Page 23 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

“Uh, my liege?” the mage said from where he stood just outside my cell. “She doesn’t have shoes.”

Maksym didn’t even turn around. “Shame. Take up the rear, Jasper.”

6

THE PROOF IS IN THE…BURNS?

Enora

Contrary to my assumptions, I was not ready for stairs.

Hell, I wasn’t ready for the walk down a short hallway beside the cellblock. But the mage, Jasper, was so hot on my heels, I couldn’t do anything other than trudge through the pain and dizziness that fought over me. Maksym never bothered looking back as he tossed open a door at the end of that hall, his quick footsteps echoing up through the enclosed staircase beyond.

I studied that first step for longer than was considerate before I muttered, “Fuck.”

The mage definitely chuckled behind me. Then, he was beside me, his gloved fingers ghosting my elbow as he said, “Just hold the railing, and I’ll help you.”

I stiffened but still reached for the rail that was missing several bolts within its initial length. “I don’t need your⁠—”

“I will help you,” he stated again, not an ounce of patience in his voice. “Go.”

Remiss as I was to admit it, I was grateful for the strange mage’s support.

I wouldn’t have made it down the stairs in one piece without him, seeing as I almost missed the third step and struggled with every other as I battled the steep decline and focused on keeping my simmering nausea at bay.

The last thing this poor man needed was for me to vomit all over him the next time I stumbled. But, like most mages, he was steadfast in his assigned duty. Most mages just weren’t so well built in the shoulders, or had such hardened, stubbled jawlines at my eye level. Not back in Odessa, at least.

Clearly, I had suffered no serious head injuries if I was already ogling the first set of broad shoulders to brush against mine. Faceless ones, at that.

“Almost there,” he muttered with half a dozen steps to go.

I’d never been so grateful to see a landing that might leech an infection right through the soles of my feet. I was less grateful for the sight of Maksym’s back. He stood in the doorway, poised like a statue with his horns glinting in that unsettling blue light that drenched the space.

I scoffed and took the last few stairs with a bit more determination than I knew I had in me. The moment my feet landed on that gritty, debris-laden stone, I shook off the mage’s steadying touch and trudged forward. For good measure, I gave the king a shove out of the way as I grumbled, “What is so important that you dragged me down those⁠—”

My words died.

The cellar before us was full of bodies.

Not the usual wines or decadent cured treasures that should’ve lined its alcoves and tables. No, they were filled with sheet-draped bodies, and the cool air carried an undercurrent of char. The flush that had peeled away from my skin the farther we descended came back with a vengeance. I had to clutch the hem of my grossly oversized shirt to stop my hands from trembling.

The air that felt a little hard to breathe seemed to shift as Maksym and his mage came up behind me.

“I’m sure you may think a plethora of unsavory things about me right now, Miss Wynn, but you should know, I am no fool,” the king said with a quietness that was not gentle. “I am well aware of when someone does not feel like believing a single word I speak, so—” He stepped just ahead of me and gestured out to the room. “Here is a measure of proof for you to consider, all recovered from your decimated camp.”

The cautious glance I cast up at Maksym did me no favors.

Maybe it was just because I was a naïve Odessan, or it was the doing of the bodies pressing in on us, but he was terrifying to take in up close. I’d known in my cell his face was full of sharp angles, and his eyes, amber set in pools of black, were as haunting as they were captivating, but the pale blue glow of sconces lining the cellar gave him an otherworldly edge that brought me no comfort.

My breath sawed in on shaky bursts as I approached the first table, and hesitation warred with my muscles when I eased back the cream cloth covering the body. The charred, unrecognizable remains of a face accosted me, and I grimaced as bile burned the back of my throat.

The urge to void the contents of my stomach eased as I covered the grotesque display, but it never left entirely, not as I moved from table to table. Any hopes of these not being my fallen comrades dropped like lead weights into my stomach. While many of the bodies had horrific burns, there was still plenty to identify them—tattoos, mostly, or precisely cut scars, acquired over the years to mark milestones in their service to our kingdom.

I’d always been too indecisive to mar my flesh in such a permanent way, and the building ache of regret I felt over that made it a little hard to breathe. When I reached the second-to-last body, that building ache turned crippling.

I had to grip the table to steady myself as I uncovered Streja’s remains.

My mind desperately fought to refute what was laid out before me.