Page 139 of Captive

“When does it stop?” My chest squeezes as I look down at my feet for a breath, needing this moment to end, needing my peace back.

“When someone strong enough makes it stop,” he says with finality. “Tarrobane is in chaos. Someone must rule it. And it will be the Bloodstone.”

“What will it take, Hector? What will it cost?” I say so quietly that he leans in slightly, then takes a step back when he realizes what I’ve said.

Hector doesn’t answer.

I try to ignore the sting in my chest. The pain. The agony.

Hector is wrong, but arguing with him is pointless. He will never see reason if he has already decided on his path.

“I need air,” I announce and make for the door.

Hector doesn’t stop me, and I’m grateful for it.

The night air greets me as I step into the indoor courtyard and take a deep breath. Despite the coolness, my skin prickles with the heat of my anger. Hector’s revelation brought nothing but despair.

Over the last few weeks with Hector, I had become malleable, bendable, breakable. I could blame my binding tattoo, but I have no wish to weaken the power of my affection for Hector.

If nothing else, it was real. So very real.

I hug my arms against my body and sigh. Hector will do anything to achieve his goals, even if it means crushing the other tribes.

Olah, help me. A part of me still wants to be here with him.

It’s more than just the way he makes me feel when I’m in his arms.

I care for him. Truly care for him.

But I cannot erase the scars on his heart. Nor can I revive his grandfather or his uncle. Hector craves vengeance the way I once craved it for Mother. I understand his motivation, even if I don’t agree with his methods.

I wait until the moon sneaks behind thick clouds to step back into the palace. My sadness follows me as I walk into our bedchamber.

Hector sleeps on his side, facing away from me. For several breaths, I watch the up and down movement of his back. Then, I climb on the mattress and tuck my body against his.

I could never hate him. He’s a victim of war, death, and loss, but I cannot stay here.

The Seer knew it days ago, and now I must accept her agonizing truth.

ChapterFifty-Three

Over the next two days, Hector barely speaks to me. I barely speak to him. Thankfully, the black on my fingers doesn’t spread, and I don’t throw out any more curses.

Praxis joins me one afternoon as I walk toward the bakery in the middle of Karra. My daily trip to the baker is one of my only joys.

My guards follow me, their footsteps trailing behind mine. The two crows fly overhead, as if reminding me they’re nearby.

Children run past us, chasing each other in a game of tag. Wagons squeak and groan as they roll past. A scattering of snowflakes land against the cobbled streets. I shiver and bring my cloak closer.

“I never thanked you for everything you did for Edvard,” Praxis says.

“There’s no need to thank me. It was my pleasure to care for him.” My heart warms as I think of the precious baby with rosy cheeks.

Praxis reaches for my arm, drawing us to a stop beneath a stone arbor. “I could never thank you enough for everything you have done for me. For Edvard.” A muscle clenches in his jaw as he continues. “For Briley.”

Sunlight pours through the trees and glints off something in the distance. Metal? I squint, trying to get a better look. Praxis follows my gaze.

“Sol!” Praxis shoves me aside, and I gasp as an arrow strikes him in the chest.

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