Page 24 of The Blood that Binds Us

The creases around her eyes tell me her concern is genuine. I don’t need to read her collective to know she is pure light, through and through. I almost ask about his mother again but stop myself. She likely won’t elaborate further, and it doesn’t matter anyway. I lost my mother young too, but you don’t see me walking around swinging my sword and offing people as I see fit. Not that I’ve actually seen Sin do that, but if His Grace’s reputation precedes him, then it is only a matter of time before I do. I just hope he doesn’t decide to turn his blade on me before I find a way out of my current predicament.

“He swore an oath to protect Aegidale, and that includes everyone. Transcendents live in fear every day because of the prejudices he and his father and Ephraim created. He shouldn’t get to pick and choose who he deemsworthyof his protection, and I simply don’t see how you or anyone else can defend that.”

“Sin is doing what he thinks is expected of him. His father can be very…convincing,” she says, rolling her brown eyes once in the mirror. “I’ve been serving the kingdom for decades, and I’ve looked after Sin since he was quite young. He has a good heart but lacks the confidence to show it.”

I huff with mock amusement at her comment. Nothing about my interactions with the Black Art suggests he possesses a heart at all, let alone a good one. And the smug grin permanently etched onto his mouth tells me he harbors asickeningamount of confidence.

“You can laugh, but it’s true. Sin doesn’t have what you do. You have a certain presence about you—something that suggests there is a whole storm brewing behind those pretty brown eyes. Sin walks into a room, and it goes still because they fear him. You, on the other hand, exude something far more dangerous than a sharp sword and the skill to use it.Brains.And, well, I think it’s no surprise men tend to lack in that department.”

I don’t stifle my chuckle. “I appreciate your compliment, but he certainly has not struck me as the lacking confidence type. In fact, I’d say his arrogance is one of his most annoying attributes.”

“He puts on a good show, I’ll give you that.”

I almost spew that his grip around my throat the night he threatened to rip it out felt far from a show, but I swallow the words. However reasonable River may seem, her judgment is clouded by her near familial relationship with my captor, and I’m not in the mood to listen to any more justifications for Sin’s violent tendencies.

Likely lost in her own thoughts, she remains quiet as she continues working through the knots in my hair and brushing it into an obedient white blanket that drapes over my shoulders and tumbles down my back. Satisfied, River fumbles around in her basket, pulls out tiny pots of cosmetic powders and paints, and brushes them on my eyelids, cheeks, and lips. She opens the armoire and pulls out a dress the color of blue sapphires, and tosses it to me to put on. It is knee-length with long sleeves and a square bust line. Delicate silver ribbons crisscross down the front of the bodice, and River helps secure the dress at my back. She folds her hands under her chin, admiring her work for a moment before dropping them to gather her supplies.

“Well, if tonight is a complete bust and you find yourself miserable, you certainly won’t look it. Come along, I’ll walk you downstairs.”

She escorts me from my room to the foyer where Ileana is waiting for me, her arms folded across her slender frame. Ileana gives me a quick once over and motions with her chin for me to follow her outside. I tail her to the south side of the castle where the castle’s stables occupy a large portion of the rear facing courtyard. My eyes track her movement, the gentle sway of her hips graceful and poised, but something about the measured steps of her long, thin legs looks calculated, like she is unnaturally aware of her surroundings. I suppose after experiencing what she has, it makes sense she would be on constant alert for anything that feels wrong, out of place.

A part of me begs to call after her, convince her to stop walking and look at me,really look at me,as I lay my heart bare and beg her forgiveness for the role I played in her torment. If I could take it back, somehow reverse time and do it over again, I would. But the kingdom isn’t the only one that doesn’t offer second chances.

Scattered amongst the open lawn are rows upon rows of soldiers, paired up in sets and dueling. I ignore the tickle in my throat, the inevitable itch I feel when I see or hear or smell anything indicative of bloodshed. An image of curled fingernails painted the color of murder flashes in my mind, those feminine nails tracing a line over my lips and down the column of my neck, to the base of my sternum, tempting me into having a taste of the blood drying on the tips of the grass. I’ve had a lifetime of practice masking the burn in my throat, and without so much as a flicker of emotion, I swallow the temptation back down with the rest ofher.

It would be impossible to miss the Black Art in the crowd, even if I wasn’t scanning the horde of armored men for him. It isn’t that I care to see him—I could very much do without ever seeing his face again—but not knowing where my enemies are is an amateurish mistake. The last time I let my guard down, I ended up in a subterranean cell, rotting as infection picked away at me like a swarm of vultures.

Sin’s height is accentuated by the steel plate on his chest. He wears no shirt underneath the armor, the plate fitted directly against his deep copper skin, just enough metal to protect his most vital organs. He spars with another soldier, swinging their swords above their heads in a brutal dance of steel and sweat, and I use his distraction to assess him without his notice. The stretches of muscle in his arms bulge and pull tight as he thrusts and pivots with his partner, moving with lethal swiftness. Black trousers, fitted in his thighs, hang low on his waist. Sin’s expression is one of immense concentration, assessing his partner’s movements and twisting his body the exact way to avoid the incoming thrusts of his opponent’s blade. And as a springtime squall tears through the courtyard, ripping his long black hair behind him, he looks almostwild.

