Page 11 of Enslaved

The Prince’s voice brings me to a halt. His hand, so warm in mine, tightens slightly, making my breath catch. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I should have made this visit a long time ago. I fear I have underestimated the importance of the low priestess and her seat of power.” He sighs suddenly, his breath warm, prickling the skin on the back of my neck. “I suppose I thought as long as the trolls weren’t actively attacking the citadel, that was peace enough.”

I bite my lip. Then: “Well, you have been rather occupied.”

He grunts. “You’re too generous.” Another slight pressure from his hand, and we start forward again, one careful step after another. “Nevertheless,” he continues, “you’ve brought me—rather unwillingly, I’ll admit—to a new understanding of the situation here in Vespre. Simply putting out fires as they spring up isn’t going to stop the ultimate annihilation of this whole island. We must keep the fires from starting in the first place. While I’m not convinced thesegubdagogsare the solution we’re looking for . . .” His voice trails off for a long moment, leaving me to wonder if he’ll finish. Finally, in a lower voice, as though no longer speaking to me: “At least they’re something new to try.”

A terrible wish comes over me. A wish to turn around, to face him. To try to see his face, impossible though I know it to be. There’s something about this intimacy—his hand in mine in the dark—that fills me with an unnerving, fluttering, gut-churning sensation. Something like dread. But sweeter. More dangerous.

I push on, faster now. As though I might somehow outrace what the touch of his hand is doing to me, to my heart. Light gleams faintly in the distance. I lunge for it, resisting any effort on the Prince’s part to restrain me. I ought to shake free of him, but I don’t want to try. Partly because I’m afraid he won’t let go; partly because I’m afraid he will.

Before we reach the temple entrance, I spy a small form standing silhouetted in the opening. “Sis!” I cry.

In that same moment, the Prince tugs me back against his chest and wraps his arm around me. My heart jolts so hard I nearly choke. “Trouble ahead.” His voice is in my ear, a low rumble. “I can’t have you tumbling out there.”

Before I have a chance to think or even try to form a protest, he pushes me firmly behind him. When I try to press forward, his strong arm blocks my way. “But Sis!” I protest. “If there’s trouble then—”

“Trust me, whatever danger awaits us is no danger to her.” The Prince turns and looks back at me, his face half-illuminated by the light shining up ahead. His eyes glitter strangely. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to retreat back to the priestess’s hall, could I?”

I stare up at him. “Sis is out there. Whatever’s happening, I won’t be made to run and hide.”

“Would it change your mind if I assured you there’s absolutely nothing you can do to help?”

Whatever he has detected with those highly attuned fae senses of his can’t be good. My mouth is dry, my throat tight. But I shake my head firmly.

His jaw tenses. “Just stay behind me then. I can handle theHrorark.No need for you to make things more difficult.”

TheHrorark?My stomach plunges as the Prince moves on up the dark passage. I’d known we were unlikely to make it all the way to the temple and back again without word reaching the zealot trolls, who wield more and more control over the hearts of Vespre’s citizens. Somehow I’d managed to convince myself we could slip back to the palace before they came after us. I hear their grumbling voices as we draw nearer to the entrance. This must be what the Prince had detected, a deep, trollish chant, almost more a vibration than a sound. Now that we’re nearer, I begin to discern the harsh words: “Grakanak. Badogarag. Grakanak. Dorgarag.”Over and over, rumbling through the walls, beneath my feet.

Sis turns, sees us approaching. For the first time that I can remember, her pretty little face is streaked in fear.“Mar!”she cries, her voice scarcely audible above the chant. She darts for me, ducking round the Prince to throw herself into my arms. I hold her tight, press her head against my shoulder. The Prince steps up to the opening and stops. Clinging to the shadows, I follow, unable to resist the urge to peer around him into the open space beyond the temple cave.

The Hrorark are there. Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe. Where before had been deserted streets and seemingly empty houses are now crowds of trolls. Most of them are great stone creatures, but here and there a few pale, beautiful beings stand out. Foremost of these is an imposing figure I recognize all too well: Anj. The leader of the zealots. That man pursued me through these city streets with murderous intent once before. Now he stands at the front of the crowd, naked save for a simple sarong tied about his waist, his muscular torso shining in the light of glowing crystals held aloft by his followers. He’s glorious. And terrifying. Like a king of old.

And he has a knife to Khas’s throat.

The captain kneels before him. Bruised and battered, she looks as though she put up quite a fight before finally succumbing to the greater numbers of theHrorark. Blue blood seeps from multiple wounds across her body, including an ugly gash in her forehead. She breathes hard, her teeth grinding audibly in the sudden silence as the zealots cease their chant.

The Prince stands in the opening of the temple cave, his imposing presence dwarfed by the sheer numbers of his enemies. I want to reach out, grab the back of his coat, and yank him into the shadows with me. Instead, I press Sis close, scarcely daring to breathe.

He glances back at me. “Last chance, Darling. Will you retreat into the temple and let me deal with these louts?”

I meet his gaze hard. “I’m not abandoning you.”

At this, his mouth breaks in a devastating smile. “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

My heart leaps to my throat. Before I can recover, he whirls on heel and steps out of the cave into the open space. The shining crystal lights gleam in his raven hair and glint off the golden stitching in his coat as he raises both arms. “How now, Anj!” he cries, his voice ringing in that terrible silence. “This is quite the little party you’ve gathered. All this just for me? I’m touched.”

Anj’s teeth flash. He grips Khas by the hair on top of her head, yanks her face up to display the bruises and gashes. “Hear me, elfkin prince,” he growls. “If you don’t want me to slit this traitor’s throat, you will cede to the demands of theHrorark.”

“Guthakug!”Khas snarls and spits a glob of blood. “Don’t listen to him, my Prince!”

But the Prince merely chuckles. The sound is bright and incongruous and somehow blood-chilling. “Don’t be silly, dear Khas. You can’t very well guard my walls headless, now can you? No, I think I’d best hear this fellow out. What’s a little talk between friends?”

Khas struggles but freezes when Anj angles his blade under her jaw. A fresh line of blue blood wells, trickles to pool in the hollow of her throat. My stomach plunges. I lean against the wall for support.

“Go on, my friend,” the Prince says, shifting his weight ever so slightly. “Tell me what I can do for you this fine day. Fancy anothersoromskunar?That was great fun last time, and I’m sure your goons are keen for a rematch.”

“You will hand over the girl child.” Anj juts his chin in my direction, proving that he can see me and Sis where we hide in the shadows. “She and her brothers will be returned to their people before they can be corrupted. They belong to the God of the Deeper Dark, and he will have his due.”

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