A Heart So Fierce and Broken (The Cursebreaker Series) (28 page)

His eyebrows draw together. “Since the moment we arrived
here, you have hidden yourself from me. I do not understand why.”

“My sister—”

“This is not about your
sister
,” he growls.

“But it
is
about my sister,” I insist. “Do you understand? She is the chosen heir now. The favored daughter. You ask why I would leave the party, as if I have any place there. My goals do not align with theirs. What do I have to offer?” I spread my hands wide and turn, indicating the wide expanse of air surrounding us. “I am alone on this veranda because I have nothing. Nothing! I have no throne, no crown, no country, no—”

I gasp as he catches my waist and forces me still. His hands are strong and sure against me, and his voice comes very low. “Do not
ever
say that you have nothing to offer.”

I’m breathing so hard that I might cry, or laugh, or break into a million pieces that will drift away on the wind.

“Do you know,” he says quietly, “when that soldier pressed a knife to your throat, I could have taken his head.”

His words are so callous, so practical, belying the softness in his voice. That empty blackness glimmers in his eye, a hint at what he can become when the need arises. I shiver. “You didn’t need to.”

“You didn’t need me to save you.” He pauses. “And your words stayed my hand.”

“My words?”

“You said that not every problem can be solved by the end of a sword. I have carried those words with me for days.” He pauses. “Since you made me realize that I am no longer a weapon to be wielded by another.”

Emotion tightens my chest, but his closeness, his warmth, have slowed my breathing. “You are not a weapon, Grey.”

“I can be.” His hand lifts from my waist to brush a lock of hair from my cheek. “But you are by far more dangerous.”

I can hardly think with his fingers tracing a line down the side of my face. “Ah, yes, the most dangerous person at the party is always the girl sitting alone with a book.”

He doesn’t smile. “You underestimate yourself. Your sister seems determined to be as ruthless as possible—to impress your mother, I am sure. And while ruthlessness may have its place, I believe your brand of strength would garner greater loyalty. That is what makes you dangerous. Not because you would ride in with a blade and take control, but because you could quietly sit in this chair, in the dark, with your book”—the corner of his mouth turns up—“and you could determine the best way to achieve what needs to be done.”

I flush. “No, Grey, I’m sitting here with a book because—”

He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. So light, like the touch of a butterfly’s wings. Hardly a kiss,
barely
a kiss, but the motion lights a fire in my belly and robs every thought from my head, leaving us standing there, sharing breath.

His fingers are still against my cheek, his thumb beside my lip. “Forgive me,” he begins. “You stopped me once before, and—”

I shake my head fiercely. “I shouldn’t have.”

This time, when his mouth finds mine, there’s nothing light about it. His strength radiates through his hands, and his kiss is like a flame. My knees are weak and trembling, but my hands are sure and steady, finding the column of his neck, the breadth of his shoulders, the unruly hair at his nape.

Then his arms are against my back, holding me against him, and that is almost better than the addictive pull of his kisses: to be held, to feel cherished. When his mouth finally releases mine, I sigh and press my face into the hollow below his chin.

This is foolish. Risky. Terrifying. Anyone could come out onto the veranda. He should release me.

He does not. One hand is idly stroking the hair down my back, and I’m powerless with his breath in my hair and his scent buried in my head.

“
Fell siralla
,” he says, and I giggle.

“
Nah
,” I say. “
Fell bellama. Fell garrant. Fell vale.
”

“I hope those aren’t worse than
stupid
.”

I shake my head against his neck. He must feel my blush through his shirt. “Beautiful man. Brave man.”

He waits, then says, “There were three.”

“You notice everything!”

“What is the third?”

He never lets me back away from anything either. I love it and hate it. “You’ll have to learn Syssalah to find out.”

“
Fell vale
,” he muses, and his terrible accent makes me giggle again. “You’ll have to give me more lessons,” he adds.

“Someone will.”

