I make no move to join him on his throne. The very idea of becoming his queen freezes me in place. Through gritted teeth, I manage not to lose my temper as I plead, “Just wait, please. Let no more death sentences be dealt. When I sent you on this mission to unify the houses, I did not intend it to occur with bloodshed. Please, stay the executions, at least until the Ddraigs have tested the people and found their Cadogans.” Until I can figure out a better way to stop this insanity! I hold my hands out in a gesture of mercy as I search for some semblance of the man I’d known all these many years to appear. Something flickers in his countenance, a flash of feeling at odds with his commanding presence.
“I would have thought that one death more would be expected by you. I’ve been keeping him busy until you returned. Waiting until you were by my side to mete justice on his worthless head. I cannot believe you allowed my brother to last as long as you did! But I’ve thoroughly enjoyed getting to take my turn with him. Rest assured, my darling, I have made him suffer for his crimes.” Wolf smiles, a fever bright gleam in his furious stare. “Now, it’s your turn.”
“Where is he?” I ask in feigned nonchalance, unnerved by the jealous hatred I see brewing in Wolf’s eyes. The images from the Carreglas do not leave me. So many warning signs were there! How did I never see this side of him? Even as I say the words, I hear Siri’s accusations ringing in my ears. I didn’t want to see it. Oh, what an idiot I have been!
“My brother is in that tent.” Cane points over his shoulder to a single white canvas tent in the shade of the House of Piranhas. “Do what must be done, Iris. Add his body to the pyre. Then find me. We’ll discuss what happens next when I am king.” Wolf hops down from the throne, invading my space as his lips drag over my forehead. “I have missed you, love,” he whispers softly. His hands graze my hips as he pulls me closer, his nose trailing down my cheek into the hollows around my collarbone. “I’ve been nearly mad without you.”
It takes every scrap of willpower in my body not to scream and claw his eyes out. I stay very still while he holds me, keeping my face turned aside so he cannot see how much I hate him. When Wolf saunters away from me whistling a lively tune, I know my charade worked well enough that he didn’t suspect my true feelings.
I force my feet not to break into a run as I move toward Cyrus’s prison. There are no guards to be found, and the flap of the tent drifts lazily with the breeze. Not a good sign. I prepare myself, slowing my breathing as I ready my nerves. If they think that no guards are needed, then they had to have beaten or shattered Cyrus to the point that he cannot fight back.
Sorrow fills my heart as I throw open the tent, shedding some light into the space. It is immediately obvious that Cyrus’s legs are broken, one exposed bone gleaming in the sunlight cast by my entrance. His arms are also swollen from unseen fractures, and bound across his chest as though in a strait jacket. He turns his head my way as I inch closer, his jaw opening in surprise. Pain fills his moaned whine, and I can tell this joint has been broken too by the way it hangs open to expose his teeth.
“Cyrus.” My hands quiver uselessly beside me. I long to apologize, to tell him that I never intended for him go suffer all of this, that I had no idea the kind of man he truly was. Yet all I can do is say his name.
“W…ren,” Cyrus wheezes, coughing blood. That’s when I see the tubes jutting out from his lungs. “L…leave me….to die. ‘S all…I want.”
“It’s me, Cyrus. My gods!” My stomach revolts, emptying its contents on the ground. Seeing the wounds that are so painfully similar to Warbler’s torture is an extra blow to my heart. How despicable! I hate Wolf all the more for this! How could he think that I would condone his actions?
“Iris? Get out…of here!” Cyrus’s fingers twitch as though he attempts to reach for my hand. His body is just too broken to fully execute his brain’s commands.
Drawing on my strength, I feel the tenuous connection of our minds. Easing up to his side, I whisper, “Cyrus, heal yourself. You can draw on my energy to assist you.” Take it all, I beg, fully prepared to die in his place if need be. I’m so sorry, Cyrus.
His jaw snaps loudly, an excruciating jerk lifting his body off the table. My own strength diminishes quickly, especially when Cyrus’s bone resets into the skin of his leg. I feebly cover his swollen mouth to stifle his groans. He thrashes hard against my grip, using the brief moments when his mouth is uncovered to exclaim, “The tubes. Take them out!”
Staring hard at his chest, I curse as my fingers reach for the first bloody piece of plastic. In this moment I am grateful my stomach has already emptied. Gagging even as I attempt to detach my mind, I yank on the tube, watching Cyrus’s face turn green as the length of the plastic grows in my hands. Inch by painstaking inch, I carefully slide the tubing
