Blood Oath (The Darkest Drae Book 1)(72)

“Take her away,” Irdelron barked. “I’m weary of her incessant cries.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he peered down at Arnik’s corpse. “And have someone clean up that mess.”

My heart bled for my childhood friend. The deep recesses of my very soul had been torn and crushed. These were shattered wounds that my Phaetyn powers couldn’t heal, and I was sick with the depravity of this person. The pathetic excuse of a man who called himself king.

Irrik tugged at my arm gently, but I couldn’t look at him. When he lifted me, I buried my face in his aketon and continued sobbing. The silence in the foyer did nothing to halt my harrowing pain.

But when Irrik turned to go to his tower, something penetrated my cloud of despair. I sucked in a breath and shouted, “No.”

Irrik’s tower was a gilded fa?ade, shielding me from the malevolence of Irdelron’s power. It would be wrong to be in a soft bed or couch, to have food, warmth, or comfort. It would be wrong to delude myself that any of those things meant safety or approval. The dungeon offered no such mask. I saw through the faux freedom Irdelron had given me.

“I want to go to my cell,” I murmured to the man who had killed hundreds of my people. To the man who’d ended Arnik’s life with the flick of one great talon.

I wanted to loathe him, to hate the Drae with everything in me. I wanted to beat him and kill him for the death he’d caused and the blood he’d spilled. But the pain he radiated was mirrored by the haunted look in his dark eyes. I’d seen through the Drae’s fearsome mask. Underneath it was the wretchedness of his life in chains. A life that was now mine, too.

We were both of us slaves.

“Why do you look at me like that?” he whispered.

I continued to study him, not sure how to answer.

He pivoted, carrying me as though he held air, and led us down the stairwell toward the dungeon cells, his gaze shifting to me and then away.

“Have you ever tried to resist?” I asked. He wouldn’t need me to clarify that I meant the king.

He winced as if my question brought him fresh pain. Ducking his head, he said, “Every time I do, it is worse. Worse for me and for the victim of his brutality.”

I furrowed my brow. How could that be? Dead was dead.

“I know the limits of my oath,” he said after catching my frown. The king can’t make me kill anyone but those threatening his life or his rule.”

Arnik and the rebels had been after both.

“For traitors,” he continued. “There is a difference between a quick death and one that is drawn out and painful. When I have attempted to refuse him, the compulsion to act builds and builds until it seizes me and I cannot resist. I have nailed my feet to the floor to try to deny him.” He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. “So, when he gives me a command, and I can choose to make it fast . . .” He turned his face so I couldn’t see, but his pulse feathered in his neck.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t imagine living that way for decades, and still . . . existing. There would be no part of me left. None. I tightened my hold and closed my eyes, terrified to see his reaction. But I did not want to continue living this way, this sick tortured life. I would live for hundreds of years, just like Irrik. “Will you kill me, if I ask one day?”

He was silent as we continued our descent.

“No.” His chest rose and fell, and he said, “I’m sorry. I could never do that.”

I nodded. I’d heard Irdelron command him to keep me alive. Even invoking the oath between them.

We arrived at my cell, and tears pricked my eyes as I contemplated the vile eternity before me. A small spark of compassion welled inside, and still in his arms, I glanced at the Drae. “Let me heal you.”

Surprise and then confusion flitted across his face before he scowled. “Why?”

I rested my head on his chest, weary beyond measure, and let the steadiness of his heartbeat ground me. I was almost sure his recent injuries were because of me. Much of his behavior had always been a mystery, but I did know, looking back through our interactions, that he’d always decided on the lesser of two evils when he had a choice. Keeping my eyes closed, I told him the truth, “Because even though you are the one to inflict the pain, you are not the creator of it.” We were both captives to the king, and for the first time, I felt a connection, an understanding, with the feared Drae. “And because if I heal you, I’ll be defying him, just a little, in my own way.”

Lord Irrik rested his cheek on top of my head and, to my surprise, he sighed. How very un-Irrik-y.

“Do you know what you’re offering?” he asked.

I tilted my head and met his gaze. “Yes.”

He set me down and reached around to unlock my cell door. I didn’t want to go in. Not just yet.

I raised my hand, resting it on his stubbled cheek, the roughness of his whiskers tickling my palm.

He looked down, and the ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “You’re not going to make me lick your body, are you?”

Two tears escaped my eyes, and two more tears chased after them. “I’m sorry I hated you so much. You aren’t responsible for his maliciousness.”

I stretched onto my tiptoes and pulled his face to mine. I closed my eyes as our lips touched, and I willed him to not only feel better, but to be better. The salt from my tears was on our lips, and I urged my Phaetyn energy to go to him, so his bruises would fade and the pain of his wounds would lessen. He sighed again and wrapped his arms around me, and I longed for his heart to be whole and his mind to be clear. He ran his fingers over my cheeks, and I wished for the scars in his heart to be gone and the ache in his soul to find peace.