A finger brushes my chin, and I tilt my face up. His lips find mine again. The night sky seems to close in around us, wrapping us in silence and warmth.

Then a screech splits the night.

Grey jerks his head up. “Iisak.”

Another screech. Then another. Louder and more vicious than I’ve ever heard. I want to clamp my hands down over my ears.

I remember my mother’s words to the scraver, something about tonight. Oh, what has she done?

I don’t have much time to wonder, because everyone inside begins screaming.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

GREY

People are spilling out of the doors and onto the veranda, and Lia Mara and I fight our way through them to get back into the main room. Most of the guards have a hand on their weapon, but none have drawn them. Chairs have been overturned in the rush, dishes shattered on the ground.

In the center of the room stand Karis Luran and Nolla Verin. A man’s body is at their feet, his chest and abdomen torn open. Four long scratches cross his face, so badly I cannot make out his features. The scent of blood and worse things taints the air.

“No,” Lia Mara whispers at my side. “No.”

Iisak is off to the side, a silver band locked around his throat, attached to a glittering chain. Karis Luran holds the other end. His fangs are bared, his claws red with blood. He’s drawn away from her as far as the chain will allow.

Most of the dinner guests have not run, though a few look a bit sick, their expressions a mixture of horror and fascination.

The only people who don’t look fascinated are Tycho and Noah. A guard blocks them from approaching the man on the ground. Noah looks furious.

Jake appears at my side. He speaks in a low rush. “She said she had a demonstration for those who would dare defy her. Then she dragged this guy in here. We thought she was going to cut his head off or something, which was bad enough. Then one of her guards hauled Iisak in.”

I had somehow forgotten why Karis Luran has such a brutal reputation among the people of Emberfall.

I had somehow forgotten what her soldiers did to our border cities.

I had forgotten because I looked to Lia Mara, instead of paying attention to who was truly in power.

I stare across the room at Iisak. His chest rises and falls rapidly, like the chain makes it hard to breathe. His eyes are cold and black and resigned.

Now he is the weapon to be wielded by another.
A steep cost
, he said. Indeed.

“Come, Your Highness,” says Karis Luran. “He may already be dead.”

My eyes meet hers. “I do not understand.”

“We are told you can restore lives,” says Nolla Verin. “Show us.”

This evening was not a celebration. It was a means to a test.

I feel like such a fool to have not suspected. I take a breath and move to step forward.

Jake shifts close and blocks me with his shoulder. “Don’t do it for free,” he says, his voice hardly louder than breath.

I meet his eyes, reassured by the cool practicality there.

I give him a short nod, then move forward. The man’s abdomen is shredded so badly that there’s more blood and muscle visible than skin. Iisak’s claws caught one eye, though the other is intact. One cheek is slashed so severely that I can see the teeth beneath. His breath comes very slowly.

I’ve never flinched at the aftermath of violence, so I do not flinch now. I look back at Karis Luran. “What payment do you offer?”

Her eyes narrow. “I offer no payment.”

“Then I offer no healing. You ordered this done, not me.”

Behind her, the resignation slips from Iisak’s expression. His eyes are fixed on me.

“Please,” Lia Mara gasps from behind me. “Please, Grey. Please save him.”

The desperation in her voice tugs at my chest, and it takes everything I have to keep from dropping to a knee to press my hands to his wounds. I lock the emotion away, into the dark corner of my mind, until I feel nothing. He could die at my feet. I could pull my sword and finish the task.

No. I could not.
For the first time, those thoughts fight their way loose.

I stand my ground. Karis Luran stands hers.

Finally, Nolla Verin says, “What payment do you ask?”

I consider saying,
my freedom.
Freedom from this dance, this charade, this delicate balance. In a way, I feel as chained as Iisak.

I glance at the man on the ground. His hair and beard are sandy brown, and he’s built like a soldier, though he’s not dressed like one. “A life for a life, I should think.”

