Page 48 of A Dagger of Ice and Intrigue
Zandyr’s golden coffin.
The Blood Brotherhood had been built on unflinching traditions, but this one was grim, even by our standards.
Every time the heir to the throne left Phoenix Peak, he had to bring his coffin along.
They said it was to avoid carrying the heir’s body in improper circumstances in case he was killed away from home. To assure his body made it as whole as possible back for the royal funeral.
But I saw the message beyond the pomp and circumstance–win or return dead.
No other option.
Zandyr hadn’t said anything, but I saw the way his gaze grew heavy and lingered on the coffin.
Silence fell over us again, this time ugly and stunned.
“You want to stick her in acoffin?” I finally said, voice cutting.
“That’s morbidly genius,” Elysia said gleefully.
I shot her a warning look.
“What? It’s not like Zandyr’s using it, thank the gods,” she said. “And that’ll keep her out of our hair for the entire trip. Literally.”
“I’ve enchanted it.” Soryn approached the coffin and lifted the heavy golden lid, revealing the red velvet interior. Seared in a corner of it was a rune I didn’t recognize. Soryn tapped it reverently. “This will keep her in the exact same state until you reach the fortress. No dying of thirst or fatigue. She’ll get to rest and wake up as if nothing happened. And none of us will have to worry about waking up with a dagger at our throats.”
I hesitated.
It would be better for her–and all of us, honestly–if The Huntress could sleep until we reached my fortress.
“If we’re attacked on the way, nobody will bother to look for her here,” Soryn said. “You agreed to protect her, this is the best way.”
I looked down at her face once more. I didn’t know what dreams haunted her mind, but they made her scrunch her forehead and quivered her bottom lip.
She did need to rest.
She was, despite my wishes, my ward now.
I had to take care of her, whether I wanted to or not.
I gently lowered her in the coffin that was much too big for her, making sure she slept as comfortably as possible.
The sudden weightlessness in my arms felt wrong.
Perhaps she would truly be at rest–and it took entombing her to achieve it.
There she was, in a coffin made for a future king, dress torn, skin bruised, cheeks stained, and she still looked like a force to be reckoned with, filling up the too-large space with her stuttered breaths.
If this was mercy, why did it feel like betrayal?
Before Soryn closed the lid, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, this would come back to haunt me.
The Huntress would hate me for this.
Chapter
Ten
ALLIE
