Page 86 of Her Cruel Redemption

‘We’ve known colder.’

‘Yeah. It’s not Yaakandale cold. Not the mountain pass or the sledding fields.’

‘Not Garnoc’s ice arena.’

We were both silent for a moment, staring into the fire, reminded of a time long past. People long gone. The echo of bygone screams.

‘I think my orders could bear repeating. Anyone who touches Rhiandra answers to me,’ I said quietly. ‘If she’s confronted, she’s to be taken unharmed. Anyone with other ideas can expect to deal with me personally. They’ll do well to remember that I can be creative with those who don’t follow orders.’

Lester sighed. Clapped me on the shoulder. ‘How about you sleep on it? Announce it in the morning. When I’m more convinced your mind’s not on the fritz for being half frozen.’ He picked up his gear, muttering ‘taken unharmed. They’ll love that,’ under his breath as he did. When he was gone, I slumped into the chair myself. Scrubbed my hands through my damp hair. Eyed the liquor on the side table for a moment, before picking it up, popping the stopper and taking a swig straight from the bottle, appreciating the burn and the way it eased a little of the stiffness and fatigue that had ridden my body for far too long now. I didn’t usually allow myself to drink, but tonight I would make an exception.

I hadn’t meant to go to her. Seeing her like that, lightning spilling out of her, stalking towards me across a battlefield, a goddess of storms and vengeance, had unbalanced something in me that had been teetering. She‘d been letting the magic tear through her, burn her up, and watching her do it had been the sort of terror I hadn’t known I could still feel. I’d gone to the camp with the intention only to watch long enough to know she was alright. But then I’d seen her, and I’d lingered. I’d wanted to take another shot at warning her, as though she’d heed any warning from me. And then, so help me, I’d wanted to fuck her. She was always a blistering challenge personified, and nothing made me want to wrap her legs around me quite like winning the look she’d given me when I’d grabbed her hand, that softening in her dark eyes as she lost her grip on her defenses. I’d meant to leave her be, to let her go back to the camp. But I couldn’t leave knowing she was so close. Knowing she’d wanted me too and I hadn’t taken her.

But I’d be lying if I said it had been satisfying. It hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough. All it had done was provide an instant of relief from the tension of craving her, but it was the sort of tension that would keep returning. I could sneak into her tent every night for the rest of my life and I’d still wind up sitting here aching for more.

Picking up the fire poker, I stirred the coals and wondered—not for the first time—if I could be content with just having her as a prisoner. Imagined the sweet relief of giving in and compelling her into obedience. Returning to this room to find her waiting for me, safe under my protection, a slave to my every whim, always where I needed her to be, saying the things I wanted to hear. Blank eyed and pleasant, while hating me all the way to her core. I discarded the poker, disgusted with the idea and myself for entertaining it. Rose from the chair. Finally headed for the bed, to the embrace of a restless sleep.

The following morning, I ignored Lester’s disapproval and gave the orders to steer clear of Rhiandra to my commanding officers, who communicated it to the rest of the soldiers. It seemed pertinent not to rely on pure hierarchy to ensure obedience, though. I observed the soldiers as they breakfasted in the ballroom we’d transformed into a mess hall, listening and reading their collective mood. They were as pleased with the orders as could be expected, a fact exemplified as I walked between two long tables and caught part of a conversation.

‘…thinks we’re all his to sacrifice. Just like any royal tosser. Doesn’t give a fuck if we’re bleeding out there…’

Discontent didn’t bother me, but when it was expressed within earshot it became something to be dealt with. I mulled over how I’d deal with it, drawing closer to the speaker when I caught another line.

‘…don’t care either way. His orders won’t mean shit to me if I catch the bitch. I bet she can’t throw lightning if I cut off her—’

His words abruptly cut out as his companion across the table finally caught his eye. It was a bit late for that.

‘Stand,’ I ordered. The soldier did so a mite too slow, turning to face me with a sly expression that suggested the discontent was rising to dangerous levels. He was pale, muddy haired and muddy eyed, with a wet, crooked slash of a mouth.