Nolla Verin meets my eyes, and she smiles. “Who would you like to kill?”

“I don’t want to kill anyone. I would like the scraver’s debt to be erased.”

“No,” says Karis Luran. Her voice is flat and level and offers no room for negotiation.

“Very well.” My tone is exactly the same.

“Grey!” shouts Noah.

“Please,” cries Lia Mara. My gut clenches.

“The scraver’s
debt
will be erased by one year of service,” says Karis Luran.

“Fine. Transfer his one year of service to me.”

She regards me coolly. “You are not in a position to make demands from me. I have offered sanctuary to you and your people.”

“I have made no demands. You have. And you offered sanctuary to me and my people because you hope to secure an alliance with the future King of Emberfall.”

“Grey,” calls Noah, “that guy’s got maybe five minutes. If that.”

“Is five minutes enough time for your magic to work?” says Karis Luran. “Or will you waste it negotiating?”

I don’t take my eyes off her. “You are the one who requested that he be healed. Will
you
waste it negotiating?”

Her mouth turns downward slightly. “The scraver’s debt must be paid. I will not turn him over to you if you will release him from his oath.”

“So if I maintain his year of service, you would be willing to hand me the chain.”

Her expression is so shrewd. In a way, she reminds me of Rhen. “Yes,” she says. “If you can heal this man, this creature’s year of service will be yours. I will indeed hand you the chain.” She gives it a jerk, and Iisak growls at her but does not move. “And once we
have come to terms on an alliance, you will allow me access to the scraver’s”—she glances at the man on the ground—“
talents
as well?”

That seems a little too open-ended for my taste. “At my discretion.”

“Three minutes,” Noah calls. “He’s lost a lot of blood, Grey.”

Karis Luran smiles. “I truly do like you better than your brother. Yes, at your discretion. Heal Parrish for us all to see, and you will have your scraver.”

Parrish
. The name pulls at me, and I try to remember why. The memory won’t come, and he’s dying anyway. I put the thought away for later and drop to a knee in the blood. There’s so much damage that I have no idea where to start. His breath makes a rattling sound.

Maybe my indecision is visible, because Noah says, “You’ve got to stop the bleeding. Everything else is secondary if he keeps bleeding out.”

I glance at the guards blocking Noah. “Release him.”

“No,” says Karis Luran. “You alone. If the healer speaks again, silence him.”

“Mother, please!” cries Lia Mara. “Please. Parrish followed my order.”

Then I understand. I remember who Parrish is. Her guard. The one who accompanied her to Ironrose the night Rhen took her prisoner. A cold fury takes a seat in my chest.

“This man knows what he did,” says Karis Luran. “If his life ends here, everyone else will know it, too.”

The longer she talks, the closer this man moves toward death. I press my hands right to the worst of the damage, hoping it’s the source of most of the bleeding. Blood and viscera slide beneath my
fingers, and I close my eyes, looking for the sparks that have helped me before. It’s easier now, like the early stages of swordplay, when it’s all simple footwork and arm movements. A step here, a thrust there.

My eyes remain closed, but the flesh begins to re-form under my hands, muscle and skin pulling together. Blood no longer flows around my fingers. People nearby gasp. I hear murmurs in Syssalah.

I open my eyes and move my hands farther up, to his chest, which barely moves now. His skin has a ghastly pallor, and I’ve seen enough men die at the hands of a monster to know this is not a good sign. I force my magic across the bond between us, those sparks seeking the damage and healing it. These marks close, too, and Parrish’s chest rises and falls rapidly. His one good eye opens, and he lets out a low groan of pain. His gaze meets mine, and he tries to throw up an arm to fight me off.

I lift my hands, which are coated in his blood. “Be at ease,” I say to him. “Allow me to help you.”

He does not move. His expression is full of fear, and he speaks in rapid Syssalah.

