Page 70 of Heart of Night
The pain subsides little by little, but with the urgency of a life-threatening wound to keep me alert, I become even more drowsy.
“You’re getting out of here, Myron. Do you hear me? I haven’t given up my loyalty to you. Not in the way it counts,” he amends because we both know he has made a bargain with Ephegos that won’t allow for the same level of loyalty—not where it counts—no matter what his morals say.
“I’ve never taken you for the sentimental type,” I croak, wasting my energy on a lost cause. “I’m not getting out of here, and we both know it.”
“A little faith?” He pulls back his hands and tugs on the leather bindings at my wrists, opening them one after the other.
Gods, it feels good to be able to touch my blood-soaked chest—where my battered heart is calling for Ayna like a primal song I have no chance of escaping. It’s that thought pushing me to grasp onto the flecks of light dancing along the walls as the torch flickers in the slight draft coming from the open door.
With a soft snapping sound, the leather gives at my ankles, and Herinor grasps my arm, sliding his hand under my shoulder to help me up.
“Can you walk?”
I can’t even stand without my legs shaking so violently it feels like I’m weathering an earthquake.
“Guess not.” Herinor assesses the situation and leans me back against the table.
Not the table, I try to say, but my mouth is so dry I barely get a sound out.
Herinor seems to understand anyway. With a few efficient movements, he has me slung over his shoulder, grunting under my weight, but never faltering as he marches for the door, torch abandoned by the table covered in my blood.
Ignoring the pain racing through my body as I’m jostled with every step, I close my eyes and pray to our Maker that he’ll pave our way out—or gift me a swift end if I’m meant to never see the light of day again.
Ayna, the song inside my chest reminds me.
I keep my eyes open.
Ayna is not the only one I should be thinking of, even when she’s all my body and mind want to make space for. I have a cousin and two other males I’m responsible for down there in the dungeon.
“We need to get Royad and Silas out, and Astorian,” I remind both Herinor and myself.
“I need to get you out first.” He doesn’t slow when we pass the door leading to the cells where the others are locked up, oblivious. “Now, shut up so I can focus. If you do, I promise I will kneel to you when you’re out and coherent and have your queen by your side once more.”
There is no mocking in his words, no sarcasm. I think he means it.
My fae senses rush ahead to distract myself from the constant agony of being hauled around the uneven corridors of the royal Tavrasian dungeon. If this is supposed to be a normal prison, I don’t want to know what Fort Perenis is like, where Ayna spent months awaiting her fate.
A shudder rakes through my body, and power rises in my blood, the first hint of it since the Flames captured us. Gods, how could I have been so naive? How could I not have seen that Ephegos would know I was alive? He used all the assets he could get his fingers on to trap me.
The corridor ends in a set of winding stairs. My head hits the rough stone wall. Herinor doesn’t apologize. A head wound and a concussion are nothing compared to what I’ve been through.
“Not far,” he mutters, breath labored as if my weight is actually affecting him. “Try your best not to draw attention to yourself.”
A painful chuckle bubbles down my throat, and I swallow it. “Hard not to while draped over your Shaelak-damned shoulder,” I retort, pulling myself slightly to the left so his bones stop digging into my barely healed wound.
“My Shaelak-damned shoulder will save your royal ass.” Herinor was never one for court protocol and courtesies, but, gods, he’s taking the whole don’t-give-a-shit attitude to a whole new level, given the circumstances. “Now shut up and pretend you’re dead.”
While it’s easy to just dangle down someone’s back when you’re physically intact, what people tend to forget is that fresh injuries will keep you from relaxing enough to pass for deceased. I do my best anyway, biting back the grunts of pain as I drop my arms, my shoulders protesting when they tug on the bruises spreading along my sides. And the knife wounds crisscrossing along my skin… I’m not even going to mention those because they are not Herinor’s fault. No matter how he failed to remain loyal to me, he wasn’t the one slicing into my skin over and over.
My healing powers will slowly take care of those.
A door blocks our path, and Herinor stops, unlocking it with one hand while he keeps the other one on my legs to keep me from sliding off. Then he’s moving again, swiftly and with determination.
“Why?” I whisper as we get to the end of another hallway where he stops yet again to unlock a more elaborate door.
“Because I’m forbidden from helping her,” he snaps in a hiss, adjusting me so I don’t slide off his shoulders. “So I need to help you instead. Now shut up.”
I do. I’m quiet as we make it through an empty hallway that leads us from the dungeon, Herinor’s steps slower than I know what he’s capable of without carrying an extra weight, then past a set of windows with a view of lush gardens. Herinor doesn’t stop until he gets to a plain wooden door, where he fiddles with a lock while my heart races at the sound of footsteps approaching in the distance. Not so far distance… They are just around the corner, and we barely make it into the narrow pathway before they make it around the corner. Herinor braces his hand against the wall, controlling his breathing as he patiently waits for them to pass.