Page 179 of Mother of Death and Dawn

He was already reaching for his sword. In any other context, I would have paused to be more surprised that he was so eager to leap into battle to save Tisaanah.

I said, “No. We have to go to Orasiev.”

Brayan looked at me like I was insane. “Tisaanah is in chains right now, and youdon’twant to go after her?”

Oh, Iwantedto. I wanted to so much it physically hurt.

“Wearegoing after her.” My fist closed around the fabric, and I looked down at Sammerin. “But she doesn’t want a rescue. She wants to fucking end them. So that’s what we’ll do. We get to Orasiev as fast as we humanly can. We gather the rebels, and then we destroy those bastards.That’swhat she wants.”

I felt the pulse of magic from the artifact I carried, strange and powerful enough to rearrange realities.

Brayan looked unconvinced. “I don’t understand how—”

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion,” I snapped. Sammerin slowly pushed to his feet, removing his hand from his throat. The wound still looked horrible, but he’d managed to stop the bleeding. I looked him up and down. “You’re alright?”

His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Good enough to topple an empire.”

I choked out an almost-laugh. “Glad to hear it, my friend.”

CHAPTERSIXTY-SEVEN

TISAANAH

The Zorokov estate was just as beautiful as the Mikov estate had been, if not more-so. It was certainly grander, with more obvious signals of wealth. Esmaris had so much power that he had little to prove, and his taste in decor had reflected that. Everything had been crafted immaculately out of white marble, the kind that needed no decoration to announce that it was wildly expensive—you just felt it.

The Zorokovs’ taste was a bit louder. Silver and gold edged the roofs of their buildings, which rose above us in blocks like an ivory mountain. We were all silent as the cart rumbled through the gates. More than a dozen of us were packed into this cart, all chained, though I was the only one to have multiple sets of restraints around both my wrists and my legs. They bound me to the bars, the bench, myself… like my captors were afraid I would fly away.

I would not fly away, of course. I was very good at being the perfect slave, the perfect prisoner.

I’d stood under many of these entry arches by now. Still, every time the shadow of another Lord’s sigil passed over me, I stiffened. I had always been standing at a different entrance, going back to a different master, back when I was just a child.

I swallowed this fear. I was no longer a child.

I watched the city as we rolled through, memorizing the layout. There were two walls, one around the broader city and another around the home itself. The streets were wide, I noted, and very straight. Convenient.

The little girl that had recognized me in the cage was here, too. She sat across from me, her neck craned to watch me the entire journey. Now she leaned closer and said, quietly, “Did you really kill Esmaris Mikov?”

I shook my head at her—not saying no, but saying,shush!

Too late. “Don’t talk to her,” one of the slavers snarled, and whacked her so hard across the face that her small body was flung against the woman next to her.

“Don’t do that!” I bit out, before I could stop myself. “She—”

WHACK.

Pain cracked across the back of my head.

Everything faded.

* * *

I wokeup still in chains. My head was pounding. My stomach churned. I was half unconscious when I found myself on all fours, vomiting.

All my senses seemed dulled. By the time they started to return to me, the first thing I heard was a wordless sound of disgust.

“You wretched thing,” a rough, female voice muttered. “Now I have to clean that mess up.”

With great effort, I lifted my head, then sank back against the wall.

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