In the Veins of the Drowning(24)

Theodore gasped. His strong fingers clamped around my palm. The look that marred his face sat somewhere between pain and pleasure. Muscles shook, a sheen of sweat erupted over his cheeks, over the column of his neck. As his head fell back, he stifled a deep moan.

With bated breath, I waited. And waited. Theodore’s body went loose, his pain cresting and falling, and then he looked at me with expectant panic. “What do you feel?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

And then it came.

His blood felt like starshine. Bright and boiling, it climbed up the veins in my arm, into the pulse in my neck. It blistered me from within as it spread and spread through my body. I could hear myself moan, could feel my back curve with the hurt, but when it fell to knit itself through my stomach, the room went black. My jaw opened in a curdling scream.

Theodore’s hand flew over my lips, and when that wasn’t enough, he cradled my head and pressed my mouth to his chest. “Quiet,” he pleaded into my ear. “Imogen, stop.”

But I couldn’t. I was being ripped apart from within. That thread inside me pulled so tightly that I thought it would snap and slash my heart and I would die right there in his arms. I clawed at his shoulders, at his back, and too slowly, the pain began to gutter. The bond sat in my belly, emitting a fluttering heat, and I was whimpering against his hard body, trying for steady breaths.

Theodore looked down at me, stunned. He raised a hand to my cheek and pulled away the hair that had stuck itself to my slick skin. “Are you okay? We need to go now. Tell me you’re all right.”

I nodded.

“No.” His voice was hoarse, breathy. He gave me a little shake. “Say it. Let me hear you.”

His worry over me was clear, a deep, consuming current, and I knew the bond had taken. That was what it did—compelled protection. I looked into his eyes and tried to hide how strange I felt. My insides quaked. I thought I might be sick.

“I’m all right.”

He gave me a sharp nod and tried to school the stricken look on his face. Through the bonding, my wings had slipped back beneath my skin, leaving my shoulder blades raw and oozing. Theodore helped me keep my balance, gaze averted, while I removed the blanket and my wet chemise. He did not see the wounds my wings had left behind and I said nothing of how they hurt before I swung the robe over my shoulders and cinched it at the waist.

A soft knock at the door made me jump. Theodore permitted his guards in and this time it was his full retinue of six. One of them carried a vase that had been in my room—the scent of seawater met my nose. And trailing them all, with wild, knotted curls, flushed cheeks, and kiss-swollen lips, was Agatha.

Theodore looked at her and his mortification was complete. “Hello, Agatha.” He glared at the tall, smug-looking soldier standing beside her. “Lachlan, I’ll gut you.”

“Yes, I know,” said Lachlan. “Agatha informed me that she’s coming with us.”

Theodore shot me a scowl. “Blessed by the bloody Gods tonight, aren’t you?” He pointed to the vase of seawater. “Give her that.”

I cradled it to my chest and straightened under the king’s dour gaze. It was dark and stern and the sheer intensity of it turned the cool air in the chamber stifling.

“You got past my men, my lady,” he said, “now get us past Nemea’s.”

King Theodore’s soldiers moved like specters, silent and quick. Even their armor hardly rattled through Fort Linum’s too-quiet darkness.

We wound down the stairs that led to the empty entry hall in a neat, long line. Outside, the winds cut through the valley, catching on the corners of the fort. They moaned like a woman dying. I tried to not take it as an ill portent.

Theodore descended ahead of me, Agatha behind, and I cradled the vase of seawater to my chest like a mother would a babe. It was this meager seawater that would allow me to use my power to get us past King Nemea’s men.

Agatha whispered over my shoulder. “You were in the king’s chamber. You’re wearing his robe. You’re wet with seawater.” The damp silk of said robe stuck to the open wounds on my back. My long, wet hair covered the bloodstains. “Tell me what’s happened?”

I craned to look at her over my shoulder. “I promise, I will tell you everything when we’re safe on the ship. Please, please, just do not panic when I do.”

Her eyes flashed. “Panic! Why would I panic?”

“Gods, Agatha.”

She bit her lips between her teeth, stopping up her worry and questions, and gave me a weak nod.

An ugly feeling seized me at the thought of confessing to Agatha. A braid of shame and pride twined through me like a second spine at what I’d done to Evander. As I descended the stairs and passed Nemea’s throne room, I thought of the inscription upon its wall. The monster is always slain. I thought of Evander’s blank, blue-lipped face, and a pang of uncertainty struck me. Perhaps I was just as monstrous as he had been. Perhaps my own slaying was yet to come.

King Theodore’s commander—Lachlan—gathered us all close when we reached the towering main doors. “There are never guards stationed in the courtyard. We’ve always seen them gathered at the stables and barracks at the base of the mountain stairs,” he said quietly. Then his stern eyes locked with mine. “We’ll need you to get us past those guards. We need horses from the stables to get down the mountain road and to the king’s ship in Port Helris.”