Page 5 of Throne of Ice and Blood
Someone plants a boot between my shoulder blades and shoves me back down. I let out a huff as my chest connects with the floor again. And before the sound has even finished leaving my mouth, someone is twisting my arms up behind my back. I suck in a hiss as iron manacles are snapped shut around my wrists.
With the iron around my throat, and now the iron around both of my wrists too, my already exhausted and starving body is so weak that I can do nothing but lie there on my stomach and stare at the dead body next to me.
“Tell the captain that the Master of the Treasury is dead,” one of the guards yells somewhere above me. “And that we’ve caught the murderer.”
Blood from the now disturbed pool underneath the Master of the Treasury’s corpse slowly runs towards my face where I lie with my cheek pressed against the floor, a boot on my back, handcuffs shackling my wrists, and a squad of guards from Empress Jessina and Emperor Bane’s Silver Dragon Clan surrounding me with swords raised.
I heave a deep sigh.
Well… fuck.
CHAPTER TWO
It’s quite ironic that in an entire castle made of ice, the coldest part of it is actually the only place not made of ice. Which just so happens to be the dungeon.
I stare at the iron bars that make up the entire front wall of my cell. Coldness from the stone floor seeps through the fabric of my pants and chills me to the bone. A shiver rolls through my body.
If I could just stand up, I could at least pace back and forth to try to get some warmth back. But I can’t. My hands are shackled behind my back with iron manacles which, along with the collar around my throat, drain my already dwindled energy and strength. And even if they weren’t, I couldn’t have gotten to my feet anyway. Because the handcuffs are also locked to an iron ring set into the thick stone floor behind my back, trapping me in a kneeling position.
I blow out a long sigh.
My breath forms a small white cloud in the air before me.
The feeling of ice pressing into my throat and my wrists from the iron collar and shackles aren’t exactly making it better either. While glaring at the empty stone corridor outside the bars to mycell, I once more lament the fact that this dungeon isn’t made of ice as well.
Just like Isera, the Iceheart monarchs must be able to somehow control the temperature of the ice they create. Because the walls and all the floors in the palace might look like they’re made of ice, but they’re not cold in the way that real ice is. It’s only smooth and cool. Kind of like marble.
But here, down inside the mountain, on whose slopes the Ice Palace sits, only cold stone and iron has been left to torment me.
A new sound comes from the corridor.
My gaze darts towards it.
Straining my ears, I try to hear past the voices of the guards who are talking amongst themselves in a room somewhere down the corridor. Firelight from the torches set into the walls dances across the rough stone, and there is a muted dripping of water in the corner behind me. The guards continue chatting softly.
I tilt my head slightly as I concentrate on trying to identify that new sound. But no matter how hard I try, it doesn’t sound again.
Heaving a defeated sigh, I let my head drop back down. With my chin resting on my chest, I stare down into my lap while both frustration and a sudden sense of despair wash over me.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Mabona’s tits, what was I thinking? I just ran blindly through a castle that I don’t know the layout for. Until the guards hauled me down to the dungeon, I didn’t even know which floor of the castle I was on. I should have made a proper plan first. I should have eaten to get some of my strength back. I should have plotted my escape route. I should have done so many things differently.
But I just… I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Who knows if Draven would ever make the same mistake of forgetting to lock the door again? I had to take the opportunity presented to me.
Annoyance ripples through me.
Why did some damn Master of the Treasury need to get murdered right in the middle of my desperate escape?
“So I hear you killed someone.”
I snap my head up.
A small gasp escapes my lips when I find Draven standing right on the other side of the iron bars. He is now wearing his black dragon scale armor again, and he must have performed a half-shift too, because his wings are out. His arms are crossed over his chest, and there is a disapproving look on his face as he watches me.
“And not just someone,” he continues. “The Master of the Treasury.”
“It wasn’t me,” I protest.
