Page 111 of The Hive Queen

Flint pulls a bottle from his pocket. “Do you want to keep her?”

Lady Casira takes a cautious step back. “I only did my job. Any grudge you have is with Lord Talkis.”

“I’ll deal with him another time.” I flex my fingers. “But you are here now.”

Fear flashes through her eyes, and she turns to run.

Marceau pulls the handle off the cane, revealing a shotgun, and he calmly shoots Lady Casira’s legs out from under her.

She falls to the floor, writhing in pain.

I walk toward her. “Tell me, Lady Casira, what hurts more? The pain of being shot?” Fire runs from my palms to the floor. “Or the pain of being burned alive?”

She screams as my fires consume her, burning her corporeal body, and by the time I reach her, nothing but ash is left.

Bending, I sift through the crackling remains to find my touchstone and lift it free.

I turn in time to see Flint put a cork in the bottle he holds, and he offers it to me when I rejoin them. “Now, let’s get you home.”

“Home?” my voice wavers on the word.

Uncertainty flickers through Marceau’s eyes. “Unless you don’t want to come back to the cabin. You’re officially free to do what you want with your life. No more hiding.”

A lump forms in my throat. “I would very much like to go home.”

Marceau shrugs out of his shirt and wraps it around my waist. “Can’t have Sharpe arresting you for indecent exposure.”

“You have my gratitude.” I glance between them, knowing that even if Merripen had failed her petition, they had no intention of leaving me here. “Both of you.”

Flint turns his head away. “We’re still not friends, so don’t go getting mushy on us.”

“I would never.” I glance down at the bottle and touchstone in my hands, my tormentor and my freedom. “How long was I gone?”

“A month,” Marceau says.

I swallow hard. “It felt like longer.”

“Well, a lot has happened in that month.” Flint takes the cane back from Marceau and limps forward, leading the way out of the dungeon. “What do you remember about the Hive Queen?”

war party

- Sharpe -

With Dariusin his current state, Lord Marius is kind enough to portal us back to the shed behind the cabin to avoid any awkward run-ins.

As soon as we walk inside, Anny comes bounding down the hall, barking her head off in a clear reprimand for being left behind.

Flint crouches to scratch her ears, murmuring apologies as the sounds of unfamiliar voices drift from the living room.

My hand reaches for a gun that isn’t there as Pen moves ahead of me, stepping into the main living space.

I follow a pace behind and find strangers waiting in our dining room.

Or, at least, strangers to me.

With a grin, Marc strides forward and grasps the grizzled older man’s hand in greeting. “Trent, what are you guys doing here?”

A grin splits through Trent’s salt-and-pepper beard, puckering the thick scar on one cheek, and he pulls Marc into a hug and pounds his back. “You sounded a bit stressed last time we talked, so we thought we’d pop by and join the war party, if we’re not too late.”

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