Page 121 of Wrath of the Dragons
“I don’t think any of us ever will.” I thread my fingers through Elowen’s and begin guiding her up the beach. “But he knows it would be a death sentence if Saskia died while left in his protection, and if any harm comes to her, Zarius won’t get his throne. He’ll get a pyre.”
Finnian dips his hands into the ocean to wash off the blood before following us. “Were any Imirath soldiers here? I only recognized Thirwen, but there was no sign of Nykeem.”
“I didn’t spot any Imirath ships as I flew, and nobody bore my father’s sigil.”
“It was all Thirwen, but Imirath is with them.” I fill them in on what I found out about the blockade as we look for horses to ride back to the castle. With Galakin’s aid, and the advantage of surprise, I’ll come up with a plan to get us through. Imirath will be focused on protecting their southern tip, so the full force of their navy won’t be present, but Thirwen’s numbers will be vast. We grab the reins of three riderless horses on the beach and mount the blood-covered saddles. I keep Elowen in front of me, not wanting to release her just yet. Sorrow and relief surround us as we ride, wading through the ever-confusing aftermath of war as some reunite with loved ones and others lose everything. Elowen wipes a tear off her cheek as a man hoists a little girl covered in ash out of the rubble, holding her to his chest as he blinks back tears and she wraps her small arms around his neck. I wonder ifElowen is thinking of her father, or maybe Ailliard, two men who let selfishness and fear get in the way of loving her.
We follow the procession of soldiers riding back to Zraka, keeping quiet out of respect for the fallen. We could’ve boarded a ship at one of the various docks, but the wounded need to sail more than we do. Ryder is practically vibrating with anxiety when we make it to the long stone bridge shaped like a sea serpent that connects the castle to Zraka. We’re forced to slow our pace to avoid trampling some wounded being escorted across, as well as citizens seeking refuge. Healers hustle throughout the courtyard, their magic shining like golden orbs in the night.
I help Elowen dismount and guide her toward the front entrance. Ryder runs ahead of us, hardly dodging those in his path, but Finnian sticks beside us. Elowen threads her arm through his and leans her head on his shoulder, and though she doesn’t see it, he stares down at her adoringly.
“Sas!” Ryder calls out, his voice echoing throughout the vast entryway lined with floor-to-ceiling gaps to provide a view of the ocean. Saskia jerks her head up from where she kneels on the floor to hand out cups of water. The ladle tumbles from her grip as she jumps to her feet to wrap her arms around Ryder. Ser Rhys and Zarius lean against a pillar a few paces away, the latter pulling his now sober eyes away from the back of Saskia’s head to look in my direction before facing the sea.
Saskia throws her arms around Elowen next, not caring about sullying her gown as she presses Elowen’s dark blue and black leathers against her. The sheer cape that stops at the top of her thighs must’ve been torn during the battle.
Finnian stays beside her as I stride toward the white-haired prince. “There will be wounded soldiers from your kingdom being brought to the dungeons for questioning if they’re of high enough rank.”
His red eyes flash to mine. “I will not kill them if you—”
“Give them the option of taking a blood oath,” I cut him off. Killing them would only turn Thirwen against him. “When you face yourfather on the battlefield, don’t do so with only my soldiers surrounding you, do it with your own.”
“My father will most likely be cowering in the castle,” he says. “He has a penchant for killing those who are unarmed, not soldiers.”
“Even more of a reason to differentiate yourself from him. Don’t tell your people to follow you, show them why they should.”
He glances around the room. “Will Thirwen soldiers already be in the dungeons?”
“Yes. We rode back, but they would’ve put the prisoners on ships to avoid them escaping.”
“And you know where the dungeons are?”
I jut my chin toward the hall, and both he and Rhys follow. I know just about as much of the castle layout as a servant after spying on Erix. We need to act quickly, before Galakin orders their execution or they die in the interrogation process. The air is humid, making the dried blood on my skin itch as we stride toward the eastern tower. Like every other tower, it’s built of white stone and topped with an orange dome, only there are no open windows, just small slits covered in bars. The guards let me pass, and the putrid scent of human waste makes me long for the smoke and gore of battle the moment we cross the dark threshold.
“I’ll have to kill them if they oppose me,” Zarius says, his voice echoing throughout the musty hall.
“You’ll also have to kill Thirwen soldiers on the battlefield if they raise a sword against you. Get used to it.”
“I’ll grant them the mercy of a quick death. I won’t leave them to rot in a cell.”
“The only ruler wearing a bloodless crown is a corpse,” I respond, as I spot our intended target in the distance. I jerk my chin, signaling him to step forward and order the guards aside.
To his credit, he doesn’t balk or shy away as one might if they were taking on a role unknown to them.
“Step aside,” he commands, but the Galakin guards don’t move. The Thirwen soldiers do their best to catch a glimpse between thebars of who’s speaking but can’t quite make it out yet. “I am Prince Zarius Liluria of Thirwen, firstborn son of King Fallon and rightful heir to the throne. I signed a treaty with your king and unless you’d like for that agreement to be dissolved due to your insolence, step away from my soldiers and leave us be. I will be the judge of their fate.”
The guards eye each other warily, and I rest my hand on the hilt of my blade for good measure, sending the pair of them scampering off with their tails between their legs.
“Are you sure the King of Galakin will approve this?”
“Ask for forgiveness, never permission,” Elowen says, stepping from the shadows and startling Zarius and Rhys.
“Gods, where did you come from?” Zarius asks, placing a hand over his chest.
“A loveless marriage.” She gestures for Zarius to step toward the door, and whispers to me as he complies, “Did I scare you?”
I don’t want to crush her hope, but I knew she was there the whole time. “Mhmm.”
Her triumphant grin has me shaking my head as I follow her into the cell filled with eight prisoners. Only a small barred window provides fresh air in the overly crowded cell with wounded men and women pressing their backs into the walls.
