Page 180 of The Last One
The soldier gapes at his empty hand and growls at me. He marches in my direction, preparing to show me a thing or two.
But there’s nothing he can show me that I haven’t already seen.
I whip my free hand and hurl a ball of wind at an empty table near the entrance. The four chairs fall back as the table lifts and hits the wall. The crack of splintering wood against stone makes Athard shudder and the other soldiers yelp, including the young soldier still in my hold. “Try me, Athard, and it will be you next time,” I shout. “Release Jadon right now.”
The hall stumbles into silence until someone whispers, “Her eyes.” Someone prays to Supreme and whispers, “Don’t let her do to me what she did…”
Athard hesitates, and his expression changes. Finally, he releases his fistful of Jadon’s hair and steps back.
My outburst has cost me strength. A bone around my right knee cracks, and the piercing that stabs up and down my leg makes me wince. Now that we know Gileon escaped my fire, we need to use him as leverage to find my amulet—if he’s dead, we have nothing but a dead prince, no pendant, no Olivia.
But Jadon still hasn’t loosened the grip around Gileon’s neck.
“Jadon,” I say, no give in my tone. “We need answers, not more blood—not yours, not his, not Olivia’s. Stop or I’ll make you stop.”
He jerks his head to find me on his right side. “Didn’t you want him dead? Wasn’t that your hope as we watched that field of flames and dead soldiers? Don’t you want me to make your dreams come true?”
“Which means there must be a reason I need you to stay your hand.” I pause, then add, “Once I get what I need, do as you must. That’s your family’s business. Not mine. Until then, release him.Please.”
Jadon sees that one of my hands is ready to break the soldier’s arm and the other hand is ready to shoot wind. His eyes are a new shade of blue—storm, fire, earth, and endless anger. After a moment, his scowl fades, but he still doesn’t release Gileon.
Athard creeps forward. Though I’m unable to read his mind, I can still see him calculating in his shiny brown eyes.Slice his neck for the emperor slice his neck for the glory slice his neck and—
“Touch him, Athard,” I growl, “raise your knife, think about killing him one more time, and I will end youright now. Test me.” Once the soldier pauses, I snap, “Get. Back.”
Athard obeys, his dimpled chin quivering, his eyes skipping between the destroyed table and my hands.
Jadon wastes no time in pulling Gileon over the tabletop, wresting the smaller man to his feet and wrapping his arm around the prince’s neck. Gileon is no danger to Jadon, who holds him now by his collar like a child holding his doll. The prince is nowhere near Jadon’s height and stature, the same height of tracker dog Daisy if she were to stand on her hind legs. With those weak arms and scrawny chest, he can’t possibly be training with the great sword that shines from the nearby chair.
The soldiers lift their swords but are reluctant to surge ahead. Some take a small step forward, then take a step back, forward, then back, like they’re dancing.
“Tell me where Olivia is,” Jadon demands, tightening his chokehold around his brother.
“Jadon,” I whisper, “if he’s dead he can’t—”
One soldier standing near the hearth taps into his stores of bravery and rushes up behind Jadon, his battle-ax held high over his head.
I thrust my hand and hurl another table in the soldier’s direction. The hardwood knocks the soldier to the ground and smashes him. I lift the table once more and slam it down on the soldier’s head, his glow blue, then amber, and finally black. There’s Number Forty-One. My gaze burns across the room, from one man to the next. “Do you all think I’m fucking around here?”
“Where is she?” Jadon asks Gileon.
Gileon’s face is the color of dawn: purple, orange, and reds—if he doesn’t answer Jadon’s question, he may never see another. “Don’t know,” he chokes. “But she’s not in any danger.”
I grab my dagger from my ankle sheath and press it against the throat of the soldier still in my hold. “You know in your heart that I have no problem sliding this dagger across this fucker’s throat—”
“Jadon, please,” Gileon chokes out, his knees sagging. “The Dashmala… They found Livvy for me… Demanded ransom. She offered it to me…to make a deal.”
“Offeredwhatto you?” Jadon asks.
“You know,” Gileon wheezes. “You know what she has.”
Jadon pales and pushes Gileon back against the table.
Gileon heaves a breath and drops into a chair. He massages his neck and glares up at his brother. “The Grand Defender can’t have it—you know that. She’ll be too strong. You know that, too. If she does, it will be impossible—”
“Who are you talking about?” I say, my gaze bouncing between the brothers. “Who is this ‘she’ you’re talking about?”
“And what was the deal Olivia made?” Jadon asks, eyes narrowed.
