Page 47 of A Court of Masks and Roses
“Viva Sylthia,” I whisper desperately. “That’s who caught me. They were moving whisperers, a hundred of them. I think they work for Bahir. Said something about the Messenger’s schedule and at least one of them was a holy guardsman. Like Samuels. The roses... They were expecting prisoners, remember? Stars.” My breath shakes as I speak. “I don’t understand how or why, but Viva Sylthia is in Bahir’s employ. Do you hear me? Tell me you hear me.”
“Easy.” Trace’s hand brushes my shoulder again. “I hear you.”
I let out a breath.
Trace studies me, his brows knitting together. “Is that why you left Delta? You wanted to rescue a hundred whisperers from Viva Sylthia’s clutches by yourself?”
I try to shake my head but it’s too heavy to move. “I was searching for Viva agents. I didn’t know Viva was traffickingwhisperers. Only realized it... only put it together at the end.”
Trace’s eyes flash. “You left the palace alone to seek out terror mongers who’d already tried to kill you once?” His voice rises, nostrils flaring more with each word. “What did you bloody think was going to happen? Did you bloody think at all? You said you work for Firehorn—pray explain how your being dead would help the king.”
Considering the state I’m in, Trace’s scolding has little of its intended effect. I open my mouth to tell him so, but it’s difficult enough to speak without wasting breath. “They didn’t kill me.” I meant it as a question, but it comes out a statement, defiant.
“If you think that’s a credit to your luck or skill, disillusion yourself of that this damn minute. You know how I found you? Hanging from a tree by your wrists, your shoulders dislocated, your—” He cuts off abruptly as blood drains from my face. His voice reins itself in to an even calmness. “It doesn’t matter. You are alive. Like you said.”
It’s too late, though, the attempt at calm. My breath quickens, memories shoving against my consciousness. Knives. Ropes. A throat gone raw and bloody from screaming. A horrific pop of joints. The dull side of a heavy ax... I choke on air.
“They wanted an example.” The words bubble out, bile rising in my throat. I was supposed to help the whisperers. I became an instrument of fear instead. “They wanted an example. To keep others in line. I... I was the example.”
“Breathe,” Trace whispers. “Try to breathe.”
I try. Fail. Try again. My breaths come too quickly for the air to do me much good, but the faster I gulp, the worse it gets.
Trace’s hand hesitates above my face, then lowers slowly to my forehead. Fingers calloused from years of training andholding weapons brush hair from my eyes. “It’s over,” he whispers. The apple of his throat bobs as he swallows, tense muscles sharp against his square chin. The silver-blond hair hanging loose from Trace’s bent head tickles my ear. “You are all right now. I won’t let them hurt you again. I promise.”
I focus on the path of Trace’s touch, my flesh tingling at the lethal power caressing my skin.I won’t let them hurt you again.I grip on to those words. I’m not with Viva anymore. I’m not alone. Trace is here and I am safe. His touch is proof and it feels good.
Too good. Too safe. Lord Gapral’s warnings ring in my mind.The only person who can protect you—whowillprotect you—is you. Forget that and you are dead.
“It’s all right,” Trace murmurs. “You’re all right.”
I jerk my head away from him as if scorched. Swallowing painfully, I force my body to evaluate itself. It’s not all right at all. I can’t move. I can barely breathe. I’m as far fromrightas it gets this side of death. “Liar.”
Trace doesn’t deny it. He pulls his hand back and tucks it beneath his knee.
“How bad?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
Cold fear grips my chest. My heart speeds. “How. Bad.”
Trace sighs. “Lacerations. Two puncture wounds, one in each thigh. Multiple fractures.” His eyes survey my prone form, his voice matter of fact. “I set and splinted the bones in both your legs. Don’t ruin my work.”
Fractures. Splints on my legs. Trace’s words echo and the sleeping memories bang against my mind’s shield. Stars. The panicked realization shoots through me like lightning. They broke mylegs.I can’t walk. Not now. Perhaps not ever. Not like I could. Leaf’s useless clubbed foot flashes before my eyes.
Trace’s hands grip my shoulders, caged strength vibratingfrom his body as his worried gaze rakes me. “Look at me. Stay with me.”
I blink at the green-lit stone wall of the cave. It’s cold and hard. I try to move again and can’t. Panic creeps back in ragged breaths and flashing fear.Something else,I shout at my mind.Focus on something else.Anything else.“You need to go. Tell the king about the whisperers. Find them before they get to Bahir.”
Trace raises a brow. “You want me to leave?”
“Yes.”
He snorts. “And what is to become of you? Or is dying the point of this brilliant plan?”
“A hundred innocent people—”
“—are already with Bahir. It’s been two days since Viva discarded you.” Gripping my chin, Trace forces my gaze to meet his. “I’ve worked too hard keeping you alive. So you are going to stay that way, understand?”
