“What could be worse than death?” The woman laughed feebly, but then scrambled toward the middle of the bed as Lorelai lunged forward, her bare hand raised.
“I am. I’ve lost my mother, my father, my brother, and my kingdom. The only thing left to lose is my own life, and that doesn’t scare me.” The truth of her words was a burning stone in her chest. “All that matters to me now is saving Ravenspire from Irina and people who support her. People like you.”
“No! I don’t . . . that is, I was just pretending.”
“Were you pretending when you sent a group of your own peasants to Irina’s dungeon for the crime of begging you for help? Were you pretending when you housed known spies and then invited your fellow nobility for a week-long house party that ended in nine of them being arrested for treasonous words against the queen? Were you pretending when—”
“How do you know about any of that?” The duchess demanded, her tone full of bravado as thin as the mattress on the maid’s bed.
“I listen—and I know how to be unseen when I need to be. You’d be surprised what I’ve seen.” The memory of the woman who’d killed her children to spare their suffering sent a flood of anger through Lorelai, and she clenched her jaw so hard it hurt. “Your crimes against Ravenspire are many, Duchess, and in a few short weeks, I will be your new queen. What can you tell me about my enemy that will convince me to spare your life?”
The duchess swallowed hard, and sweat gleamed on her brow, reflected in the brilliant light that wreathed Lorelai’s hand. “Irina is in love with Viktor, her castle steward.”
“What else?”
The woman took a deep, shuddering breath. “She never visits the castle gardens where your parents are buried.”
Lorelai’s heart ached, and she sharpened her voice. “None of this is helpful, Duchess. You have one last chance before I unleash my magic on you.”
The duchess hesitated, and Lorelai snapped, “So be it.”
The princess reached toward the sturdy wooden bedposts with her bare palm, and the duchess yelled, “No, wait! Wait. There’s one more thing. Irina is sick. Her heart. Whenever she does magic, especially a big spell, she has to take to her bed for days. That’s all I know, I swear on my life.”
Lorelai paused, magic burning her palm, her eyes locked on the duchess while her mind raced.
Finally, something she could use against Irina. All those years of forcing the land and its inhabitants to submit to her magic had cost both the land and the queen. A vicious sense of triumph welled inside Lorelai, and her smile made the duchess shudder.
If Irina weakened every time she used magic, if her heart was giving out, then Lorelai finally had a way to beat her. She could provoke the queen to use spells—huge spells. A weakened Irina would call on her army and her spies to help her defeat the princess, so the best way to incite Irina to use magic would be to work her way toward the capital, destroying anything Irina could use against her. She’d isolate her from her allies, tear apart the bridges, roads, and defensive positions that led to the capital so that no help would come for the queen, and provoke Irina to retaliate with magic at every turn. By the time Lorelai reached the capital, she’d be facing a queen too weak to put up much of a fight.
Without another word to the duchess, Lorelai left the bedroom, hurried out of the mansion, and raced to meet Gabril. They had two days’ worth of ground to cover to get to Lorelai’s first target.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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TWENTY-ONE
FOR DAYS, TRAPPED in his human body, Kol had run through forests, forded rivers, and climbed the western Falkrain mountains following the scent of his prey. He’d slept only when his legs gave out and refused to hold him. He’d eaten only when his vision blurred and a strange noise rang in his ears. The underbrush had clawed at him, low-hanging branches had swiped at him, and he’d lost his shirt when he’d tumbled down a hillside while trying to run at night. Through it all, the collar around his neck flooded him with pain, and the girl’s maddening scent of pine, snow, and sweet burning wood remained tantalizingly just out of reach.
But now, Kol crouched beside an enormous evergreen tree and stared at the girl sitting with her back against a tree, his dragon heart thundering, his chest burning. The air in the northwest Falkrain Mountains was frigid, but even though he had on nothing but his pants, his boots, and a collar of thistle and bone, he couldn’t feel it. All he felt was heat from the dragon fire trapped in his chest and a terrible pain that filled him until he could barely think about anything else.
He took a step, and her head whipped up. She met his eyes and smiled slowly.
“It worked.” She sounded triumphant, but then she looked closer at him and frowned. “Where is your shirt? And why are you still wearing Irina’s collar?”
He snarled.
The girl went still, her body tense. The wind teased her long black hair and brought her scent to Kol. He lifted his nose and tested the air. Evergreen, crisp snow, and the sweetness of burning wood, just like the coat his queen had given him to smell.
He’d found his prey.
No, not prey. She was . . . something else. Something he no longer had the words for. He shook his head, trying to think, to remember, but his dragon heart blazed within him, begging for blood and fire. For someone’s pain to match the unending agony that circled his neck beneath his collar and spread through his veins like razor-tipped lightning.
The pain would stop when he killed her. He was certain of it. The collar seemed to whisper to him, words he couldn’t understand but whose meaning he felt deep within his bones.
