Page 52 of The Blood that Binds Us

I slip a finger inside and this time, the sound that escapes my lipsisa moan. And for the briefest of moments, before I come to my senses and vanish the thought completely, I wish the Black Art was around to hear it.

The sage tunic and gray leggings I brought from home are far more comfortable than the gambeson vest I wore the day prior.

I don’t need armor today. Not when the weapons we’ll be wielding come from inside us, rather than from the steel sheathed at our hips. And perhaps the thought is foolish—definitelyfoolish—but something tells me the Black Art wouldn’t actually hurt me. At least not so long as we’re fighting on the same side. Once Legion is eradicated…

I braid my snowy blonde hair into a thick rope and head to the dining hall to nourish myself before what is likely to be another exhaustive day of training. The assortment of food does not disappoint, and I help myself to a serving of eggs, ham, and a few cubes of fruit before washing it down with a couple glasses of water. When I finish, I gather my dishes to drop them in the wash basin but pause when I hear hushed voices bickering from the kitchen.

“Do you feel it’s the right thing to do?” River asks, her gentle voice pained with concern.

The low growl that responds is undeniably Sin’s. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about it.”

An annoyed sigh—River’s. “Ludicrous! It does matter. Your word is law—if you don’t want to do something, then bloody say you aren’t doing it. You’re the Black Art, Singard,youwere chosen. It’s about time you start acting like it.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snaps. “I’m protecting my land.”

A long pause passes between them, and I hold my breath, still clutching the dirty dishes in my hands.

“But are you protecting your people?” River finally asks, her tone rhetorical.

Sin lets out an exasperated sigh, and I can almosthearhis hand running through his hair, a habit I’ve noticed the Black Art favors when stressed.

“We have company,” he grumbles.

And now I feel it.

The pit of my stomach tightens like sodden clothing being wrung out to dry—the tethering spell reacting to the proximity of its creator. Sin feels it too then, the tugging, if he knew I was here despite my complete silence.

Swallowing my pride, I round the corner into the kitchen. Sin gives me a quick once over, his expression unreadable, before turning and leaving through the door at the back of the kitchen.

“Is everything alright?” I ask the castle’s housekeeper.

River shakes her head and tosses her long, scarlet braid over her shoulder. “I’m not so sure it is. That boy—thatdamnedboy—he wants to do the right thing, but he’s as stubborn as his father. Maybe more so. And it makes me furious because he knows better. Heknowswhat is right.” She excuses herself and hurries out to the hall, leaving a trail of anger and annoyance behind with every thudding step.

Leaving through the same door as Sin, a private entrance for the kitchen staff, I spill into the eastern courtyard. I scan the mass of uniformed men scattered around the barracks but find no sign of the dark warlord.

Fine. If I’m to be branded like property, I might as well use it to my advantage. I close my eyes and focus on the permanent knot tethered deep in the pits of my stomach—the anchor Sin cast there when he marked me with his signature black heart.

Angling my body one way then the next, I follow the tugging of the invisible rope to the edge of the Spiritwood Forest, the portion of the woods inside Scarwood’s impressive barrier walls. I find him facing a small pond, the water a glass mirror reflecting a kaleidoscope of forest colors.

I cross my arms. “Avoiding me already, and I haven’t even dueled you into embarrassment yet.”

He doesn’t flinch at my voice, as if he already sensed my arrival. “Just testing your ability to find me through that tether is all.”

I don’t need to read his collective to hear the lie in his words. Whatever he and River were discussing earlier has clearly upset him. “I apologize for overhearing earlier. It was not my intention to eavesdrop.”

The Black Art shakes his head as if to dismiss it altogether. “There was nothing more to be said anyway.”

I’ve always felt it a violation of privacy to tap into one’s collective, but curiosity consumes the better part of me, and I scrape a mental finger across his mind, digging in a nail just deep enough to peek in.

I nearly vomit as my gut suddenly twists itself inside out.

Claws rake down the lining of my stomach, threatening to disembowel me, and just as I’m certain my insides are about to spill from my gut, his voice snaps me back to the present.

“Get out of my head,” he snarls.

I snatch my collective back at once. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out.

Sin runs a hand through his dark hair, sending the layers falling unevenly over his white flowy shirt. The stark color of his top accentuates his deep bronzed skin and bright emerald eyes, and his fitted black trousers hug his trim waist. He turns to face me, and with a sharp exhale and a clap of his hands, he says, “Let’s get started.”

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