Page 98 of Of Kings and Thieves

“What about your broken arm?”

“It healed when I changed into a raven.” Then he kissed my forehead, and I knew I was safe. I relaxed into his arms, felt the warmth of them and the lingering effects of the power flowing through his body.

There was a flurry of activity, and I heard Killian speaking to Silvius, who seemed to be alive. I was relieved, but I only had eyes for the man holding me.

Finally, when my breathing slowed and my vision cleared, Col picked me up and put me in a large carved wooden chair and covered me with his cloak. It was near the fire, which someone had started. I hadn’t realized how cold I was until his heat left me, and I sat there shivering under the cloak as Col cleaned his sword.

It wasn’t long before we heard the shouts of soldiers. The Harrow’s guard arrived soon after, but they took a long look at Moredanea’s ashes and the dead Deviants on the floor, at the king wrapped in an aura of power and holding Bloodsong, at Killian, and at Melion still in his giant wolf form.

The guards turned and ran.

Melion snarled and sprang after them. Within two great strides, he was leaping out of the room and into the guards. There were screams and shouts and more snarls.

“The Harrow,” Killian said. “He’ll know by now something is amiss.”

“Samara, stay here,” Col said. “No arguments.”

I wasn’t about to sit tight, and I tried to rise. But my legs trembled, and I sank to the rug in front of the fireplace next to the injured Silvius.

“It’s better you stay here, my lady,” the bard said weakly.

I smiled at him, too exhausted to even argue. The air was heavy with the scent of blood and smoke, a stark reminder of the battle we’d just faced. Moredanea’s chamber lay silent now, her dark magic extinguished by flame. Even the runes on the walls had stopped glowing. I tried to help Silvius, but he insisted he was okay for now, and then there was nothing to do but wait.

Col didn’t forget me as he left with Melion and Killian, sending images and thoughts of everything that happened as soon as he closed the door behind him.

Melion had killed every one of the guards who had come to Moredanea’s defense. Col leapt over the bodies, and over Melion who was still savaging one of them. Col called the wolf to his side, and he followed with Kolvar and Killian as Col raced down the gallery and out into a courtyard.

These castle walls were as familiar to Col as his own hand, and hours spent playing there as a boy paid off now. He ran through hall after hall, killing anyone who offered resistance. The servants were smart enough to get out of the way, but the soldiers were shown no mercy. These were The Harrow’s trusted, and they had no place in Col’s court.

By the time Col arrived at the destroyed great hall, news of his breakout had spread. People were in a panic, lesser lords and ladies all scrambling to leave, afraid of their status now that The Harrow had lost control. A few stayed and bowed to Col, however, and he called for them to begin searching for any survivors around the castle.

The Harrow had vanished. Col called a halt to their pursuit when Magnus and Scarlet stumbled in, battered and bloody. He directed everyone to the east tower, which appeared to be unharmed.

I waited for him in Moredanea’s chamber, where Col found me in the early morning hours. I’d fallen asleep on the rug in front of the fire, bundled still in his cloak, with his scent wrapped around me. He picked me up, tucking me in close to his body. I knew it was him, knew the feel of his body against mine, and I turned to face him.

He kissed me, gently. “Sleep, Samara.”

“Are we safe?” I whispered.

“Yes, my little siren. We’re safe.”

I woke again as Col put me down in a chamber in the east tower, one with rich tapestries and a large oak table. Morning light filtered through the ample windows, casting a warm glow on the worn stone walls, which seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as the Ironguard entered. Everyone else breathed that same sigh.

We had survived. Battered and bruised, weakened from blood loss and injury, but alive.

Melion lay half-sprawled against a wall, in human form, chest heaving as he panted. He had healed quickly, but the subsequent savaging of The Harrow’s men had left the shape-shifter drained. Scarlet stood guarding the doorway, knuckles white around the hilt of her sword. Her face and clothes were covered in blood. Silvius lay on a thick rug, collapsing as Kolvar helped him, pale and drawn. Only Killian seemed hale once again, moving among us with quick, efficient strides as he checked our wounds.

When he came to me, I tried to wave him off. “See to the others first.” My stomach ached where Moredanea’s staff had struck, but the pain was bearable.

Killian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re in no state to argue.”

Before I could speak again, his hands were on my ribs and stomach. A pulse of warmth radiated outward, and the last of the pain receded. I sagged against the wall in relief.

“Thank the gods,” Col said hoarsely. I looked to find him watching, eyes shadowed. He took a limping step forward, knelt in front of me, and grasped my hand.

I squeezed his fingers. “How bad is it?”

“Not as bad as it could have been.” He smiled. “Thanks to you.”

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