“On whose authority?”
“Mine.” Reyker stood, willing his legs not to shake. “I wanted privacy for my healing. Among other things.” He jerked his head at the Daughters of Aillira.
The Dragonman ran his eyes over the young women. “Thought you were above that, little lordling.”
“You’ve heard the rumors.” He made himself spit out the foul words. “The Sword of the Dragon has a taste for Glasnith girls.”
The Dragonman grunted. “Lock them in when you’re done.”
Once the man was gone, Reyker leaned into the wall, gulping air. The magiskas shuffled backward, Keeva in front, holding up her palms to him. “Come near us and I’ll crack your skull open.”
“I don’t doubt it, but there’s no need. I’m going. Stay here and barricade the door. There’s an army on its way to free you, and the battle will be dangerous.”
“We know about the battle,” said the raven-haired girl, the one Keeva had called Alane. “We’re going to fight.”
“You’ll die.” The bone-healer, with her deadly gift, might survive, but the rest of them? Unless they all had similar gifts, they wouldn’t last long in the storm that was coming. Not with the way the Dragonmen fought, cutting down everything in their path.
“Then we’ll take as many Westlanders with us as we can.”
Reyker dragged a hand across his jaw, hating how familiar this all seemed. Hating that now he had to choose between protecting Garreth and the nomads or the Daughters of Aillira.
“Remember me,” he said, gesturing at his face, his clothes. “I’m not one of them, so don’t crack my bones if you can help it. I’ll watch out for you all as best I can.”
“Why?” Alane asked.
He put his hand over the medallion. “Because I made a promise I couldn’t keep to one of your own. I owe her a debt I can never repay, but protecting her god-gifted sisters is a start.”
The magiskas glanced at one another. “All right,” Keeva said, speaking for all of them. “We’ll spare you from harm, invader. If you stay out of our way.”
He almost grinned, imagining Lira and these women working together, wondering if they would have been close friends or fierce rivals. Then he slipped outside and whistled for Vengeance, his blade out, heart racing. Ready for battle.
CHAPTER 15
LIRA
My hand glowed bright crimson as I held it in front of me, and I knew I’d left a matching print on Torin’s chest. Gwylor’s influence had overtaken him, and he screamed at me, telling me that I wasn’t really his daughter, that I’d killed Mother and Rhys, that everything he’d done to Garreth was my fault. There was nothing more I could do for him.
Ignoring Torin as best I could, I puzzled over the god of death’s threats.
I had to choose a side. Should I trust that the Fallen Ones would save my island and those I loved who still dwelled on it, but at the expense of those I’d already lost? Or forsake Glasnith and obey Gwylor, in order to save my dead loved ones from eternal torment?
No matter what I did, I would damn people I loved.
I felt the Dragon before I saw him, a beat of power, striding closer—lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. The door to the cells opened.
“Little warrior.” Draki sauntered in, dressed in boots and trousers, a woolen vest left unbuttoned to reveal broad muscles and tattooed skin. “I see you found my gift. I kept your father safe for you.”
I stood up straight, shoulders squared. “That thing is not my father. Not since your uncle’s poison infested his mind.”
“You would prefer I put him out of his misery?”
I wanted to punch the easy smile that split Draki’s face. “Where is Madoc? He’s the one you should be offering to kill.”
“Your uncle is as poisonous as you claim mine to be. He’s run off, in fear of my censure, but I shall hunt him down soon. We could hunt him together.”
“I want to hunt him now.” To get out of this cell, to draw Draki away before Garreth’s army arrived.
“Patience, little warrior. We have other matters to discuss.” His serpentine eyes locked with mine, their greenish gold hues brilliant and shimmering. Hard to look at, like sunlight on a mirror. “I return to Iseneld soon. You will accompany me.”
“No.” I didn’t care what the Fallen Ones wanted; I would not go to the Frozen Sun with Draki.
“I have taken the Green Isle. I sail home a conqueror of two countries, the beginnings of an empire. I need a powerful consort at my side, one who secures the ties between our nations.”
“You need a valuable hostage, you mean.” I crossed my arms against the sparks prickling them, Draki’s presence energizing the air around him like the threat of lightning. “The clans of this island care nothing for a beast-loving soul-reader.”
“They will if I make you a symbol. A god-blessed child of Glasnith, daughter of its greatest clan’s chieftain. You represent this nation and its people. If I shame you, I shame them. But if I revere you . . .” His gaze roamed over me. “Your choice. To be shamed or revered. For yourself and your country.”
“All you want is the blood in my veins. The power it gives me.”
“All conquerors want power.” He tilted his head, silver hair spilling over his shoulders. “Yours comes in a package that pleases me. Mine pleases you as well. It is a victory for us both, on the throne and in the bedchamber.”
My cheeks flamed. “I’ll never let you touch me.”
“Never? I will take that bet.” He slid a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, stalking toward me slowly. “Despite what you may think, I do not ravish the women I lie with. There is no sport in stealing affection. I prefer to seduce.”
“Stay away from me.” My back was pressed to the wall. The dagger was a circle of crystal around my wrist, ready to be wielded. If it could imprison a god, surely it could imprison a demigod. I tried to reach for it, but a gentle pressure kept me in place, my arms frozen at my sides. “Stop touching me.”
“I’m not,” he said softly. “When I touch you, it will be unmistakable.” He’d paused a few inches in front of me, but the heat coming off his skin, the fire in his gaze, was as potent as a caress. I was eye level with his chest, and when I blinked, the sinuous black ink that covered half his body in knots and tails and dragon heads slithered as if it were alive.
“You killed my brother,” I said. “You burned my village.”
“Desire and morality do not exist on the same plane.” When he finally touched me, it was the barest brush of his fingers along my cheek, gliding down to lift my chin until his breath was a warm breeze over my lips, daring me to give in.