“Yes,” Hector says, crushing my hope that he’ll show Malachi clemency. “And because you and he are spies.”
“You know why I came here,” I say vehemently. “I am no spy.”
“Maybe not.” Hector shrugs and nods toward Malachi. “But he is.”
“You have no proof.” Desperation to save my friend’s life bleeds from my words.
“We have plenty of proof,” Luc says. “Malachi’s wife gave us everything we need.”
A ragged breath escapes me as I inwardly cry a thousand tears these barbarians will never allow me to shed.
Time after time, I have failed. This time it is Malachi I’m hurting.
I cannot save him.
I cannot save anyone.
ChapterTwo
Two unfamiliar Bloodstone barbarians escort me to the same crumbling cottage they have placed me in every day since that moment three weeks ago.
Horrifying memories prod at my thoughts. Memories I would rather not dwell on. If I do, I’ll have to relive throwing that knife at Hector.
Don’t think about it.
Please, don’t think about it.
If only I could run from here, but I have nowhere to go. My people, the Kyanites, wouldn’t welcome me back. Not with this wretched tattoo etched into my left arm. No matter where I run or where I try to hide, that binding tattoo would always be there—proof I wed myself to a Bloodstone barbarian.
Hector.
He doesn’t want me now, and I don’t want him. Our anger will not erase my damn tattoo, nor will it erase the vows we spoke.
Of course, Hector could cast me aside if he chooses to.
But he won’t.
At least, not yet. Not when he wants to use me for my serpent mark—the ones the gods burned into my skin the day Mother died.
I press my bound hands against the unrelenting pounding in my forehead and let out a frustrated sigh. He had never met my eyes earlier. Maybe if he had, I would have seen the remnants of the man I wed.
Instead, I only saw the Bloodstone’s chieftain and that damn livery collar.
How it blinds. Wounds. Rips my heart out.
I stare down at the rope digging into my wrists and exhale. Hector will execute Malachi, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop him.
* * *
Sunlight floods the small chamber with its golden light, greeting me with the cruel reminder that another day has come to Astarobane. I glare at the sun. It still mocks me with its brightness. Instead of cowering from it, I leave my bed to stand directly in the rays of that blazing sun.
I turn as the door swings open, and my guards step into the room.
“Come with us.” The shorter man with dark red hair motions me toward the door.
I attempt to smooth my crumpled surcoat with my bound hands. It’s pointless. The material is bloody, torn, and stained with sweat.
The Bloodstone people haven’t given me anything to change into since they imprisoned me. They have only provided water and herbs six times to wash with. Though, I’m shocked they have done that much.
