Page 89 of A Kingdom of Lies
Perhaps it was Kayne who spoke. I didn’t care for anyone else now as Duncan finally raised his head, veins of struggle protruding from his neck, and looked at me. His eyes were narrowed with haunting determination. Even now he bled, ruby droplets crashing into the ground and pooling beneath him for all to see.
I had no choice but to comply. If I attacked, as my mind desired to do, it would only solidify me as a monster – proving their warped thoughts. I had to use sense. Duncan’s life was at risk, evident from the sword held to his throat.
The magic I clung to disappeared in a moment, retreating into the pits of my soul as Duncan’s weakened voice broke over the crowd. “I – I told you to lea – leave me.” It took everything in Duncan’s power to speak through his agonising pain, spitting as he forced the words out. His lip was bust, his eye blackened by bruises.
I shook my head, focusing solely on him. “You should have known I was a liar.”
Duncan let loose a raspy breath. He looked to Kayne who stood rigid and stiff. I caught the prickling of discomfort across the tracker who Duncan had called a friend. Not once had he looked Duncan’s way, his gaze kept upon me. Was it out of carelessness or fear for what Kayne would see if he looked upon the wounded, bleeding Duncan?
Hunters started prowling towards me with caution.
“No matter my disgust, I’m not in a position to judge your fate,” Kayne said. “Duncan will be tried before Duwar as his judge, but you… You have turned many eyes upon you. The Hand has waited for you to arrive and wishes to discuss matters with you directly. On your knees, fey. If you care about Duncan, you will not resist.”
Kayne knew he’d won. I did as he asked, dropping to my knees. My hands slammed into the ground and no matter how I wished to push my power across it, the magic would not aid me.
“If you hurt him, I’ll coat all of Durmain in a storm,” I warned, watching as Duncan slumped forward only to be stopped by a blade at his throat. I sobbed as I watched fresh blood spill down his torso, staining the dark material of his ruined trousers. “There is a power inside of me, one that you’ll face the full wrath of.”
“I’m a man of my word, fey,” Kayne spat.
“You’re supposed to be his friend. Duncan trusts you. A man of his word means nothing if he cannot protect the ones he cares about.”
“Duncan has only hurt himself with his own actions. Going against his faith, his purpose. That was his doing.”
“You,” I growled as Hunters reached me, hands gripping my arms and twisting them behind my back. I didn’t fight them off, for Duncan’s sake. “He trusted you.”
Kayne rocked back an inch, enough for me to know my words caused him discomfort. He then turned away from me, calling his command for those who would listen. “Take them both. We leave for Lockinge immediately.” And with the uncaring swish of his cloak and a cry of the hawk upon his shoulder, Kayne turned his back on me and walked through the line of Hunters all without glancing towards Duncan.
Iron clasped around my wrists, nullifying a power inside of me. Another cold kiss of it strangled my throat, pinching my skin and squeezing tight.
I was hoisted from the ground by chains. They were connected between my neck and wrists and held in the grasp of a boulder-like man as though I was a dog at the end of a leash. All the while I studied Duncan, begging for him to look at me, praying to whatever god would listen to keep him alive long enough for me to petition for his safety. If there was one voice strong enough to end his suffering, it was the Hand.
And I now had my invitation to meet with him.
But at what cost?
CHAPTER 31
The streets of Lockinge city were crammed with humans. They watched, leering and spitting, as I was dragged like cattle before them; tugged, kicked and pushed by my captor. There was nothing I could do to shield myself from the hateful shouts of humans, or the stones and other unseen objects that were thrown at me. From the moment I’d passed into the city I felt nothing but hate around me. It was demoralising.
Even though my legs burned, and my feet felt broken, I wasn’t allowed to stop. If I did it awarded me another jarring push. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other whilst keeping my head held high.
Something smacked into my face, cutting the skin beneath my eye. It happened so fast I didn’t see what had been thrown, but it hurt. Badly. I took the pain, gathered it up and fuelled my focus. I tasted the sharp tang of blood as it dribbled into my mouth; it coated my teeth, splattering onto the cobbled street as I spat it out. With the iron cuff strangling my neck there was no healing ability that would help me.
Lockinge was built upon a natural incline of land. It felt like every street we walked leaned upwards, each leading towards the haunting castle that waited ahead of us. The dark grey stone towered above the city like a crown atop a king’s head. It was harsh and ugly against the cloudless sky, it blocked out the winter sun and bathed a chill across me that prickled at my skin.
I focused on the castle, drowning out the screams from the humans as they spat their detestation at me. It was all I could do. Chin held high I tried everything in my limited power to not let their words hurt me.
Fey scum. False king. Demon. Freak.
There was something deadly about words. I feared them more than a blade or arrow. Words spat with hate may not spill blood, but they left deeper scars that were harder to heal. And in this moment, I felt as though my soul had no room left for pain. It was already riddled with it.
Duncan was somewhere in the crowd behind me. I heard the humans scream at him too.
Traitor. Sinner. Unclean.
That hurt me deeper than anything they could’ve done or said to me. Because I’d been the cause of those names, I’d done this to him.
I wondered if the Hand watched, peering out of one of the castle’s dark and lightless windows as I walked through the city to greet him. It was clear his poison had spread like wildfire. Buildings I passed held his banner, the white hand symbol stitched onto an array of materials. I couldn’t see any marker of the Creator and his faith, only the Hand, as though he was a god and not the strange promise of Duwar.
