In the Veins of the Drowning(105)
“Lachlan,” I said on a jagged, searching sob. My head sat in a fog. My vision was bleary. “I need to see Commander Mela. Please. Not the king. I need Lach—”
Something bit into my shoulder. I squinted up at a handful of armored soldiers, swords drawn and poised on me. One of them spoke, though I was too beset to decipher which. “We’re ordered to run you through without trial if you use your power.”
My heart struck my ribs. “Who ordered tha—”
“She’s supposed to go straight to the prison tower, isn’t she?” asked another soldier, cutting me off.
“No. Please,” I managed, “I need… I need to tell Lachlan about his wife.”
“Mela doesn’t have a wife.”
My mind, my tongue, could not find and form words quickly enough. Chain rattling, I tried to twist, to sit myself up straighter, but a guard pinned me still by pressing a boot to my hip bone. “Uh-uh,” he grunted.
A piercing screech tore up my throat. Some of the guards jolted and swore at the sound. I couldn’t comprehend how that pressure alone was enough to ignite a blaze of agony through the whole of my body. It sent panic through me. I was weaker, tremulous, when all I’d previously known was a body that had felt sturdy and capable.
You will only find relief in your king. The words Eusia had spoken to me scraped through my head, a provocation and a warning made one. Only the king will do.
The guard yanked his boot from me, more from fear, I guessed, than remorse or pity. Perhaps he thought whatever vile thing coursed through me might seep from my skin and creep into him. Then the group of soldiers was straightening, clearing their throats, making themselves look well disciplined and alert as descending footsteps sounded above me.
“Found her at the base of the stairs,” one of the guards said. “Do we carry ahead as usual? Not sure if royalty is treated differently from commoners in something like this, Commander.”
I lifted my head just in time to watch Lachlan lower himself to kneel beside me. Our gazes locked.
His mossy eyes were cold, his mouth sat at an unfriendly slant. He looked empty and worn. “Queen, commoner, and Goddess alike,” he said, voice bereft of its usual mischievous tone, “are all equal when it comes to the law.”
Fucking bastard. I let out an angry breath and fought to hold up my manacled wrists. “Unchain me.”
He ignored my words. “You look like a living corpse, Imogen.”
“Lach.” His name came out as a squeak. “What are you doing?”
“My job.” At my look, he stood and loomed. “You’ve been proscribed.”
I didn’t know that word or its implication. I shook my head, frantically scanning the half dozen swords that were still trained on me.
Lachlan spoke to me slow and clear. “You’ve been condemned and banned from Varya for crimes of entrapment, treason, endangerment, and murder…” He cleared his throat. “Your Majesty.”
“Who did I entrap—”
“The king.”
“That’s not—Lachlan, you were there. You know the truth…”
His lips twitched. “Help her stand,” he said to the two guards nearest me. As they hauled me up with hard hands, another cry shredded my throat. Lachlan scowled, and I searched for any concern in his flattened gaze. When I didn’t find it, my chest hollowed out. “We have testimony that you ordered the murder of the captain of the Hercule, that you stowed away and endangered a Varian warship in the midst of battle.”
A plummeting sensation took me as I remembered that captain’s death. The deep, gurgling wound in his gut, the putrid lures that I’d cast into his killers. Lures I couldn’t control. I used the soldiers’ hold on me to keep myself up. “I didn’t… I sank Serafi ships—I helped you win that battle.” I groaned through my clamped teeth. “I killed Nemea. His crown is mine.”
Lachlan’s eyes went round with the impact of my confession, but he said not a word.
“Who proscribed me?” I finally whispered, unable to keep the wobble of hurt from my voice. “Was it Theo? Or did you and Eftan force his hand?”
His throat moved as he swallowed. The moment stretched, thin and taut as a string. When he finally answered me, it was with a choked voice. “The king and his council are one and the same.”
I could only hold his unfeeling gaze, hoping to elicit some shame or remorse in him. Quickly, he flicked his eyes toward the top of the stairs, and the guards that held me turned me roughly. I spun like a cloth doll, loose and lolling, as they hauled me up to the flower garden. With each jostle I whimpered, barely able to keep my legs moving in step with theirs. At the top, they released me, and I fell to the soft grass in a tremoring heap.
Slowly, as the guards all filed in, and Lachlan came to stand before me, I sat myself back on my haunches. I went still, quiet. For a desperate moment, I thought to search for my power beneath the heavy shroud of pain. To send out a slew of lures at once and unchain myself.
The tinny scrape of a dagger torn from its sheath pulled me from my mind. Lachlan shook his head. “I see your wheels turning.” He stooped to pick up the chain that hung between my cuffs. “Use your power”—he pointed the dagger directly at me—“and I’ll have no choice but to use this.”