Page 68 of Court of Treachery

The prophecy had mentioned that a Dragonheart would raise Saradon, and cast him down. As far as she knew, the only other Dragonhearts in existence had been burned in their escape from Pelenor or hidden by the king.

Dimitrius chewed his lip, and she stilled at the shrewd look he shot her. “You were not the only ones in the king’s vaults that night.”

Her lips parted. That, she had not expected. “You were there? That’s impossible.”

“Not all those who wander are seen, Harper. But I saw everything that transpired, from the portcullis lowering, to your fall, to the elf and his dragon magic.”

Her breath caught.No.He could not have been there, and yet, he spoke truths only someone present would know. “What were you doing there?” she whispered, though she had a feeling she already knew.I need to hear him say it.

“I took my own Dragonheart that night.” Dimitrius said. Harper couldn’t breathe. She knew it, but to hear him admit it felt magnitudesmore. Quite what she felt—to know that he was there whilst she and her companions had fought for their lives, and that he had done nothing to intervene one way or the other—she was not sure. But those feelings were dark as they rose to a tempest within her. She had nearlydied, and he had taken for himself and left.

“And you let us escape.” Her palms pressed to the cool rock behind her, anchoring her from being snatched away into thestorm within her. All the desire of moments before cooled to ashes. She was a fool to feel anything for this dangerous elven male—because he would not stop at anything to get what he wanted. He had been willing to let her die.

“With you gone, far from Tournai I presumed I would never run into you again. I did not care that you had a Dragonheart, or that you had destroyed the rest. It was greater cover for me. You would be blamed for all their thefts, and I would escape with my prize. We were never supposed to meet again.” His eyes met hers, his gaze serious and steady, and that weight hanging between them in the air charged with his attention. “But you were there, that night. I saw you about to die. And something inside me snapped.”

Clarity seared through her anger. She had nearly died—but for what she had deemed inexplicable chance. She had not killed those soldiers—someone else had. In the heat of the moment, she had thanked every god and goddess she knew to pray to for her good fortune. But… “It was you.”

“Yes.”

“You killed them.” Without hesitation. She had been instants away from death.

“Yes.”

“To save me.” She couldn’t breathe.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He huffed, and a rueful smile twisted his lips. “I think we both know why, Harper. Because I cannot bear to think of a world without you in it. Because… more than that… I want you for myself. However selfish that makes me. I would have burned down that mountain for you. I’m not as ruthless as you think, Harper. Not when it comes to you. I will be ruthless for you. I will never be ruthless to you.”

She opened her mouth, but no words came. His were so soft, it stunned her.

“Come. Saradon awaits.” His tone hardened, brooking no argument, and he stalked away down the dark halls, taking the torch and the only source of light with him—and the tenuous thing growing between them was gone, like a spider’s web dashed through by a hand. With the threat of goblin-filled shadows nipping at her heels, Harper chased after him, her pulse dizzyingly fast, as she reeled on his revelations.

59

HARPER

Harper steeled herself as they returned to the cursed jarlshalle where no jarl now sat. Saradon greeted them, sending thepaschaand his scourge of goblins scurrying away. To her surprise, he stood with his arms wide at her entrance, a beaming smile upon his face—as open and friendly as his dark visage could manage. A tingle of suspicion curled through Harper.

“Daughter of my blood, welcome.”

Even as he spoke, beckoning her—Dimitrius helped her along with a subtle nudge in the small of her back to propel her forward—she felt the subtle fingers of Saradon’s mind invading her own. It brought a dull, throbbing ache that sharpened into stabbing probes which had her gasping for breath with the impact of each lance deep within her. She stiffened but kept walking. Dimitrius’s hand did not leave the small of her back. Saradon gave no sign or hint that he invaded her, clasping his hands together as his lips closed over gleaming white teeth, though his grin remained wide.

Through her mind he stalked, rifling through memories, from her time in Pelenor with Aedon and his companions, toher incarceration in Tournai at Toroth’s hands, to her time in Caledan with Betta and the years before… which she spoke of to no one. Harper stumbled and fell to all fours, her hands clawing into the stone-flagged floor. She bared her teeth at Saradon in a feral scowl as he touched those memories, but as much as she gathered her magic to push him away, she could not budge him from his possession of her most secret memories. Her back arched as the pain intensified, but she would not be defeated. Harper forced her screaming body to move. One inch closer at a time, she crawled across the floor to Saradon.

Finally, he rifled through the most recent memories, until he saw the burned land and the pale figure of Erendriel. She felt a flicker of fear, but she was not sure whether it was her own or his, so entrenched in her mind was he. It was all she could do to see the stone beneath her as her vision swam in and out of focus.

Harper halted before Saradon with Dimitrius close beside her. His presence lent her comfort and strength, a familiar anchor in the dark hall. A part of her hated to find strength in him, because he still felt far too much like an enemy, but it was true that he was the closest thing to an ally she had in that cold place. She dared not wonder if he knew what Saradon did to her at that moment. Surely he must have, she reckoned. There would be no other explanation for her reaction—and his lack of one. Saradon withdrew, and Harper sagged, shuddering. Nausea rolled over her. She was glad for an empty stomach.

Shadows moved as Dimitrius dropped to a knee beside her. “Allow me to help you,” he murmured. Perhaps it was the only kindness he dared to offer her. She allowed herself to take his hand, and he bore her weight without a word as he helped her to her feet. Her legs felt molten. Her limbs shook. She felt as though she had been tortured physically, not just mentally. Dimitrius did not let go, but stood there silently—a lifeline, although she would not admit to it—until she reckoned that shecould stay upright. No matter what, she could not afford to show weakness before Saradon. Harper withdrew from Dimitrius, and, impassively, he turned back to Saradon as though nothing had happened.

They waited. Moments stretched into lifetimes. Saradon’s hard gaze bored into her as he picked apart her memory of Erendriel’s vision—and prophecy. “Well met, daughter of my blood,” he said more softly, cocking his head as he sized her up anew. “It would seem we havemanythings to discuss, and your whole life to catch up on. We will spend much time together henceforth, I think.”

That filled her with horror and trepidation. It was obvious she would be no challenge for him to overpower at any opportunity. She knew that no matter what Saradon said, she would never trust him. Yet something within her remained desperate, defiant. “I’d rather not,” she said, scowling as much as she dared.

Saradon laughed, delighted at her defiance, but his eyes remained predatory, dark. “Whyever not, daughter? You are of my blood, and I yours. The last of our line—the end of our house. Whyever ought we not be close? You shall inherit my legacy.” Saradon paced slowly around her. Harper shifted, never taking her gaze from him, but Dimitrius remained still. Perhaps he was used to it, but she did not dare take her attention from Saradon for fear of what he might do. It felt uncomfortably like she was a rabbit in the sole attention of a wolf about to pounce.

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