Page 11 of With Wing And Claw

‘You see,’ Naxi continued, unperturbed, ‘the core of the matter is that keeping you alive and healthyisin my own best interests, considering that you—’

It wasn’t even a plan.

It was a desperate hunch, her only way to save herself from this all too tempting trap drawing shut around her – from those cornflower eyes promising a loyalty she knew did not and would never exist. Three steps and she’d reached the potted begonia by the window. It had been years since she’d hidden that particular dagger, yet her fingers wrapped around the leather hilt as if it had been yesterday, and she pulled it from between the bright red flowers without hesitation.

The blade settled against her own throat the next moment.

On the couch, Naxi froze mid-word.

‘There.’ Thysandra barely recognised her own voice, so shrill and garbled were the words that escaped. ‘That’s your chance to prove how much you care. Either you leave, or I cut myself. So if you truly want to keep me alive and well …’

Naxi’s laugh was low and razor-sharp. ‘That’s a little crude, isn’t it?’

‘Five,’ Thysandra spat out, trying not to notice the thin steel edge trembling against her skin. No time to feel doubt. If she felt doubt, those fucking demon senses would know. ‘Four. Three—’

‘Oh,fine,’ Naxi interrupted on a drawn-out wail, rolling her eyes as she hauled herself off the couch and shook her curls down her back. She skipped to the unlocked door like some modest village maiden, her dress fluttering after her. ‘Have it your way, Sashka. I’ll find myself something else to do in the meantime. Let me know when you realise you’re going to need my help around this place.’

When.

Thysandra didn’t dare to lower the knife as she hoarsely said, ‘I think you meanif.’

‘Oh, no.’ There was nothing but wickedness in that sharp-toothed grin, not a glimmer of rosy innocence to be found. ‘No, I certainly meanwhen.’

And with that prediction, or warning, or possibly threat, the door slammed shut behind her slender back.

It did not matter how tired Thysandra was. It didn’t matter that her knees kept shaking uncontrollably long after Naxi’s light footsteps had danced down the stairs and out of hearing distance, or that her heart wouldn’t settle even after she’d lowered the dagger from her throat and chucked it into the far end of the room.

Before she sat down, she checked her defences.

She had never failed to do so in the four-hundred-and-thirteen years of her life.

First the door, the ingenious lock system and the russet wood, treated with a sprinkle of the Mother’s godsworn powers to prevent anyone from breaking through with red magic. Then the windows, reinforced in the same way. Then the daggers hidden around the room, over a dozen of them, in drawers and books and vases, ready to be grabbed at the slightest alarm. Each blade was where it ought to be, at least; nothing seemed to have been moved.

Creon helped me get in.

She’d just have to hope the Mother’s traitor son had satisfied his thirst for revenge with that little surprise. Against powers like his, there was no preparing; if he was able to force himself into the sanctuary of her rooms, she would be done for if he decided he’d rather see her dead after all.

A shiver trailed down her spine. Bastard.

But he’d let Emelin name her High Lady of the Crimson Court, and so she had to assume he was planning to keep her alivefor now – she clung to that thought as she checked the locks on the doors and windows one last time and shut the curtains. Only then,finally, did she strip the grimy red dress off her body. The once-flowy fabric was stiff with mud and sweat and blood, as if the garment had tried to shape itself into armour against her skin.

She dropped it to the floor, then swung a burst of red magic at it. The dress vanished as if it had never existed.

It didn’t erase the memory of that cell from her mind.

She staggered into the bathroom and turned the tap fully open, inhaling the smell of lavender salts and clean towels as she waited for the tub to fill. Even that couldn’t slow her heartbeat. The minutes were ticking themselves away around her, bringing her closer and closer to the moment the Alliance would leave the court and she would be left to save herself from the viper’s den.Ifshe wanted to flee, she’d have to do it before that time … but then again, where in the world would she flee to?

Shreds of voices reached her from outside the room. She held her breath as she lowered her naked body into the warm water, prepared for whoever was out there to break through the walls any moment.

Nothing happened.

Yet, she corrected her own thoughts.

By the time she’d scrubbed all the dirt from her hair and limbs, the bath water was as dark as her skin. She rinsed off and dried herself quickly, shot into her nightclothes, then checked the space beneath her bed and the dagger under her pillow one last time. No attackers were lying in wait for her. Her weapons were still where they ought to be.

Fists banged on her door just as she curled up beneath her blankets.

She pulled the sheets up to her ears as if they could protect her from those violent sounds, from the voices yelling her name, the unmistakable thuds of punches thrown between whoever were trying to reach her. Like the little girl who’d been all alone at this treacherous court, the little girl who’d just seen her father torn to bloody shreds, she squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her wings tightly around herself, willing the world to disappear.

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