Page 115 of Silverbow
Oryn reached across the space and brushed a finger along her hand only long enough to let the wielding fall into place. Enya stared at where his skin had touched hers, a shudder passing through her and rage contorting her features. A steaming cup of tea was tossed back in Oryn’s face.
“I. Will. Not. Be. Manhandled.” She punctuated each word with a blow, battering his shoulder with the tin cup. If she kept it up, it would have new dents when it went back into her saddlebags. She swung for his jaw, and Oryn caught her wrist in his hand.
“Enya,” he growled. “Listen to me. This is Hylee’s intent. The more pain she causes, the stronger she gets. She will drive you mad if you let her.”
“It is bloodymenthat will drive me mad,“ she said through gritted teeth, trying to yank her wrist away.
“Wake the whole bloody camp, why don’t you?” Aiden yawned from his blanket roll. He propped himself up on an elbow and watched with keen interest and no small amount of amusement.
Colm studied his own tea, wishing he had somewhere else to be. Beside him, Ruven was doing the same.
“Are you going to be reasonable and stop this, or should I wrap you up in air and drag you to Drozia?” Oryn’s quiet words were laced with steely resolve.
Not wise, son. Not wise.
“If you even try it, Oryn Brydove-”
“What is the matter with you?” He hissed, snatching the other hand that reached for her belt knife.
“You!” She shouted. “You ruined everything! You proud, selfish, devious little kingmaker.”
Colm raised his face at the last.Kingmaker? Oh, light.
“Was that your plan all along? Topple the queens of Estryia to get back at them for Ryland’s Rebellion?”
“Hold on, what is it you’re saying?”
She jerked the arms he held fast in his grip, wincing from whatever Oryn’s healing hadn’t been able to fix. “You are no better than Pallas bloody Davolier. Bargaining for what you want with the witches.”
“Did Hylee show you what she did with the power she gained from my bargain?”
The gold flecks in her eyes blazed like fire.Dragonfire. The drop she inherited from her mother, the drop that came through in her scent as smoke.
“She bonded Drulougan the Dread to Pallas Davolier and all but gave him the throne.”
“Impossible,” Ruven muttered.
“Improbable,” Colm corrected quietly.
“You paid in power, he in blood,” she spat.
Blood magic.Goosebumps rose on Colm’s skin. If the Covwood witches were strong enough to be bonding dragons…Oh, light.
Oryn swallowed audibly. “Enya, you have to know, that was never my intent.”
“Your intent?” She seethed. “Your intent? I don’t bloody care what your intent was. My familydiedfor it. They are still dying for it.“ Her lip trembled.
“Let me help you. Please.”
She scoffed, but the way her voice cracked let a wisp of terror through the shield of outrage. “I will die for it, so don’t start caring now, Brydove.”
Colm scrubbed at his eyes. There were many ways to dredge up pain from past, present, and future, but to show her her own death was the cruelest telling of all. Oryn, seemingly lost for words, went a shade paler. When he made his calamitous bargain, Colm had suspected they would not understand the full ramifications for a long time. Still, he feared they had only seen a sliver of the witch’s web. Hylee hadn’t come to Midbury just to gloat. She’d come to show Enya the weaving for a purpose.
A masterpiece a century in the making.There had to be something more.
He watched the prince pace the camp, running his hands through disheveled hair. If Colm wasn’t so bloody terrified of her, he might have admired her work. From one single bargain, one single night, Hylee Starseer had installed acruel king on the Haarstrond Throne and unleashed more suffering than he would have thought possible. It was brilliant. Terrible, but brilliant.
“What do the godsung gifts have to do with the dragon rider’s talents?” Enya asked him quietly.
