Page 181 of The Last One
“She wants freedom,” Gileon croaks.
“Please, Lady,” the soldier in my hold whispers. “I’m a no one, just a simple—”
“Quiet!” I press the blade harder against his throat.
“And this was never the plan, anyway,” Gileon says, teeth clenched, his veins popping across his sweaty forehead.
“Whatplan?” I ask.
“Do you hear me?” Gileon says to Jadon. “I get it. No one thought she’d be so…tantalizing.Tall, yes. Strong. Certainly. Unlike any woman either of us have seen or met—and between us, we’ve knownmany.I mean, the hairalone…I understand your reluctance, but…Four years. That’s how long you’ve been away. Four years we’ve been searching for the Grand Defender. Sent parties out every time word got back to us that they saw her in this village or that. We’ve been a step behind all this time…until now. Can’t you taste success? Can’t you see the end? How glorious this will be for both of us?”
Sybel is the GrandSteward.
Who is theGrand Defender?
Tall. Strong. The hair alone…
“Who are you referring to?” I say. “Tell me.”
“Brother,” Gileon continues, ignoring me, “we’ve worked too long and hard to end up with nothing. She’ll destroy you, and if you take a moment and think, you’ll see that I’m right.”
He sighs, then says, “You and I don’t have time to fight, nor do we have time to change course. You have no choices here.” His head drops between his knees, his lungs and heart still struggling from Jadon’s hold, his chest toggling between blue glow and amber glow. Exhausted, he manages to look up at his brother. “Do you hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying? We have no choice.”
The muscles in Jadon’s face relax. Why? What is he hearing? What is Gileon trying to make him understand?No choice?No choice aboutwhat?
I try to hear Gileon’s thoughts, but I can’t, hearing nothing but continuous thrumming. It’s the same as that man we passed on the road to Caburh. What magic is keeping me from hearing his thoughts and Jadon’s? Who cast this spell? Which mage in Wake’s army is strong enough to block my ability?
Elyn. And she’s more than a mage. Much more.
Wait.
She’sthe Grand Defender?
“I’m sorry about this,” Gileon whispers, standing from the chair now. His eyes are soft as he looks upon his brother. “Greedy Dashmala dropped Olivia in my lap—and she readily gave me what I asked. What you and I needed. You know Livvy’s interested only in saving herself, but this time, her selfishness and her greed finally benefit a larger cause. We have the amulet.”
“What?No!” My mind races, and I try to slow my breathing and concentrate, but my mind keeps skipping, because I don’t care about Olivia or her greed or the Dashmala and deals they’ve made. The heat in my hands swirls and pushes against my fingertips, begging for release. If I don’t get answers, I’ll unleash their restraints.
“I’m here for my pendant,” I say, my grip tightening around the soldier’s neck. “Nothing more. Whatever deal Olivia’s made with you doesn’t matter—my amulet is not hers to trade. I don’t know what the fuck you two are talking about right now, but it doesn’t concern me. I give not a single fuck about palace intrigue. Give me what’s mine, and I’ll leave Vallendor. I want only what was stolen from me. I want my amulet.Rightnow.”
“Kai,” Jadon says, “listen. I can explain—”
“Don’t,” I snap, lifting my hand to stop him from talking. “I’m done listening to you.”
And I’m done caring about Olivia and the empire, these people, and this province and…
Save this realm forthesebitches? Oh, no, no, no. I won’t be doing that. Liars and schemers and murderers and betrayers, all of them. Jadon, a liar, means nothing to me, not anymore, and Olivia, a thief, means even less. I’ll take possession of my amulet, race to Mount Devour, explain to Sybel or who-the-fuck-ever that I shouldn’t be forced to save these people, that Iwon’tbe forced to save these people, and if that means I’m jailed in some prison in the farthest realm in all the realms, I’ll take that over saving Vallendor. That will be my plea.
Sorry, Jamart. Sorry, Milo. I can’t.
I press the dagger harder against the soldier’s neck. “Give me what’s mine,” I say again, glaring at the two princes before me, “or I will keep using force to get it. And know that Iwillget it back.” Unblinking, I slash the neck of the soldier in my hold.
Some warriors cry out as others rush toward me as the dead man—now known as Number Forty-Two—drops to the floor.
I throw my hand and shoot wind to knock over another table.
The room shudders again, and the soldiers regroup.
I smile without humor. “It won’t be wind but fire next time.”
