Satisfaction, heavy and thick, rolls through my blood like molasses. “Do I have your loyalty, Paul Wartheg?”
His eyes flash, and he drops on bended knee.
I hold out my hand, and he grips my fingers, kissing the top of my lion’s head ring. “I swear it.”
“Together we rule, divided we fall,” I whisper. “It’s my honor to welcome you to the rebellion.”
CHAPTER 42
Sara B.
Icy cold shock pours through my veins as I watch a roomful of people fall on bended knee, one right after the other, spurred on by Paul who was just kissing Tristan’s hand in subservience, and I’m… numb.
Tristan is the rebel king.
Of course he is.
How could I have been so blind?
I followed Sheina and Paul here, all the way to the shadowed lands; where the lights disappear from street corners, and sleek roads turn into broken pavement; potholes so big they could fit a small house. The buildings all have dirty windows, or boards in place of glass, and while Silva has been impoverished for years, this is beyond anything I’ve ever seen.
I’m not sure what I expected when I peered through the crack in the door of The Elephant Bones Tavern, but it wasn’t this.
Anything but this.
My eyes scan over the people, my heart screaming and spitting in the center of my chest, but I ignore the pain, refusing to admit to myself that the man I’ve fallen for is the one who murdered my father.
The tavern itself is dingy and dark; worn wood panels and a strong scent of mothballs and mold, but the atmosphere is upbeat. As if they know they’re on the cusp of something great. Something more.
They set a large iron-barred cage up in the far corner, and I squint my eyes, confusion running through me at the sight. Why on earth is that there? I try to get a better view, but I can’t open the door any farther without the risk of being seen, and Tristan’s tall frame blocks me.
But then he moves, and I see the hunched figure of my cousin, bloodied and chained, unconscious against the wall.
My stomach somersaults. He’s alive.
Caged like a bird and missing a hand, but still… alive.
My stomach rolls, the vengeance in my heart growing brighter.
Tristan turns then, walking away from Paul and moving toward the front of the room with a shoddy raised platform and a single high-back chair sitting in the center. He walks straight to the middle, a god among his men, and speaks.
“Friends.” His arms rise to the side. “The time is near. You’ve all put incredible faith in me, and it’s time to return the favor. A new dawn is on the horizon!”
Cheers ring out across the tables.
“No longer will we be cast to the shadowed lands while the rich and perfect get to live in the light. It is our time to shine.”
More yells and hollers, a few people throwing bits of trash into the iron cage that houses Alexander.
My stomach cramps, aching to turn away—to make this nightmare disappear—yet I’m glued to the spot, unable to do anything other than watch. His charisma is astounding, and the more his words flow from his mouth to the rest of the room, you can feel the energy shift, as if he’s molding it into whatever shape he desires and feeding it back to them like it was always theirs. It’s the most incredible sight I’ve witnessed, and I have no doubt that if he desires the crown, it will end up on his head.
He speaks so eloquently, so mesmerizing, that even I fall under his spell. My heart beats faster, my breathing comes harsher, and excitement wells up in the center of my stomach, expanding through my limbs until I picture what it would be like to stand at his side.
But then I remember where I am, and who he is. And the feeling disappears, replaced with bile that turns my stomach from the inside out.
I skim the surroundings again, moving over the people until my eyes land on Sheina, her arms around the neck of a rebel in the king’s uniform. I rack my brain, trying to remember his name, but come up blank.
She’s a fool. The same kind I have been. Losing myself in the arms of a man.
A lying, pathetic excuse of a man.
My legs ache from my crouched position and I shift on the balls of my feet, that ever-present ache flaring to life between my legs, only this time it doesn’t bring comfort.
I can hardly stand to look at him, but I force my eyes there anyway, maybe to prove that I can live through the worst kind of betrayal, or maybe the masochist in me wants to live in the pain as I try to come to terms with the fact that despite everything, the one person I thought I could trust, turned out to be my worst enemy.
He licked my tears, and told me I was his, right after he sent men to kill me.