“Parrish,” calls Lia Mara. Her voice breaks on a sob. But whatever she says next makes him lower his arm.

“She will kill me,” Parrish says.

“She tried. Now I will try to save you.” Though I’m not sure I can save his eye. It’s a shredded ruin above his cheek.

He doesn’t move his arm, but I press a hand to his bloody cheek. He hisses in pain and tries to jerk away, but the skin begins to knit together, and his good eye widens in surprise.

The murmurs around us grow louder.

The damaged eye re-forms, the iris and pupil swimming up
through the white. It’s simultaneously the most disgusting and fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.

Then it’s done. He’s healed and I’m exhausted, and we’re both sticky with blood and sweat and probably worse things.

He’s staring up at me in wonder, and he’s breathing as hard as I am. “This feels like a dream.”

No. It feels like a nightmare. I force myself to my feet and look at Karis Luran. I hold out my blood-slick hand. “My payment.”

The expression on her face is a combination of fury and irritation and approval. “Very well.” She presses the taut chain into my hand. Her fingers slide through the blood on my palm.

My muscles feel primed for a different kind of battle, making my breathing shallow and my focus very narrow. I wish I could draw a sword and execute her right here. “If you’ll forgive me, I should return to my rooms to change.”

“Of course,” she says smoothly. I cannot tell if she has lost face here or if I have. “You should not forget your jacket.”

I go still.
My jacket.

“Here.” Lia Mara’s voice is barely a whisper at my side. “Go. Please. Before this grows worse.”

I close my bloody fingers in the crush of leather and suede, hoping to brush against hers, but she’s already let go.

Nolla Verin is watching me very carefully.

I force myself to keep my eyes on my people, still blocked by the guards. The brief kiss I shared with Lia Mara seems to have happened days ago. Months ago. A lifetime ago. Now I’m covered in gore, a pure spectacle in front of strangers.

“Let my people go,” I say, and somehow my voice is level. “We will return to our rooms.”

Karis Luran nods, and the guards part. Tycho rushes to my side. Noah moves to Jake’s.

I don’t want to drag Iisak by the chain, but he hasn’t moved from the shadows. I can no longer read his expression, and at this point, my nerves are too edged to care. I wrap the chain around my hand, offer a bow to Karis Luran, and start walking.

He follows willingly. I want nothing more than to drop this chain, but I’m worried someone else will pick it up.

As we leave the room, Karis Luran is speaking to her guards. “Take Parrish to the dungeon. Take his eye for good this time.”

Lia Mara screams. “No! Mother—no!”

My steps freeze.

“No.” Jake’s hand finds my shoulder, and he gives me a good shove. “Keep walking.”

I don’t move. My jaw is clenched tight. I try to turn.

Jake gives me another shove. His voice sounds like I feel, quick and rushed and panicked—but he’s steadfast. “He’s alive. You saved his life. You gained ground today. You can’t lose it now. Walk, Grey. Walk.”

My feet refuse to move. We’re still visible from the doorway. I have no doubt Karis Luran gave her order just now to undermine me, to send some kind of message to her daughter.

Inside the room, the man screams. I wonder if they are doing it right there.

My chest is tight, and I
know
they’re doing it right there.

I try to shove past Jake. “I didn’t save him for her to torture him.”

Iisak hisses. “She will demand my return. She will likely have me do worse.”

That makes me stop. I run a hand across my jaw. Lia Mara’s screaming is etched in my brain now. So is the man’s.

“It’s just an eye,” says Jake.

“I hate this,” Noah mutters.

Me too.

Tycho takes hold of the chain. He’s possibly the only person I would allow to take it from my hand, so I release it. His eyes are dark and troubled again.

“Iisak is my friend,” he says. He wets his trembling lips and glances at Jake. “And it is just an eye.”

This is no choice at all.

Silver hell. I set my jaw and start walking.

The screaming echoes behind us long after we reach our chambers and lock the doors.