This girl’s heart belonged to Kol’s queen, and his agony would stop when he ripped it from her chest and returned it to the castle.
“What’s going on?” the girl asked. Her voice reminded Kol of another girl who’d held up her chin and tried to speak without trembling as she begged Kol not to leave her behind in their castle. Not to die.
Another girl . . . she seemed far away now. Lost to the cloudy memories of a life before the collar. A life Kol knew he needed to remember but could only access in bits and pieces.
“You need to tell me what happened. I can help you fix it.” The girl’s voice shook a little, but there was a confidence beneath it. A certainty that she could face Kol and survive.
She couldn’t.
No one could survive him. He was fire and blood and death. He was rage trapped in a human skin.
He reached for the knife tied against his belt.
The girl frowned and slowly inched her feet toward her body as if getting ready to leap to her feet.
The fury within him surged at the thought.
“Can you speak?” she asked, and this time all traces of fear had vanished from her voice.
The collar seemed to tighten and power poured out of it, searing his skin and adding more heat to the flames already raging inside him.
The knife fell from his fingers as he clutched his head with his hands and moaned. If he’d known the words to beg for his own death, he would’ve. His words, like his memories, felt trapped beyond the unending pain, beyond the shroud of smoke that had settled over his mind until only the whispers from the collar felt like truth.
He was a king. No, he was a killer. He was a brother.
He was fire, blood, and death.
And nothing would change until the girl in front of him was dead.
His head snapped up as the girl lunged to her feet. He locked eyes with her as his dragon heart beat fiercely. As he bared his teeth.
“Don’t.” She held up her hand like she could stop him. Like anything could stop him.
He clenched his fists as the fire in his chest spilled into his veins. Closing his eyes, he tried one last time to remember his reasons for not obeying the collar.
To remember himself.
“Run,” he whispered, his voice
more dragon than human, though he already knew it was too late. If she ran, his dragon would chase her. Catch her.
Kill her.
And he’d be free.
“No,” the girl said.
He opened his eyes. Drew in a deep breath of evergreen, snow, and burning wood. Felt the fire in his chest explode with a desperate need to hunt, punish, and destroy.
She shifted to the balls of her feet. Raised her hands as if to defend herself.
In one fluid movement, he scooped the knife off the forest floor and leaped forward.
Instantly, she sprinted toward him. He stretched out his hands to wrap around her neck and throw her to the ground, but then she was gone—somersaulting over him and racing toward the tree he’d been crouched beside.
He dug his heels into the ground and pivoted sharply, his dragon heart screaming for blood.
She scaled the tree in quick, graceful leaps, but by the time she was halfway up the trunk, he was already behind her. Grabbing her ankles. Flinging her toward the forest floor.
She did a front flip, tucked her head, and dove into a shoulder roll the moment her feet touched the ground.
Kol growled, his collar blazing, the pain wiping out every thought but one: kill his prey.
The girl was up and moving. She grabbed the knife he’d dropped as he scaled the tree and turned to face him.
He loosened his grip on the trunk and slid down it, ignoring the splinters that dug furrows into his bare hands and arms.
The girl flipped the blade around to face him and crouched, ready for his attack. “Just tell me what she did to you. Let me help you. No one has to get hurt.”
She was wrong. He was already hurting, and it wouldn’t stop until she was dead.
He lunged toward her, and she flipped to the side, narrowly avoiding his grasp; but this time, he was ready for her. Spinning to his left, he crashed into her, and they both went down.
She jerked her knees toward her chest, but he leaped on top of her and pinned her. She slashed wildly with the knife. Kol caught her wrist and twisted. She cried out in pain but refused to let go of the weapon.
He bent his face toward her and the fire inside him ignited into something blind. Feral.
Desperate.
Her heart. He just needed her heart, and then all this would stop.
He grabbed the knife by the blade, heedless of the metal’s bite against his skin, of the blood that poured out of his hand. Wrenching it out of her grasp, he raised it above his head and aimed for her heart.
“No!” She raised her hands, palms out, to cover her chest, and the knife ripped into the gloves she wore, leaving a long, jagged tear.
He shoved at her hands, determined to get them out of the way. Once he sliced into her, once he removed her heart, the unendurable agony inside him would stop.
Once he removed her heart. He blinked as the image of his queen pressing her hand against his own chest to tear his human heart free burned in his mind. That was where the pain had started. Not with the girl. With his queen.
Hadn’t it?
The collar whispered, the pain surged, and the memory was gone like it had never existed at all. He cried out in frustration.
“Wait.” The girl lifted her hands again. “Just wait for a moment. Let’s talk about this. Whatever you need, whatever is wrong, I can help.”
He glared at her—this girl, this little, insignificant prey who was keeping him a prisoner of the agony of the collar—and plunged the knife toward her chest.
She deflected it with a sharp blow to his wrist. Off balance, he plunged the knife into the ground beside her, barely missing her. He yanked the knife free, still keeping her pinned as she kicked and struggled.
