Page 47 of Throne of Ice and Blood
Outside, I find Draven arguing with his soldiers. Or rather, with Galen. The other two dragon shifters look like they would rather be anywhere but here at this particular moment.
While Draven is otherwise occupied, I drift over to a cluster of barrels as if I just want to lean against them while I wait. But once I get there, I shift my body so that I’m standing at a better angle. And then I yank out the piece of paper that the woman gave me and flip it open.
My heart jerks when I find a hand-drawn sketch of a tall and muscular man. Just like Hector. In the sketch he is wearingnondescript gray clothes and a hood pulled up over his head. And on his face, hiding his features from view, is a red mask. It’s shaped like a snarling devil. The illustration might not show any of Hector’s facial features, but the height and build it shows, combined with this very distinctive mask, is incriminating enough.
Behind me, Draven continues arguing with Galen. My heart slams against my ribs as I crumple the paper in my hand again so that it won’t be visible. I can’t remain with my back to Draven for too long, or he will get suspicious.
So with the note hidden in my hand, I turn and lean against the barrels like I was pretending to do from the beginning.
Guilt and worry and indecision twist inside my chest again as I watch the street before me.
Humans and dragon shifters are moving up and down the cobblestones. Most of them walk with purpose, as if they have somewhere to be. But almost all humans cast looks full of wariness and poison at Draven and his soldiers.
Red light from the setting sun slants down over the buildings, painting them the color of blood. The torch that has been stuck to the barrel next to me crackles as a late afternoon wind sweeps down the street.
My mind drifts back to the man inside the tavern behind me. And then to all the humans out here who hurry past Draven and his clan members. More of them are going to get hurt. As long as Draven can’t find the Red Hand, he is going to take it out on these people.
I’ve seen it these past few days. Seen the ruthlessness and the brutality that he and the other dragon shifters inflict on the humans in their mad search for the Red Hand.
And I could put an end to it.
If I give Draven this drawing and tell him that Hector is the Red Hand, I can prevent further suffering. But the cost of thatwould be devastating. It would cripple the human resistance and destroy any chance they have of overthrowing the Icehearts.
Those tangled thoughts drag up that infuriating instinct that I thought I had already buried. I want people to like me. Secretly, I want all of these humans to look at me like a hero. I want the recognition that I never received in the Seelie Court. The recognition I never received no matter how much I did for the fae rebellion there. I want the other fae resistance members to admit that they were wrong. To tell me that they should have trusted me. That they should have let me help before.
But in my heart, I know that it’s a ridiculous and utterly selfish wish. It doesn’t matter if people like me. It just matters that we win.
So while I keep my eyes on the humans who will now suffer because of me, I move my hand to the torch right next to me.
And then I burn the drawing of the Red Hand to ash.
“Selena, let’s go.”
Startled out of my thoughts, I tear my gaze away from the humans moving up and down the street and instead turn towards Draven. Galen and the other two soldiers are striding away, along the road that leads farther into the city, while Draven is facing the street that leads back to the Ice Palace.
Discreetly moving my hand behind my back, I let the remaining flakes of ash fall to the ground while I push off from the barrels and straighten. Draven, whose dark brows are drawn down in a scowl, appears to be too frustrated after his argument with his soldiers to notice what I did. After flexing his hand, he rakes it through his hair while impatiently waiting for me to reach his side.
Almost before I’ve closed the final distance, he starts off down the road. I jog a few steps to catch up before I can fall into step beside him. Whatever the argument was about, he’sapparently not happy about it, because he just stalks forward in silence without even looking at me.
At first, I plan to just let him be. But the farther along the street we walk, the more exasperated and angry I become as well. Because at almost every public building we pass, I see dragon shifters harassing and interrogating humans in an unnecessarily harsh manner.
“You could stop this, you know,” I grind out eventually, and flick a hand towards the cruel behavior around us.
Draven gives me a look from the corner of his eye. “Why would I?”
“Because it’s wrong. You know it’s wrong.”
“No, actually, I don’t. Because it serves my goal.”
“These people are innocent! You know that. They don’t deserve to be treated like?—”
My words are cut off by a gasp as Draven suddenly grabs me and pulls me into a darkened alley. Only the deserted and very narrow pathway observes us as he pushes me up against the rough stone wall and plants his palms on the wall on either side of my head, caging me in.
“Let’s get something straight.” His eyes burn through my very soul as he locks them on me. “I am not a hero. I don’t care about other people. I only care about getting whatIwant.”
Drawing in an unsteady breath, I just stare up at him in silence while my heart beats hard against my ribs. Because I can tell that he means every word of that.
He nods towards the mouth of the alley, where on the other side, dragon shifters continue to brutally interrogate humans. “These injustices that you want me to stop? Iencouragethem. Because they serve my goal.”
