I frowned at him. I wasn’t sure what that meant.
He stared at me placidly.
The people in the middle of the dungeon moved, the small crowd curling in on itself and then stepping away to the sides. One figure walked toward me.
Tamara, shadows moving across her deeply tanned face the closer she got. Ragged shreds of clothes hung over her somewhat bony body, much like Vemar. Much like all of them. But it would be a mistake to assume they were as weak as they looked.
“Come out, come out, little dragon,” she said.
Vemar peeled away to the side, leaving the doorway open for me to step through.
No sense hiding in the cage.
No, no sense at all. Rush to meet them, my dragon bit out.
I breathed through her rush of power, refusing to succumb to the fire sizzling in my blood.
I didn’t know if they were my foes yet. Not for sure. Maybe there was still a chance I could work them around to my side. Get them to fight with me.
Through the door, I stepped left, away from Vemar. He made no move to crowd me.
Tamara continued toward me, in no hurry. Her deep hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence and something wild and vicious that made my stomach flutter.
I barely stopped from swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. I felt like I was in trouble, but I had no idea what I might have done. I only knew the consequences would be incredibly severe.
NINE
FINLEY
The small crowd at Tamara’s back moved with her, organizing as they did so. A few women formed a line right behind her, moving in sync as though they’d been fighting together all their lives. The rest fell in behind them, Mr. Baritone keeping to the side, the tallest of them all. He took up a post at the corner of the last cell to the right as the women stopped in front of me.
I pegged Tamara at early thirties. The women behind her varied in age. They didn’t glance down at the sword, but I could feel the weight of their focus on it. Tamara didn’t bother looking at me, looking over my shoulder instead. It was like she’d already taken my measure and found me wanting.
“Where’d you get that sword?” she asked, the edge in her voice giving me chills.
“It’s like I said. I’m from the Wyvern kingdom—”
“I didn’t ask where you’re from,” she said, finally looking me in the eye, “I asked where you got the sword.”
I returned her stare, not sure how forthcoming I should be.
“It was a gift,” I said.
“A gift? That right?” She laughed, but the women behind her didn’t laugh with her. Their eyes said they’d like to be cracking their knuckles against my face, and the only thing keeping them from me was my interrogator.
“A gift from who?” she asked.
“The prince. Nyfain.”
The faux-smile dripped off her face. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me the crowned prince gave you that sword?”
“Yes.”
“And those clothes you came in here with? Did he gift you those, too?”
“Yes,” I said, and a murmur rippled from the crowd. The women lined up rocked from side to side, clearly wanting action. And now I knew why—they thought I’d stolen the sword.
And yeah, I was pretty clear on how absurd it sounded.
“Honestly, there is a logical explanation for…all of this…” I grimaced because every unbelievable story started along those lines.
She took a small step forward.
Power simmered low in my gut. My dragon started pulling it from Nyfain and storing it. I didn’t stop her. I hadn’t come all this way to get killed because of a misunderstanding.
“I served as the captain of the queen’s guard,” Tamara said in a low tone. “She was kindness and grace, steel and might. She held that kingdom together. We would’ve died for her, all of us would’ve, oath or no. And I will not see her prized possessions parceled off by those disgusting demons and paraded through here to torment us. Give me that sword, and I will leave you to your cell.”
The fire within me started to flicker.
“No.” I meant to say, You have this all wrong, but the look on her face—in her eyes—stole my words. Pain. Loss. Grief. Seeing this sword again, worn by the likes of me, was reminding her of all she’d lost. It was reminding her of a life that had been stolen from her. A monarch that she’d loved.
I was obviously the bearer of bad fucking tidings.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vemar scratch his nose. He wore a smile.
“No…” he said softly. “No reasons, no explanations, just no.”
I still didn’t know why he was the one who’d come to me first. Maybe he’d volunteered, crazy enough to risk getting skewered for his efforts.
Tamara ignored him. “You have one last chance, and then I will take that sword,” she said.