Page 14 of The Blood Queen

The force of my mistake hits me, batters me in the last blows to my resolve.

I ruined my cover. Endangered Alyth.

And now the High Blade knows she can use me against her.

The High Blade’s control makes my hand spasm, and I buck with it, trying to shout no, thinking this is it; the High Blade is gonna have me kill her.

But the dagger lifts.

Tendrils of blood leak down the metal, paint droplets across Alyth’s face.

The High Blade tips her head, considering, her focus going from me to Alyth and back.

I’m drenched in sweat and blood and shaking; I’d collapse if not for magic making me keep my feet. All my energy’s drained, and I can’t catch my breath, can barely see through my blurring vision. I’m hollowed out.

“We will go to Gavin’s Loch,” Elizabeth says. She speaks to her guards. “Bring the barrier guardian. And this traitor.”

My arm retracts, the dagger dropping harmlessly to the table beside Alyth. A breath of relief punches out of me, but almost instantly, the magic forces my arms to hang by my sides, my body to go limp as soldiers grab me fast.

The High Blade leans over Alyth. “If you lie to us, girl, we will kill Samson Calthorpe in front of you. Slowly.”

Alyth looks at me. She’s just as exhausted as I am and has to be in searing pain.

But for a moment, there’s the girl who’s held this whole war at bay singlehanded for years. There’s the girl who throws herself into helping any fae creature in need.

There’s the girl I’ve fallen in love with.

“I understand,” says Alyth. “You’ll find what you need. I promise.”

I promise.

Her words echo in the look she gives me. A dozen unspoken things, but mostly that. A promise.

We aren’t lost yet.

She’s got a plan.

4 Alyth

No one bandages my wounds. My dress is in rags, and the rips that originally gave the High Blade access to my flesh are now perfect frames to display her handiwork. Elizabeth’s usually impassive face quirks with a placid smile whenever one of her soldiers notices the way blood drips freely onto the floor.

Once we’re outside, the High Blade—Elizabeth—mobilizes her troops rapidly. Despite the chill air, I’m not allowed a cloak. A small mercy; the soft wool would be abrasive against my cuts, and the stinging cold provides a numbness I relish.

Soldiers bring a horse for me, a mare that snorts and stomps the ground when she smells the blood on me. Red Caps toss me over the saddle, belly in the seat, my head hanging down. The wind goes out of me, but before I can react, two of the men yank my cut arms, binding them. I suck in a breath and let it out with a stream of vicious curses, but they just chuckle. My legs flail, trying to gain traction; my shoulders scream with pain, but more than that, I can’t be expected to ride for an hour or more like this, can I? The horse’s hooves—far too close to my head for comfort—cut long gashes into the earth as it prances backward, jerking the reins.

Someone boosts my rear, and I slide forward to at least a somewhat more stable position.

I look desperately around, trying to ascertain where Samson is, where the only person here who cares whether I live or not is, and I think I catch a glimpse of him, body stiff as he’s forced to mount, but I’m not sure.

There’s so much screaming.

Coming from inside the castle, muffled by stone.

I jerk, the movement enough to set my horse off again, and one of the Red Caps—Oak, the arsehole—slaps me across the face as another one attempts to calm the horse.

The shouts of terror have stopped.

The servants, I think. I’d caught a glimpse of a few while I was being dragged up, and—