Page 92 of A Sword of Ice
“So it was all a lie,” Prince Valerio hummed, but there was something akin to death in his gaze, in his stance. “You lied to us all. You had us believe you wanted to save the Fae from death, but really you just wanted to find your sister.” He turned that glare to Weylyn. “And you knew about it.”
Weylyn smirked in response.
“What else do you know about that you do not tell us, I wonder? Did you know about Shula when she ran away as well?”
Weylyn just lifted his shoulders and tugged at the end of his long braid. That non-answer seemed to be answer enough.
“What the fuck, Weylyn? Are you even on our fucking side?” Valerio lost all his composure as he stepped towards the golden Fae.
But Weylyn didn’t flinch under the prince’s scrutiny. If anything, he seemed even more amused by it.
Humans had legends of devils. Beautiful creatures that provoked chaos and unrest. Weylyn reminded Iona of those stories. Of a deathly creature that resembled an angel, but who just wanted to watch the world burn.
“Am I to use my power for your every whim, my prince?” Weylyn taunted. “Should I reveal everyone’s secrets just to make it fair?” His smile widened somehow, and for the first time since meeting him, Iona felt a sliver of fear down her spine. “Since we are confessing sins, should I tell them all why you really went after the Fire Dancer that night?”
Valerio seemed to pale at the very suggestion.
“No?” Weylyn laughed. “I did not think so,my prince.”
Valerio composed himself enough to growl at the mocking tone in his voice. “You know what? Fine. The only reason I agreed to go after Shula at the temple of the Brotherhood was because Davina led me to believe that Shula was my mate.”
Ryker snarled.
Shula’s face reddened.
But Valerio did not take his eyes off Weylyn. “You were using that information as leverage over me. It is what you do. You hoard secrets and taunt us with them because it makes you feel superior, but you forget you are just my father’s dog.” He stepped close until their noses were touching. “I am the prince here. Not you.” He turned away from Weylyn, dismissing him. “And I will not be manipulated again.” He glared at Iona. “You lied to me. To us. I will tell you what I told Shula. We are a group, and when one does not follow orders, we die. So take a good look at your mate, Iona Wylde. Because the next time I am disobeyed, his fate may be worse than a sword to the belly. The next time, he may end up dead. And that is a promise, because if you commit another act of treachery like this again, I will order Ryker to let your matedie.”
Then he nodded to Ryker, and he yanked the sword out of Julius. Blood bloomed and her mate let out an agonized cry. Ryker’s palm covered the wound and glowed white, staunching the flow of blood.
But even as he healed Julius, Ryker still winced, groaning as his nostrils flared and he took on the pain of the wound to himself.
Shula hovered over him, her hair kissing Ryker’s scarred cheeks as she bent. She whispered words of encouragement, but Ryker didn’t hear them all.
Because he slumped to the ground and didn’t get up again.
40
Promise
Shula swiped at Ryker’s brow with a damp rag. It had been hours, and he still hadn’t stirred after healing Julius. The others had all gone about setting camp and taking watch with tense postures while Shula tended to her mate. The only one who had stayed close was Ryker’s familiar. The black cat sat vigil at his side, those bright eyes all but glaring at Shula as she worked, purring in a way that brought her a modicum of comfort.
Julius and Iona had disappeared. She didn’t particularly care where the two had gone. Rage still seethed inside her chest. She’d told them going there was a bad idea, but they hadn’t listened.
These were the consequences.
Tears prickled behind her eyelids, but she kept them at bay as she swiped over his brow once again. She hoped her proximity and touch could soothe him, bring him out of the unconsciousness he found himself under.
Shula was no expert on magic and certainly no expert on healing magic. She didn’t know if this was normal for him, if the pain had just been too much and his body had shut down, or if it was something entirely worse.
She didn’t want to contemplate if it was something worse.
She wrung out the cloth off to the side and when she turned back, Ryker’s eyes were open and hard on Shula. For a moment, her movements stammered, her hand holding the cloth pausing just over the scars on his cheeks.
When he didn’t speak or move, she swiped it over the sweat that had formed against his skin. She moved methodically, working in silence that somehow seemed to mean more than words ever could. Her heartbeat sped up with each stroke along his face, and when she finished with nothing else to do, she dropped the cloth off to the side.
Shula already had the pattern of his scars memorized, yet she traced them with her gaze just the same, wondering if she stared at them long enough would they be imprinted on her as much as Ryker was embedded into her soul.
His scars were a testament to his goodness. She’d always thought that. It was goodness and something else, too. A need to save the Fae like he couldn’t save Mairin, his sister who had died brutally at the hands of human soldiers. The scars had been her last parting gift to her brother. Lines that zigzagged across a handsome face, distorting it entirely.
