skulking in the shadows, playing games of intrigue and deception. Coward.

He shut down that critical voice without mercy. He could not afford to falter—if he broke now, he would endanger her, and he found himself caring for that as much as saving his own skin. He knew Saradon’s intentions, but he could do nothing as Saradon advanced on Harper, raising her with his magic so she hovered before him, though she could not move a muscle. Harper glared at Saradon with defiance—a brittle mask over the fear Dimitri sensed lurking beneath. Pride and respect soared in Dimitri, that she could somehow scrape together bravery in such a moment, but all the same, his nails bit into his palm as he fought the urge to interfere.

“I will have the truth, girl,” threatened Saradon. “Better that it be what I seek, for if not, none of you are any use to me.”

Harper went rigid, her muscles cording, eyes bulging, and nostrils flaring, as Saradon dove into her mind. Dimitri stiffened, barely stopping himself from taking a step toward them, from raising his own powers against Saradon. Partly in defence of Harper. Partly because he feared what Saradon would see in her mind of him. Ofthem. He held himself ready—to attack, to flee, to react in whatever way he needed to.

After several moments, Saradon laughed delightedly. “It is as I suspected! She is my kin!” He whirled on Dimitri, baring his teeth in a wild grin.

Dimitri gave him a tight-lipped smile in return, relieved that Saradon had not seen anything to incriminate him. Yet.

“I have seen. She holds a vision of it from the dwarven hag seer. This girl is my heir.”

Dimitri wanted to crumble—now Harper was in danger, as the sole focus of Saradon’s attention. Now, Dimitri dreaded that he would not be able to protect her.

56

HARPER

The invasion into her mind was not like her conversations with Dimitrius. It was not the gift of a vision or a shared discussion, a gentle and respectful brush through an open door, but a shattering intrusion, a perversion of that privilege which left her feeling violated. It made her shake and the urge to vomit became overwhelming, as though the visceral reactions of her body could expel his touch like a bad meal.

Saradon turned toward her once more, spreading his arms wide and taking in Harper with a different sort of attention, one that seemed to see her for the first time. She was not sure it was better. He viewed her with wonder—but to her, it felt as though the attention of a predator had snared her, and every nerve was alight with fire as it urged her to flee when she could not.

“I could not have dreamed it. What fate must it be to stumble upon the last of my flesh and blood. It gives me fresh faith that perhaps my machinations were meant to be so long stalled. You were meant to come to me.”

Harper scowled and spat, a great globule, as far as she could at the half-elf, though it landed far short of him. A detestable habit, one she abhorred—and one that felt appropriate as the only defiance she could show him.

He glared at her, but his glee could not be stymied. “No matter. No doubt you know not of your heritage. Girl, you will be thequeenof an empire after me. Pray, what is your name?”

Harper regarded him in silence for a moment before she raised her head, jutting out her chin as she eyed him boldly. “I am Harper of Caledan, of Pelenor, of House Ravakian, Mother Blessed, and Fated One, namedFrelsaby the Vanir.”

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