Page 81 of Of Kings and Thieves

And when Moredanea beckoned another young woman to the dais, I fought the urge to vomit.

“No!” The word tore itself from my throat before I could stop it, my voice ringing through the hall like a clarion call. I rose again from my seat to stand next to Col.

“Samara…” Col said, gripping my arm in an attempt to keep me seated. But it was too late. His eyes flicked to The Harrow, and he raised his voice, trying to draw attention away from me. “My lord, surely there are better ways to entertain your guests?”

But it didn’t work. Their gazes remained fixed on me, as if waiting for an explanation for my outburst, or perhaps devising another sick game. Moredanea’s cold eyes bored into mine, her smile spreading across her face like a poisonous vine. The Harrow looked equally intrigued.

“The half-breed siren has finally found her voice,” Moredanea taunted, her laughter echoing through the room. “Do you not approve of our little game?”

“Game?” The venom in my voice surprised even myself. “This is nothing more than torture for your sick amusement!”

The Harrow leaned forward, his dark eyes boring into mine, and I fought the urge to shrink back from his gaze. “It seems you have failed to grasp the danger of your situation,” he said quietly.

“She’s only pointing out the obvious,” Col growled, but his words fell on deaf ears as The Harrow continued to study me.

“Perhaps,” The Harrow said, his gaze flicking to Moredanea, “you would prefer to join in the games yourself? We can let our new king decide what your punishment should be.”

I swallowed the lump that had risen in my throat, but it didn’t seem to go down.

“Touch her, and I swear I’ll kill you,” Col hissed, his voice low and cold. The guests were straining to hear the conversation, but one glare from Moredanea, and they all suddenly looked busy.

“I thought we had an understanding, you and I,” The Harrow said, looking at Col before addressing me again. “You see, Samara, you have given yourself away. You would risk yourself for the sake of a stranger. You may have been living in a bog with no knowledge of the outside world, but here in Iron Deep, as in all my lands, your mercy makes you weak.”

“You’re wrong,” I shot back, my voice trembling. I tried to push away the cold realization that The Harrow knew where I had lived. “And if you can’t see that, then maybe you don’t deserve to rule.”

The Harrow’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and the room held its breath. I knew I had gone too far, evidenced by Col’s iron grip on my arm that was cutting off blood flow to my hand.

Moredanea’s drunken eyes lit up with delight. “Oh, I know! Perhaps she needs a lesson in humility, something to remind her of her place.” She snapped her fingers.

Col’s hand instinctively went to where the hilt of his sword should have been. But Bloodsong had been taken from him when he was captured, and not given back.

The guards stationed at the entrance of the hall opened one of the large double doors. My breath hitched in my throat as it swung open, and a small, disheveled figure was led forward, hands bound, terror etched across her face. A girl, but not just any girl. Her eyes were too big for her face, her hands webbed and dirty, her tear-streaked face looking at me as if I were a ghost, though I must have looked the same.

Laney.

My sister—the person I’d sworn to protect above all others and then failed—was alive.

“Samara!” she cried. Her eyes were wide, pleading.

All eyes looked between us, no doubt putting things together. The family resemblance was plain enough. All other people faded into the background as my focus narrowed on my sister, my heart lurching painfully in my chest.

Laney was alive. After I had buried her, or thought I did. After that horrible day when I found my village destroyed, I had left. Where had she been at that moment?

My knees trembled. Laney was alive.

They had her.

A roar of rage bubbled inside me. Col’s grip on me tightened, but he didn’t offer words of comfort. Instead, now he seemed to be blazing with a new kind of fury. I didn’t need our bond to feel it radiating off him in waves.

“Something tells me you thought your sister was dead,” The Harrow said, as if he didn’t want to be forgotten in what was clearly an amusing conversation.

“An astute observation, Your Majesty.” Moredanea never took her eyes off me. “Which makes me wonder how she knew I had sent Deviants to her filthy village.”

“Let. Her. Go,” I said, each word punctuated by the pounding of my heart. In the back of my mind, I registered that Moredanea was wondering how I managed to go to my village before coming here in such a short time frame. I didn’t want to give her any threads to Killian. “Or so help me, Moredanea, I will make you regret it for the rest of your short, miserable life.”

The room fell silent, every breath held in anticipation, as Moredanea studied me. And then, to my utter disbelief, she laughed.

“No one crosses me. And that’s because I always win.” She sat in her chair and leaned back, smirking. “You think you can outsmart me, but you’re merely a half-breed playing at being a hero. I do hope you now understand the gravity of the situation.”

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