With a final slice of his sword through the air, Sin disarms his partner, and the soldier falls to his knees, the tip of his blade inches from his mock foe’s neck. My breath catches in my throat as his animated eyes flash to mine, his weapon still pointed at his partner. The tether, buried in the pit of my stomach, glows with perverse delight as I lock eyes with its creator, and I swear the spot on my hip, inked with the signature he found so amusing, warms at the sight of him.I should have never called him that nickname.

He knew I was watching. A glimmer of something downright disturbing gleams in his eyes as he watches understanding cross my face, the realization that he was aware of my watchful stare and was making a point—he isstronger.He knows I don’t possess the strength to outmaneuver him without the help of the magic I keep locked up tight. And judging from the almost amused curvature of his mouth, he knows I have long forgotten where I stowed that key. Sin sheathes his sword into the holster slung on his low-rise trousers and extends his hand to his fallen partner, pulling him to his feet. I exhale sharply when he looks away and direct my attention back to Ileana.

We approach the stables, and a gray carriage linked to four black steeds waits expectantly out front. Ileana directs me to get into the coach, and a footman rushes to open the door and offers his hand as I climb inside. Three guards armed to the teeth with an assortment of swords and knives attached to their backs and waists step in next. Two sit on the red velvet couch parallel to mine, and the third plops down next to me.

I raise my eyebrows and look through the small square window to where Ileana still stands next to the ebony horses. She reads the question on my face.Why the entourage?

“Black Art’s orders. The bloodwitch is to be protected. You didn’t think you would be going alone, did you?” She spins on her heels, her mocking laughter still ringing in my ears long after she’s out of sight.

The footman closes the door, and the carriage rocks slightly as he climbs into the driver’s seat. I know she meant to insinuate I was foolish for thinking the Black Art would allow me to travel alone, but it isn’t her ridiculed tone that has my mind spinning as fast as the spokes beneath me, but rather, her word choice.

The bloodwitch is to be protected.

Sin may hate me for the power thrumming in my veins, but I am an asset to him, his kingdom, his claim to the throne. Aegidale won’t respect a leader that doesn’t put an end to the rebellion trashing their cities, their homes, rambling about self-proclaimed righteousness and destroying the same isle they claim they want to protect.

The Black Art wants to wield me as his not-so-secret weapon, more so than he is letting on. But he is foolish if he believes for a second my magic will ever exist to fulfill his desires. I am a bloodwitch—no, a bloodqueen.

And a queen bows for no one.

“Keep your wits about you, miss. You never know where rebellion filth will wash up. We’ll be here when you’re ready to leave.” The guard seated next to me extends his hand and helps me step out of the carriage.

The driver parked the horses outside the market center. If Blackreach’s shopping square is anything like the one in Innodell, it is bustling with townsmen and traders during the day, and barren at night. Most vendors close their booths around midday, and as I step down the first cobblestone alleyway, it is clear this one operates no differently. Storefronts with colorful canvas awnings line both sides of the narrow street. Signs promising spices and furs and steel hang on their wooden doors, inviting those wealthy enough to afford them inside, and in Blackreach, it is likely such luxuries are a household staple. Small linen bags labeled with assorted spices, oregano and parsley and ginger, sit neatly arranged on a shelf visible through one of the glass windows of a spice shop.

A business like this would never survive in my modest hometown where residents don’t earn enough to afford anything other than necessities and have to scour their cupboards for a single spice to cook with. Cosmina and I helped remedy our lack of coin for seasonings by drying and pestling herbs into blends and storing them in small jars. Cosmina was especially a fan of crushing up dried sumac berries and sprinkling the lemon tasting powder onto freshly caught game before we dried and cured the meat. If she were here now, she’d undoubtedly pop her head into the quaint shop to look for some herbs that don’t grow in our neck of the woods. I would peruse the spices and tinctures alongside her and probably search for vanilla beans or extract. Vanilla was a rarity in our home as vanilla pods are incredibly expensive, but perhaps I could strike a deal with the shopkeeper, offer a trade of some kind. Eldridge, despite his burly outer appearance, enjoys sweets more than any of us, and the vanilla would be the perfect complement to sweeten his usual breakfast of cornmeal pudding.

I step away from the shop window. None of that matters anymore. As long as I am tethered to Sin like his obedient lap dog, thoughts of the ones I care about are dangerous distractions.

The narrow alley spills into a cobblestone ring where most vendors are likely to set up their traveling booths. In this evening hour, no salesmen spin tales of the effects of their potions, no apron cladded women whistle to pedestrians to take home a basket of produce or freshly baked breads. The market is empty, except for the wavy-haired lord sitting on the bench at the far side of the circle.

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