Page 106 of A Sword of Ice
Before Larke could reply, she pulled away and left the prison.
“We need to open the rest.” She grabbed Shula’s arm in passing, tugging the fire Fae towards a second door. “There’s a Fae named Larke looking for his mate. He says they took her away. Her name is Namir. There could be more Fae hurt here.”
Her heart pounded as she thought of her sister. A part of her prayed her sister was here. Alive. Another part prayed she wouldn’t be. Not as the image of Larke’s ears flashed in her mind. Cut off, twisted, scars spanning across his pale, bruised skin. Head shaved, given nothing but a shirt.
Dignity didn’t exist in a place like this.
She had the sudden urge to tear the place to the ground.
Shula followed her towards the next door. The lock was made of iron, and if she touched it with her bare hands, it would singe her skin. Iona pressed her hand to Shula’s chest, pushing her lightly back.
She called magic to herself, along with that same familiar feeling of wanting to protect. She siphoned the magic to her fist. Even with the iron in the air, her will to save others was stronger than her weakness. A fresh coat of ice spread across her hand like a glove. Her whole fist hardened like it was made entirely of solid ice. She pressed her fingers into her palms and swung at the lock, the strength behind the blow breaking it.
Then she was kicking the door in, hearing the shouts of fear on the other side.
This room was full of Fae. Filled to the brink of piles of bodies, more than the last one. The Fae inside whimpered and crawled over one another to get away from Iona.
Rage swelled inside her at the broken sight of them. She had to turn away so as to not frighten them further.
“Get them out of here,” Iona gritted out to Shula, who was staring at the scene with heartbreak prominent in her eyes. “See if you can find Larke’s mate.”
She walked away to take a breath, pressing her palms against the tops of her thighs as she bent over and heaved in deep breaths. The air burned through her nostrils, stale with the acidic taste of ashwood and iron, so it did little good.
She composed herself after a moment. She couldn’t let the Fae see her break. As part of the Resistance, she had an image to maintain. The image of someone brave and fearless, even if her heart was threatening to ride up to her throat and choke her. Even if her fingers itched to cramp against her thighs.
She turned around the courtyard, looking at the angry faces of the humans kneeling on the ground. Julius and Clay were watching over them while Ryker and Prince Valerio went to the Fae to heal and to reassure them, while Shula and Uric helped them file out of their prisons one by one.
Her eyes caught on Weylyn. Blood splattered against his skin, and his smile was a manic thing pulling at his features. Innards and broken off body parts were skewered against his sword, and he began waving them in front of the humans with taunting laughter and quiet jokes.
Crazy fucking bastard.
She’d always known he was a bit feral, hiding it under that quiet gaze. This just seemed excessive. Not that she really cared that the humans were looking green at the sight of so much gore of their own. They deserved it for what they’d put the Fae through.
Seeing Weylyn seemed to help her feel more composed. She took a final deep breath and went to the next door. As her hand hardened to ice, Shula came up behind her.
“Larke’s mate isn’t there,” she whispered. There was a trace of uncertainty in her voice. Like she was hoping for the best but expecting the worst.
“Then I will break down every fucking door in this place until we find her.”
“Iona…”
Her fist shot out and broke the lock. More Fae were freed. She kept punching through doors, and Shula kept pulling more Fae out. Hundreds trapped in a single camp. Her eyes frantically searched through everyone’s faces, looking for bronze skin and a face not unlike her own.
But there was nothing.
Even when they broke down the last and final door, there was no sight of her sister at all.
Tears stuck behind her eyelids, but she refused to let them fall.
“I can’t find Larke’s mate,” Shula whispered, oblivious to Iona’s turmoil. “There’s not a single female name Namir here.” Her hands tugged at the ends of her hair, pulling it forward and pushing it back again. “What do I tell him?”
Iona felt her own heart break. For Larke. For herself. For the sister she feared for even more now than she had in the past.
“I’ll tell him,” she said firmly. “It should be me.”
She weaved her way through bodies until she found Larke. He was in the middle of the courtyard, standing on the tips of his toes, obviously searching through the sea of faces to find his mate.
And Iona was coming to tell him that his mate wasn’t here.
