Page 40 of Wrath of the Dragons
More of my soldiers stop what they’re doing to watch, forming a circle around the display. Ryder shoves his way through the crowd to stand beside Elowen, scanning the area to ensure she’s safe.
“I’ll allow you to keep your lives if you denounce your allegiance to Garrick Atarah.” If I kill them right now, they’d be martyrs, their deaths inspiring further hatred, and if Elowen is to take the throne, we must be more strategic.
There is more than one way to fight a war, and yet manipulation is so often overlooked in favor of blades and blood.
“We denounce all allegiance to Garrick Atarah,” the prisoners say in unison.
I unsheathe a knife from my thigh and slice their palms open one at a time. “Swear your allegiance through a blood oath. If you break your word, death will follow.”
“We swear to you, my king, and to our queen. The rightful heir of Imirath,” one of the prisoners says, and the other three press their bound hands to the ground to let their blood soak into the earth, repeating the same oath as the magic takes hold.
“Transport them for further questioning and surveillance,” I command two soldiers. I highly doubt they’ll know anything noteworthy but it’s a waste to not inquire. “See to it that any part of their armor bearing the Atarah sigil is thrown over the border. Let their soldiers see how quick those in their army will betray King Garrick.”
“Yes, my king.”
The prisoners go without a fight, and the soldiers around us begin cheering. Word of this will spread; it’s why I wanted them to offer their oaths in public. Garrick will most likely strengthen the security on his border, not wanting to let others slip through, but that will only inspire hatred within. He caged Elowen as a child, and soon he’ll be forced to cage his citizens. It’ll make him look weak and panicked.The people of Imirath will relate to her through Garrick’s actions. It’ll make them favor her.
I’ll utilize every advantage offered and remove the crown from Garrick’s head myself. He will pay for all he’s done, and he will regret the day he made an enemy of me.
Venatrix cries out, sounding impatient, and Elowen juts her chin to the dragon, a question in her eyes. Though I want her to stay so we can continue our discussion, she needs to form her own thoughts in regard to reclaiming her birthright, so I nod and watch as she disappears into the crowd.
Chapter
Twenty
Cayden
A mask covers the lower halfof my face as I weave through the streets of Verendus. Restless energy pounds through me and has only grown stronger as I await Elowen’s return, knowing she’s pondering Imirath’s succession. I’d have gone mad if I remained in the tent or returned to the castle. In the past, I’d pick up extra jobs when darkness cloaked the sky, often fulfilling multiple assassinations within a night, but I haven’t since I became commander. Well, at least not for profit.
Wind howls through the narrow roads, carrying a rotten smell with it. It’s far worse in the summer, but it’s still not pleasant in winter. The dilapidated buildings lean against one another to keep themselves standing, only adding to the unwelcoming aura this place gives off. Nobody who lives here wants to. I turn down the alley beside the tavern and reach for the key ring looped onto my belt, flicking through them until I find the small brass one.
The back entrance to the Demon’s Den creaks open, and my boots vibrate with the cheers resounding against the basement ceiling. I roll my neck and crack my knuckles before forcing myself to turn in the opposite direction.
The place is doused in darkness, considering no worker has access to the upper floor, and I pull the matches off the shelf where I keep them and light the lanterns around my office. The shutters are stillopen from when I was here earlier today, and I pause only briefly when a dragon cries out in the distance.
A sharp, patterned knock brings my attention back into the room. “Enter,” I say, turning away from the sky and taking a seat behind my desk. Alexus slips in, a bag slung over his shoulder most likely containing his servant uniform. He may have changed his clothes, but garlic and wine still waft off him. “What position did you secure this time?”
“Butler.” He drops the bag to the floor and takes the seat across from me. “Nobles make it so easy. All I have to do is stand in the corner with a pitcher of wine while they bitch and moan.”
“So they’ve been vocal?”
“Oh, they’re opinionated, as all entitled people are.” He gestures toward the whiskey I keep on my desk, pouring himself a glass after I nod. “But they’re terrified to mobilize. They have hired guards, but everyone knows a sellsword’s loyalty is to their coin first.”
“Their arrogance will win the battle against logic, as it so often does with lords.” I lean back in my chair. “Once they meet, it’ll be all the proof I need to execute those who refuse to bend the knee without risking a rebellion.”
Alexus nods. “I’ll get word to you the moment I hear of them gathering. I imagine it’ll be soon; their hatred grows by the hour.”
Then it’s my personal goal to increase that to every minute that ticks by. “If you have nothing else to report you can return to your position.”
Alexus throws back his whiskey and I toss him one of my smokes. He lights it in the lantern before tucking it between his lips and slipping soundlessly into the hall. A sword isn’t the ender of men; it’s their mouths. The nobles have made the mistake of thinking they’re invaluable to the kingdom, but I’ll end them all if it suits my purpose.
Before I was king of Vareveth, I was king of the bastards.
I move to the window, raking a hand through my hair and down my face.Fuck.I can still smell her on the tips of my fingers from when I touched her hair earlier. In the midst of the slums, sweat, and smoke, she’s there. The only life in an endless sea of death. A flower growingin a graveyard. The scent of her is enough to spark a need to find her, to pull her close until she surrenders her anger and gives meeverything.
I grip the railing, deeply inhaling in an attempt to quell the pounding in my head. My patience is practically nonexistent, and I know I need to get ahold of myself before I see her again. I’m tortured by the memory of her beneath me, her curls fanning across the pillows and my chest in the aftermath. Her taste.
Gods,her taste.
