Page 78 of Bound By Deception

“Liar.” His companion snatched the cup from him. He then growled a curse. “What’s this … three double-sixes in a row? You must be cheating.”

The warrior opposite snorted. “No, but you’re a poor loser. That’s all three of your lives gone … I win.” Reaching out, he went to gather the coins. However, the loser’s hand snapped out, fastening around his wrist. “Not so fast, shitweasel.”

Bree struck.

She killed the winner first, drawing her dagger blade swiftly across his gullet in a practiced swipe.

The second guard’s mouth gaped in shock. But he didn’t have time to react before Bree was on him, and he too suffered the same fate.

Leaving their bodies slumped across the table, their blood spilling over the pitted surface, Bree grabbed the ring of keys and hurried from the guard room.

The dungeon wasn’t large, just a collection of dank alcoves with iron bars that led off one passage. And most of them were unoccupied. Bree passed two prisoners—one a bald man with a thug’s face who sat hunched against the wall, and a wild-haired woman who hissed at Bree as she stalked by.

Reaching the end of the passage, Bree halted before the last alcove. Her attention settled upon where a slender figure shivered under a blanket. She then dropped to a crouch, peering into the darkness, and whispered, “Bryce?”

33: MERCY

THE SHIVERING STOPPED, and a head rose. A single eye glinted in the shadowy darkness before a voice rasped. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Bree Fellshadow … Mor sent me.”

“Mor’s assassin?”

“Aye.”

He made a choked sound that might have been a sob.

Sheathing her dagger, Bree began trying keys in the lock then, moving deftly, and the third one released the door. Yanking it open, she rushed inside, going to the prisoner’s side.

The stench in here was eyewatering. They’d left him to lie in his filth.

Heat ignited in her gut.Bastards.

Shoving aside her disgust, she sank down on her knees next to him.

An emaciated man with pale hair that was clumped with filth and dried blood stared up at Bree. The High King had torn out his right eye, and only an oozing socket remained. But the left eye—the color of slate—was fever bright.

“Iron,” she whispered. “What have they done to you?”

“The High King … is … creative,” Bryce Elmsong said hoarsely, a cracked tongue wetting ruined lips. “There isn’t a part of me that isn’t broken.” He made a wheezing sound then. “But they don’t know I was once Shee—they’re still not aware we can pass through the stones. Talorc thinks I’m a Marav traitor.”

Bree nodded. That was a relief she supposed. Nonetheless, it was hard to concentrate, what with the foul stench in here and the sight of this pitiful creature.

Bryce’s hand—filthy and trembling, his fingers twisted—emerged from the blanket then and rested upon her wrist. His touch was surprisingly firm. “Are you here to kill me?”

Bree decided not to answer that question. “When you disappeared, Mor sent me to discover the High King’s plans,” she murmured. “I posed as a Maid of Albia and wed the chief-enforcer.”

Bryce’s single eye widened. “You’re mac Brochan’swife?”

“Aye.” Her mouth pinched then. “Did he take part in torturing you?”

She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but it did.

“No.” The word was barely a sigh. “I’ve not seen him since the High King’s men dragged me down here.”

Their gazes fused for a heartbeat before Bree placed her hand over his. It was scalding to touch. Indeed, a fever had him in its grip. “How did Talorc unmask you?” she whispered.

Bryce’s cracked lips twisted. “I was careless.”

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