He was fire, blood, and death.
She was prey.
His pain was about to be over.
The knife streaked toward her heart.
She turned and slammed her hands into his chest.
The bare skin of her palm beneath the tear in her glove touched the bare skin of his chest.
White light exploded out of her hand and arrowed into him. The knife fell from his hands. The fire in his chest quieted. And the pain—oh, thank the skies above, the pain became a muted hum he could almost ignore if he tried.
The girl’s eyes widened as the light found the empty space in his chest where rage existed instead of his human heart. Her magic felt like the comfort of a winter’s fire. Like the purity of a field of unbroken snow. She looked at him like she’d uncovered his truth, and he desperately wished he could ask her to share it with him.
“What has she done to you?”
He didn’t have the words to reply.
He suddenly realized that he was pinning her to the ground. That he’d hurt her wrist when he’d taken the knife from her.
That he’d treated her like prey.
Shame was a live coal lodged in his throat, heating his face and making it nearly impossible to meet her gaze.
What had he done?
I’m sorry. The words came to life in his mind, but his mouth could no longer form them.
She jerked as if he’d struck her, and her hand slipped from his chest. Instantly, the hurt crashed into him, and he doubled over as it stole his breath.
Pain. Nothing but unending agony and the terrible certainty that the only way he would ever be free was if he carved out her heart.
Please don’t. Her voice, soft and certain, filled his mind, lighting a path through the clouds that obscured his memories.
He lifted his face to stare at her.
Can you hear me? She looked at him as it expecting an answer. As if the fact that her voice was echoing inside his own head was completely normal.
He nodded slowly while his dragon’s heart pounded with rage and the collar whispered that she had to die.
She had to die.
Didn’t she?
Her hand pressed against his chest again. The pain abated, and warmth that had nothing to do with his dragon’s fire filled him again.
Better? she asked.
Yes. He thought the word and watched to see if she understood.
She held his gaze. What have you become?
He dropped his head. He was a predator. Fire, blood, and death. He didn’t have the words for it, but the truth was an image of her destruction blazing across his mind.
That’s not who you are. She slowly sat up to face him, her hand still pressed against his chest. You don’t really want to hurt me.
He didn’t. The clarity of her voice in his head felt like a beacon of safety. Like the only shore he still had left to stand upon.
Where are Jyn and Trugg?
The names felt familiar, but he couldn’t make them fit the fractured bits of memory that slipped past the curtain of smoke in his mind.
They’re your friends. A pretty girl with courage and attitude, and a boy who talks too much but who loves you enough to die for you. They would never have left you alone willingly.
He was alone. Imprisoned in his broken mind. Imprisoned by the collar that would flood him with pain, with whispers. As soon as she removed her hand, he would lose himself to it.
The collar is causing your pain? Causing you to hunt me? the girl asked.
Yes.
She must have bespelled it. She studied the collar without touching it. Our trick failed, and instead of letting your blood oath kill you, she found a way to force you to do her will anyway.
He couldn’t find her name, but the image of a delicate beauty with terrifying power filled his head, and the girl stiffened.
Irina.
Irina. He tried the word and found that it fit. That it matched the empty space inside his chest and the pain that spilled out of the collar.
She punished you. There was pain in her voice. Sorrow. But there was also anger, sharp as a blade and twice as strong. She figured out that we tried to trick her, and she punished you by taking your human heart. My magic can feel the space where your heart used to be. We have
to get it back, Kol. It’s the only way to heal you.
There was no healing for him. He was fire, blood, and death.
She shook her head. If that was true, I’d be dead. You’re at war with yourself. I can feel it.
Yes. He met her gaze and willed her to see that no matter what he did after she removed her hand, in this moment, he understood that she wasn’t prey. That she mattered for reasons far greater than a way to stop his inner torment.
We’ll start by getting that thing off you.
His dragon heartbeat kicked hard against his chest, but he nodded.
Please. He watched her bite her lip as she tugged at the collar with the hand sheathed in the undamaged glove. Please.
The collar remained stubbornly in place.
“Lorelai?” A man’s voice cut through the morning air, and her hand slipped from his chest as she turned to face the sound.
Pain was an inferno blazing through his body. Fury was the force that kept him alive. And the terrible stinging power from the collar flooded him, begging for the girl’s beating heart in his hand.
“What is that boy doing back here without his shirt on? And where are his friends?” the man asked.
Kol whipped his head toward the man and roared, his fingers digging into the ground as he crouched beside the girl.
The girl who must die. Who must give her heart to him.
The girl who hadn’t run, but had tried to reach him.
To save him.
“Get away from her!” The man ran toward him, his hand reaching for his sword.
“Wait!” The girl said as she stretched her hand toward Kol’s chest.
The dragon inside him snarled in vicious triumph as her outstretched arms left her heart exposed.