Page 37 of Trial of Three
Slowly, carefully, the qoru twists toward River. Jawrar’s leathery gray hand rises. Slashes down.
River doesn’t scream, but I do as I see the skin on his cheek pull away from his flesh, splitting into a whip-like gash. River jerks against his guards’ hold, his jaw tight. Another stripe appears, this one on his neck, spraying his shirt with blood. A third, on his back. A fourth. The fifth strike of Jawrar’s invisible whip finally draws a grunt of pain from River’s shaking form.
“Muffle it,” Jawrar orders the night guardsmen holding River. “I can’t hear above the noise.”
Turning his attention right back to me, the qoru’s slitted nostrils expand. “The female smells wrong,” he calls to someone in the cellar behind him. “This little filly has no blood of yours, Griorgi. Not even of fae.”
“Of course not,” answers a low voice, its deep sophistication hauntingly familiar. A corruption of a voice that I know and hold dear. Its owner enters the room a few heartbeats later. As large and dark-haired as River, with shoulders wide enough for two males, King Griorgi wears an intricate tunic of brown leather studded with rubies. Harsh and gaudy. Like River, Griorgi steals all the air from the room, but through a toxic presence rather than a commanding one. The strong planes of his face echo River’s, but his nose comes to a hook that turns him from handsome to hawkish. Eerily familiar gray eyes skip over River—who’s biting back screams through the gag stuffed into his mouth—to rest on Jawrar. “Autumn is not part of this little nonsense. Let me speak to my pup.”
The night guardsmen holding River pull the gag from his mouth, though the invisible lashes continue to mark his shirt with blood.
River gasps for breath, spitting blood to the floor as he straightens his back. His chin rises, pain hidden behind his blazing gray eyes. “What are you about, Father? Working with Jawrar? Have you lost all sense?”
“And you wondered why I didn’t choose him as my emissary,” Griorgi calls over his shoulder to Jawrar, before returning his gaze to River. “Is this truly what you’ve come to, son? Scurrying about the Gloom like a foot soldier? Mingling with sniveling mortals? Tell me, does Klarissa clip a leash on you when you are back at the Citadel? Do you still enjoy following after her like a lost pup, pissing on walls at her command?”
My breath catches, River’s utter lack of emotion burning my heart. He knew. Not that Griorgi was here, working with Jawrar, but what his father was. Is. What Griorgi thinks of his son. A critical, soul-wrenching piece of River’s world that he’s kept from me. Just like he once tried to conceal his royal lineage from me altogether.
The knowledge that River never truly trusted me hurts as badly as watching him bleed.
Griorgi strides forward and squats before his son, his strong features twisted into a cold frown. “The world is changing, River. Lunos is changing. This reveal might be a bit ahead of schedule, but truth is truth. The qoru are coming out of Mors into a new world. One where Lunos and Mors are allies. Trading partners.”
“With you in charge of Lunos?” River says, viscous blood now dripping to the floor beneath him, the new wounds not even appearing through his soaked shirt.
“Of course,” Griorgi says simply.
“And when Jawrar decides to drain you and leave your husk to rot?” River says. “What happens then?”
Griorgi sighs, shaking his head. “Stop letting your own fear cloud your senses, boy. A good alliance isn’t built on trust; it is built on checks and balances and contingencies. My death would stop the good emperor here from being able to travel to Lunos, and that is something neither of us would find convenient.” Griorgi’s voice changes. Becomes deeper, more dominating than even Jawrar’s. “You are still my blood, River. My flesh. Join me, and I will welcome you back.”
“Go to hell,” River growls.
Griorgi rises, shaking his head. “Idiot, but still mine,” he tells Jawrar over his shoulder. “I want to keep him. If nothing else, it will bring the other one trotting in. Sooner than I’d have liked, but flexibility is a virtue.”
The other one. Autumn, who’s in charge of Slait Court’s Gloom patrols.
“Do you truly need the girl’s assistance?” Jawrar asks, a hint of exasperation entering his voice. “If those patrols are so bloody loyal to her, just scorch the Gloom and be done with it. I little like the extra moving parts.”
Griorgi crosses his arms and shrugs, his ruby-studded armor moving gracefully. “I could. I choose not to.” A hint of a smile. “My intent is not to let you roam free throughout Slait, Jawrar, which is what your request would accomplish, but to bring the rogue elements under my control. Dead warriors do very little for me.”
“I’ll get you new warriors,” Jawrar says with a snort.
“No doubt.” Griorgi smiles in earnest, the intelligent glint in his gray eyes so like Autumn’s that my breath catches. “However, I will make the decisions about my court. I’m certain you understand.” Not an idiot. Whatever else the bastard is, he unfortunately is not an idiot. “River lives,” Griorgi continues. “You may kill the others. Feed on them if you wish, or have them disposed of outright. I little need the extra bodies around. This isn’t a—”
“Meat market?” Jawrar’s lipless face twitches in what I can only assume is a smirk. “Debatable. However, yes, I do take your meaning. There has been too much playing with food as it is. The mortal and that buck over there, I want to speak with personally. The rest, we’ll have taken care of in a few hours.”
26
Lera
“Wait!” I don’t realize I’m speaking until my own voice fills the room. The sudden silence, punctuated by River’s quiet grunts of pain, presses on me from all sides. My heart races, my voice hitching despite my best effort at control.
I can’t let this happen. Won’t let this happen. For a moment, I’m back in Zake’s stable, trying to talk him out of hunting a wolf I’d met only in my dreams—needing to try no matter how slim my chances. Twisting my head, I find King Griorgi’s eyes, nearly flinching from their familiarity. From the body that is too much like my commander’s. “River is losing a great deal of blood. If you truly want him to live, please ask Emperor Jawrar to stop the lashes.”
The night guardsman closest to me backhands me across the face, knocking me to the floor. Pain echoes through my body, my face and shoulders stinging. A loud growl rips through the room. Over the reverberating impact, I hear Coal’s chains clank as he fights uselessly against them, Tye and Shade’s wolf both lunging for me only to be slammed to the ground by the night guardsmen holding them.
A knife flashes in Griorgi’s hand, its point suddenly pressing against the base of my ear. “Stand down, colts,” Griorgi tells my males. “Or Emperor Jawrar will have a maimed toy.”
The males stop, their breaths ragged. But that little matters just now. Sprawled on the stone, I find River’s eyes. They’re wild with fury, trained on his father’s knife against my neck—fury and fear. My heart aches. I hold his gaze, begging him silently for trust. The kind he’s not given me before. The kind that will cost him his pride.
