Page 120 of Scarred
“Don’t worry, Sara.” She pulls my face up to hers. “We will save him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper. “You could have trusted me.”
She smiles. “I could say the same,best friend.”
I smirk and move my gaze to Edward, who bows. “Milady.”
Stepping in close, I grab his hands. “Tristan trusts you. Can I?”
His jaw tics, eyes blazing as he bows and kisses the back of my palm. “I swear it.”
Nodding, I step back, turning to grab the clothes on the ground, grateful that I can get out of this soiled and torn dress. “Sheina, help me out of this.” I twist back to Edward. “And then take me to the rebels.”
It’s a thirty-minute trek through the forests and back alleys into the shadowed lands, but we make it in one piece. And now I’m in the second story of The Elephant Bones Tavern, staring out of the double doors leading to the Juliette balcony, anxiety filling me to the brim as I stare at the hundreds of people standing outside, spread so far, I wonder how many acres they must cover.
“Morale is low,” Belinda—the woman I’ve only seen once before when she rolled a severed head to my feet—hisses as I strap blades to my thigh and take the pistol from Edward’s hands and place it in a holster on my side.
She watches me, her gaze wary.
“You don’t trust me,” I say.
She tilts her head. “You are the king’s.”
I reach out, placing my hand over hers. “I amyourking’s. And I will save him with or without his people.”
Her grin spreads across her rotten teeth and she waves her arm at the door. “Well then, time to convince his people.”
My stomach flips, nerves threatening to tear me apart from the inside out, but I swallow them down, closing my eyes and trying to reach through the ethers; to find Tristan’s power and channel it until he infuses my every cell.
With a deep breath, I step through the doors and out onto the balcony.
The air grows still and tense.
I lick my lips as I look out over the rebels, thehyenas, putting faces to the thought of them for the first time. There are small children staring up with wide eyes, women and men with sorrow in their eyes and exhaustion lined in their pores.
Ragged and worn, but glorious.
These people are the lifeblood of Gloria Terra, just as we are in Silva, and they deserve to be able to live free.
“I am not your king,” I start.
“No shit,” someone yells out.
My chest tightens. “I’m terrified to be standing before you, so much so that every fiber of me wants to turn around and run away. But yourleaderis in trouble.”
Closing my eyes, I picture Tristan, swallowing around the agony that strips me bare at the thought of never seeing him again; never feeling his lips brush against my skin, or his love devour me whole. I think of all the whispered secrets he spoke into my soul, of how I was his filthy girl, and how he couldn’t wait to see me in a crown and at his side. Of his vision for the future, and the memories of his past.
My eyes pop open.
“I don’t pretend to know what it is you’ve gone through, but I’ve seen struggle and I’ve known strife.” I hesitate. “When I came to Saxum, it was to kill the Faasa’s, every last one,includingthe scarred prince.”
Rumbles sound through the crowd.
“But then I got to know him—” My throat swells. “And he made me believe in a better way.”
My eyes scan their faces, noticing Belinda has moved to the front of the crowd down below, Edward and Sheina standing at her side. My eyes lock on my friend, and she nods, giving me strength.
“It’s over,” a woman says. “They caught him. We’ve lost.”