‘Thatcher, isn’t it?’ I asked. One of the Yaakandale soldiers. He should have known better.

‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ he said. The hall around us had gone silent as everyone tuned in.

‘Got a problem with my orders, Thatcher?’

He glanced across the room, seeming to take confidence from the attention on us. Drew back his shoulders. ‘Just a bit confused about what we’re meant to do with the lightning witch if we aint ‘sposed to touch her,’ he said boldly. I didn’t respond, waiting for him to continue. He grew bolder. ‘I just don’t see how you can justify it, sir.’ When I still said nothing, he got a cocky gleam to his eye. ‘Even if she is as good at sucking cock as they—’

His words died in his mouth with his breath. Because before he could so much as flinch, I’d drawn my dagger and slammed it through his stomach. He wheezed, folding forwards as the point poked out of his back, and I steadied him to keep him from falling.

‘You’re lucky. All I’m going to do to you is let you die,’ I murmured, before pushing him back and wrenching my blade from his abdomen. He slumped to the floor.

The room was completely silent as I surveyed the rest of the gathered soldiers. ‘Would anyone else like to question my orders?’ I asked as anyone whose gaze I met dropped their eyes. ‘Good,’ I said finally, before flicking my hand in a signal for Thatcher to be dealt with. ‘Enjoy your breakfast.’

Chapter Forty-One

By dawn, I’d almost convinced myself the previous night had been a dream. Except when I sat up in the grey morning while Mae still slept, I found a crinkled bundle of black next to my bed. Snatching it up quickly, I hid it beneath my covers, heart racing. But there were no sirens, no accusations from people pouring into my tent. Mae slept on. Slowly, I drew the discarded shirt to my face, inhaled a shaky breath, the timber-and-smoke smell of Draven making me relive it all, imagining him slipping back through the camp without even a shirt on his back. I didn’t know if the molten heat I felt at the thought was more shame or desire or anxiety, but whatever it was scorched through me and left me aching and desolate. I would burn the shirt, I decided. And then there would be no evidence that it had ever happened. Perhaps I’d burn the bedroll, too. Say it had lice in it. Banish the smell of him.

But I lingered, there in the quiet morning, with my eyes closed and my nose still buried in that shirt, taking just a few more moments to be weak and stupid. To want things I shouldn’t, things that weren’t good for me, that weren’t possible. Then I scolded myself for it. Why had I let it happen? Why had Iwantedit to happen? I had faltered in guarding myself against him, and he had slipped right on in. He must be feeling pretty fucking pleased with himself this morning. He’d proven he could get to me, that there were flaws in my armour, and now he would exploit that knowledge. All I could do was double down and fight harder to keep him out.

I steeled myself and got out of bed, dressing with stealthy efficiency and emerging from the tent into the cold without waking Mae. I found the coals of one of the fires from the previous evening, and with a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, I thrust the shirt onto it, lingering to watch it smoulder and smoke, finally catching fire in a burst of revived flame. I stood with my arms wrapped tightly around myself, thoughts circling round and round in a wash of memory and bitterness and longing and misery. And self-loathing. So much self-loathing. If I could have crawled out of my skin and taken up residence in someone else’s, I would have done so in an instant.

‘Well, if it isn’t the scariest woman in all of Oceatold.’

Victus Gedelli’s voice prompted me to snatch my thoughts away from brooding on how I’d snuck the nation’s most notorious villain into my bed, though I felt like it was written all over my face. And all over my body.

‘Good morning,’ I muttered, trying to arrange my expression into something benign. I didn’t realise how tightly I was clenching my teeth. I took a deep breath, unwound my arms and rubbed at my aching jaw as Vic popped into my line of sight, wearing another of his feathered hats and flashing those perfect white teeth in a smile too wide for so early.

‘I’m pleased to see you up and about,’ Gedelli continued pleasantly. ‘We kept being told you were in no state for any kind of consultation yesterday. His Majesty is very eager to talk with you.’

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