Page 76 of The Blood that Binds Us

“Singard is also our supreme ruler, not to mention incredibly adept at his art. Not being present would be an insult to his people. Ileana, on the contrary, must be protected at all costs.”

“If Ileana had a cock, would she be worthy of your confidence then, my Lord?”

Dusaro sucks in a sharp breath as if appalled at my question, but Sin’s eyes flare with amusement, and a lopsided grin pulls up the corner of his lips. The same full lips that were pressed between my breasts the night prior, and Goddess help me, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that.

“Maker help them if I did,” Ileana murmurs to me.

“It’s His Grace’s decision,” Aldred says, directing his attention to Sin who drops his hands and sits forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Ileana is more than aware of the risks. She deserves to make them bleed their own blood.”

“Singard,” Dusaro interjects.

“My word is final,” he says, his sharp tone implying it is not up for negotiation.

I shoot Ileana a sideways smirk, and she mirrors me with one of her own.

“Ensure the last of the evacuations are complete by end of day tomorrow,” Sin addresses his armies’ commander. “I’m riding into the city this afternoon and you,” he shifts his attention to me, “are coming with me.”

* * *

For a city that’s nearly evacuated, a tempest of chaos blows through Blackreach. Several sets of hooves pitter patter across cobblestone roads, distant shouts ring out as soldiers call to each other from post to post, and doors and windows snap shut with audible thumps. What remains of the elite city is closing down, and only the gods know how much damage it’ll endure once the fighting commences.

But it doesn’t matter. The city could be blown to bits, and the kingdom would see to its full reconstruction before ever throwing a crumb to more impoverished regions. Places like Innodell where families work their hands to the bone, all while wearing threadbare clothing and sustaining themselves on bland, spiceless food. But a city like Blackreach that houses high-ranking lords and ladies will never reap the effects of poverty, no matter how badly it is devastated in the wake of battle.

I ride next to Sin on a chestnut-colored horse, Dusaro trotting along on the back of an all-white steed on the other side of his son. We veer right onto a long street flanked on either side by small shops with vivid awnings and flowers arranged in large decorative pots by the doors. Above our heads, large cauldrons are hoisted to the rooftops, later to be filled with boiling water infused with iron shavings.

“A ballista will be set up outside the keep should any of them make it that far,” Dusaro says, pointing with his chin towards the castle’s towers rearing up in the distance like the city’s personal backdrop.

“They won’t make it that far. None of them are making it through this,” Sin says quietly with a shake of his head.

In an alley to my left, a small group rigs up torn bags of flour to trip wires, and another ballista is posted at the far end. And as if anyone could dodge that kind of attack in such tight quarters, the roofs on either side are stacked with quivers and arrows.

A high-pitched shriek has the three of us turning towards a woman in a deep blue cloak with a small girl no older than five clutched to her side. Two armored soldiers loop their arms around her elbows and drag her backwards, her daughter’s knuckles white from clinging to her mother’s loose-fitting cloak.

She kicks her legs out in front of her, desperate to gain leverage to stand her ground. “You cannot do this to us! When this city burns, some of us are left with nothing!” she shouts, seemingly to no one in particular.

Sin and Dusaro take off towards them while I hang behind, still in ear shot, but not close enough to be in the way.

“She’s one of them, Your Grace. Don’t know about the kid,” one of the guards says, prying the young girl’s hand from her mother.

“DO NOT touch her,” she yells, flailing her legs out to try and kick the one who grabbed her daughter.

“She’s one of what?” Sin asks.

“Legion. We found her tampering around with some traps, trying to disarm them. When we approached her, she tried slashing us with nails that weren’t human.”

“The sentence for treason is death,” Dusaro spits from his horse’s back.

“Go to Hell,” she snaps back at him.

Sin hops off his horse, his black riding cloak billowing out behind him, and approaches the woman. My hands grip the reins tighter.

“Stay away from her,” the woman yells, trying to put her body between the girl and Sin.

He pauses a few feet away from them. “Why were you tampering with our traps?”

She scoffs, and her mouth twists into a scowl. “Because if you’re willing to destroy the only homes some of us have, your people deserve to die along with us. I have no dealings with Legion,Your Grace,but that doesn’t mean I despise you any less.”

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