“This way,” I said.
The shop door had been kicked open, revealing shelves of folded cloth and bolts hung up for display. I made for the stairs in the back, the others following me up two flights before emerging onto the roof.
A strange scene unfolded in the square. The townspeople had been herded into it, the four main roads in thick with people, soldiers at their backs. Some were Illucian, others Ambriellans dressed in clothing of kingfisher blue and pearl. Still, there was something strange about the crowd’s docility. Retired riders lived in this town. Soldiers. How had such a small force corralled them?
I searched the crowd for Caylus, spotting him only as their slow forward progress disturbed the tide of people.
At the front of the square sat a makeshift throne of aged driftwood. A man in his early thirties occupied it, a massive tapestry depicting the kingfisher symbol hanging at his back. A mix of Illucian soldiers and Ambriellan mercenaries surrounded him.
“Did he…make a throne?” Kiva asked.
“Malkin’s a theatrical son of a bitch,” Samra replied.
Malkin Drexel had silken copper hair that curled across his forehead above a black coral circlet, hung across his brow like a crown. Cool gray eyes stared down at something before him, alight with satisfaction.
A young Rhodairen man was on his knees before Malkin. He’d been stripped of his shirt, and his back gleamed savage red from the whip marks lining it.
I snarled, snatching my bow from my back and nocking an arrow before Samra stepped in front of me.
“We need a plan,” she said.
“I’m going to put an arrow in his eye,” I said. “That’s the plan.”
“Don’t be a fool.”
“I’m getting tired of you ordering me around.”
“Normally, I’m all for a good fight,” Kiva cut in, “but Malkin’s seen Caylus.”
I sidestepped Samra. The two soldiers had pulled Caylus through to the front of the crowd.
Malkin’s full lips spread into a smile worthy of a fox. I wanted to break his jaw.
“Caylus Zander,” he said, his voice saccharine. Dangerous.
Caylus didn’t respond.
Malkin rose. A long blade at his hip shifted as his hand settled on the ornate hilt, white as bone and inlaid with swirls of gold and black coral. He descended the dais, slowly, purposefully, each step a statement of power, of control. He stopped before Caylus, and my fingers went to my bowstring.
Malkin reached out, taking Caylus’s chin in his hand. A shudder rolled through Caylus’s shoulders, his muscles going taut as Malkin tilted his face up, then to the side, as if inspecting wares for purchase.
When he let go, Caylus let his head drop. His chest rose and fell in quick bursts, and my mind raced back to the night he’d told me what Malkin had done to him. The torture, mental and physical, that he’d endured at this man’s hands for so many years.
Seeing them together now, I knew he hadn’t told me everything.
My mind worked quickly. Even if I put an arrow in Malkin’s chest, the guards might turn on the crowd, and Caylus was in the center of it.
“You owe me a great deal of money,” Malkin said. His voice, his movements—they were all gentle, like sharp teeth grazing softly along bare skin. “Perhaps you’d like the chance to fight for it? We were just getting ready to organize some…entertainment.” His eyes slid to the bloodied man on his knees.
Still, Caylus said nothing. How much of what Malkin said even registered?
Malkin tilted his head. “If you win, I’ll grant your freedom. If you lose…” He crouched before Caylus, leaning forward to whisper something in his ear. Caylus jerked back, the two guards on either side of him forced to brace themselves to keep him still. Malkin’s fingers brushed Caylus’s cheek in a soft caress before he stood, a satisfied smile spreading across his lips. As if the reaction was all he’d wanted.
Malkin waved a hand. One of the guards pulled out a knife, shearing Caylus’s shirt from his body in one cut and leaving a glaring red line in its wake.
Corded lines crisscrossed Caylus’s back, their pale white stark against what little golden skin remained untouched. Someone had whipped him, savagely and more than once. Most of the scars were old, but a few were still the thick rises of wounds healed in recent weeks, likely dealt days before Caylus escaped to Illucia.
My stomach churned. But it wasn’t the scars that made my throat close and my breath catch. It was the way Caylus’s shoulders sagged, the way his head hung. Quiet. Withdrawn.
Defeated.
Fire danced along my skin, hot and sharp. Res’s concern flared along the bond.
“Thia—” Samra began.
An arrow flew a breath from Malkin’s face, thudding hard into the throne behind. I’d nocked another one before it even struck.
The hum of voices died. A hundred pairs of eyes swung toward me, Malkin’s included.
“Let him go,” I ordered.
His gaze slid over me in the slow movement of a knife skinning an animal.
“A friend of yours, Caylus?” he asked. “Not the Rhodairen princess I’ve heard so much about?”
I aimed the arrow straight at Malkin’s heart. “You have one chance to leave my people be. Board your ship, leave Isair, and never set foot on Rhodairen soil again.”
Malkin tilted his head. “And in exchange?”
“She doesn’t put an arrow in your heart,” Kiva growled.
“How magnanimous of you,” Malkin said with a laugh. “But I think you’ll find you’re greatly outnumbered.”
I reached along the connection to Res. A flutter of power echoed back. The moonlit sky began to darken, and a quiet wind poured through the streets.
“Some of those soldiers have bows,” Kiva warned.
I nodded. The cloud cover deepened.
Malkin looked up, his smile fading as the sky grew thick and charged. Whispers spread through the crowd, and the archers nocked their arrows, searching the sky.
I felt Res before I saw him. A flash of lightning lit the sky, illuminating his black form against the clouds. People shouted and soldiers cursed. A bowstring snapped, but the arrow careened off course, knocked aside by the wind.
Res shot upward, rising out of the range of arrows and beyond the clouds.
“Tell Razel,” I called above the rising winds, “that if she wants me, she can come get me herself.”
Then the rain began. It fell in patches, first over Malkin’s clearing, then over the Illucian soldiers at the edges of the crowd.