Page 46 of A Dagger of Ice and Intrigue
He needed a proper funeral.
As the mist closed in on us, I made another decision which could damn us all.
I picked up Alaric’s body, muttering a prayer to forgotten gods, took out the dagger which had claimed him and placed it in my leather satchel, and threw him over my shoulder. The remaining air rushed out of his lungs, sending a deathly chill down my spine.
It had sounded too much like a warning from beyond the grave.
May the gods forgive me.
Then I picked up his daughter in my arms. Her head lolled against my elbow, exposing more of her neck to my disbelieving eyes.
I clenched my jaw.
Only minutes before, she’d been a storm in silk. A force of nature. Now she was cradled in my arms, as vulnerable as ever.
I imagined I’d have to drag her on board the ship kicking and screaming.
This was so much worse.
She would hate me for this.
I’d have to live with it.
Just as the mist finally snapped around me, I rushed toward the castle.
Behind its ornate doors, chaos ruled. People were screaming, crying, asking for justice and desperately calling out the names of relatives they probably would never see again.
Before anyone could notice me, I laid down Alaric’s body on the terrace as solemnly as I could in my haste. I made surehe faced the heavens, so the gods would receive him with open arms.
He deserved it.
Then I was off, letting the Protectorate wrestle with the death of their leader and the disappearance of their heir.
The Huntress’ wild hair whipped against my chest, as if she was fighting me.
Stubborn even when sleeping.
So many cuts and bruises marred her moon skin. The gash on her exposed thigh looked worse than the others.
But no arrow had hit her and no poison had infected her veins.
She would live.
I only stopped running once I boarded the Blood Brotherhood ship and reached Zandyr’s personal quarters.
I barged in without knocking–or making a sound.
Soryn and Zandyr stood above Elysia, who was busy changing Calyx’s bandages. Instead of red blood stains, a sickly green liquid soaked the gauze and sputtered from his wound. An arrow had barely grazed his shin, but the poison was already boiling his blood.
He was feverish and mumbling, a dangerous pallor to his face.
Worst of all, The Viper, the one who knew more about poisons, elixirs, and cures in all of Malhaven, looked worried.
“I’ve done all I can,” she whispered. “He’ll survive, but his leg…”
An ugly understanding settled between us.
More than all of us, Calyx prided himself on his strength and agility.
