Page 103 of The Curse of a Kingdom
They both stumbled into the room and to the commotion of winged women rushing in. Long nails dug into his arms and chest as the women pulled him away from his father. The king lifted to his elbows and cupped his wounded chin as a trail of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
“They trained you well,” he said. His crown straightened on its own.
Orion guessed his father was referring to the Society of Crows, and right now he was thankful for their training as well. He moved against the hold of the women; words escaped his lips even though he didn’t know what he was saying. His magic took from them, fed from all it could get. Some of them even dropped him, backing away from the pull of his power.
“Hands off my heir. His magic will feed on yours if you touch him.” With the king’s words, the women dropped him to the ground, but their magic kept pressing into him, paralyzing him.
The king stood from the ground, and Orion's arms shook as his father’s power came harder now. It was too much—too many of them against him. The silver shield of his mind was struggling against his hold, the clawing of the king's power taking away strand after strand.
Maybe he should have stayed with Nava and Devon. Sure, he hadn’t expected the king and his cohorts to be waiting for him, but facing all of this alone had been his choice.
With Devon being part of the Society, it was unlikely his father would kill the man. His memories might be altered much like his. But Nava . . . Orion’s sudden decision of going at this alone weighed on his chest as fear gripped him. Adrenaline pumped through his system, dimming the ache that kept building inside his head.
His body turned cold, and he reached through the bond inside him, tugging at the cord that connected them. The warmth of it seeped through his bones with the soft drumming of a heart.
She was alive—but for how much longer?
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
NAVA
The only sounds around them were the hissing of the sword as it cut through the air every time Devon swung it, the tapping of Nava’s boot heels on stone, and the soft rolling of the flames in the fireplace.
How long had it been since Arkimedes left with Fael? Ten minutes? An hour? No, it couldn’t have been that long, even though it felt like time was crawling by. Her gut flipped, raising up a wave of nausea that had her slowing her steps as the prick of anxiety grew larger.
“Would you stop it?” Nava snapped, turning to Devon, who put the sword down for a fraction of a moment before swinging it again and lifting a brow in defiance.
“I haven’t used this weapon before. It will be good to get used to its weight before we have company.”
A weapon, of course. She had been so paralyzed by all that had happened, she hadn’t thought about her own defense against the possible attack.
Storming toward the wall where Arkimedes’s armor still hung, she looked at the heavy copper plates and mesh. The scent of smoke still hung around it, and traces of soot stained its surface. The leather straps twisted at the ends, warped by the heat of the fires.
She stepped toward the weapons next. Much like in his cabin, another long sword rested upon wooden hooks on the wall. No special markings, just a plain sharp blade that would cut through people as if they were made of butter.
Nava had never been good with swords when she learned weaponry with her mother. Daggers, yes. Bow and arrow made her fingers hurt, but she had been decent with archery at some point.
Her eyes traveled down the wall of well-displayed weapons, and the knot in her throat thickened. Arkimedes had never asked to display anything like this in their home in the village, even though it was something he liked to do.
Had she been so into her own wants and needs that she had forgotten to pay attention to what he desired? Or had he always known the island was a momentary home for them? Maybe he had been waiting to tell her this truth, to find the right time to explain that he didn’t want to stay there.
She swallowed, and the almost permanent ache in her heart bloomed larger.
Under the sword's wall mount, there were three knives. Not quite daggers, but closer than a sword was. She picked the two most similar to the daggers she’d learned to fight with, the ones she’d lost when she portaled into this kingdom.
The metal was balanced and heavy in her hands. The edge of the blade reflected her eyes back, and the leather that wrapped the handle was soft, stained a rich ebony color.
“It has been a while,” she admitted. “They might not come. Maybe they will attack him instead—”
Devon put the sword down. “Let’s hope they don’t, and that he will come back with the keys so we can get the hell out of here.”
Nava opened her mouth to answer him when the door handle dipped for the first time. The prickle of dread bloomed in her skull, and a heated silence descended. The door shook as someone outside tried to pry it open. Her heart raced as it happened a couple more times before a more forceful attempt was made.
Muffled, angry voices came from outside, then the first spell hit. The heavy door screeched under its pressing power. Once. Twice. The door shook but didn’t open. Her skin went damp all over, her stomach swooping with anticipation.
Their heavy breathing became louder as another spell hit again. The room became unbearable with the scent of magic. Her eyes watered as the door trembled in distress.
A loud pop boomed, and a heavy crack extended from the ceiling, down the stone of the wall, across the doorframe, and through one of the doors.
