Blood Oath (The Darkest Drae Book 1)(74)

I dropped the aketon and nudged it over with my foot. Beneath it was a dagger, the small blade was still in its leather sheath, almost begging me to take it. I scooped it up and swung the belt around my waist.

I glanced down at my pale shift.

“Crap,” I muttered. There weren’t any female Druman, but the uniform would help me blend in more than what I had on. Disgusted by the thought of wearing anything that had belonged to him, I pulled Fake Ty’s navy aketon over my head. The aketon was long and provided plenty of concealment for the dagger belted around my waist underneath.

Perfect.

I crept out of dungeon-buddy-traitor’s cell and headed to the stairwell. There, I stood at the bottom, heart pounding, listening for sounds of people descending. No hint of disturbance reached my ears. Swallowing back fear, I gave myself a stellar pep talk: Run, Ryn. Run.

With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I took the stairs two at a time. I ran for my life, forcing all the horrendous things that had happened to me—Mum’s death, Arnik’s death, Ty’s betrayal—to the side.

Until I reached the torture landing.

A scream echoed down the hall, one filled with pain and anguish. A scream of bloodcurdling loss, one that petrified me.

For one second too many.

A door opened, and Jotun stalked out of one of the torture rooms, a gleam of malice on his twisted face. Our gazes locked—his momentarily startled to see me—and abhorrence rose so strong I could taste bitterness in the back of my throat.

I smiled back at him. I’d killed his Drae side in the fields. Jotun was human now, and still recovering.

I yelled as I charged, dropping my shoulder to deliver as much impact as I could. I thought of Irrik’s strength and wished for it. I collided with Jotun, and the air rushed from my lungs as we skidded several feet over the rough stone. I landed on him, and my lip curled as Jotun absorbed the brunt of our fall.

He grunted beneath me, but I didn’t give him time to recover. I struck at him with my fists, and when that didn’t prove enough, I clawed at his face. Spittle flew from my mouth as I screamed a wordless tirade on him, the sound of someone who had suffered greatly and was bent on revenge. I cried as the nightmares he’d induced crawled and writhed to the surface. He whimpered beneath me. The only sound of pain he could manage—his equivalent of an agonized scream—but I had no pity for the monster who’d inflicted horrific torture on so many—inflicted it and found sadistic joy in it. He deserved to feel the same awful pain. I wanted to deliver it to him.

The dying light caught my tears on Jotun’s face and broke through my relentless attack.

I did want to deliver Jotun pain. I wanted to draw it out for days. Jotun didn’t deserve a quick end.

But I wanted my freedom more than I wanted vindication.

I shifted to pull the dagger from my belt. My eyes widened as I saw Jotun going for a blade at his side. I lunged for the hilt of his weapon, and we wrestled, falling back to the ground. His knee twisted beneath him, and his face contorted. His grip weakened, and I wrenched the dagger from his hands.

Placing my knee in the center of his chest, I drove the blade between his ribs and deep into his chest.

Jotun bucked and threw me off. He was only human now and weakened, but he was still larger than me. Rolling away, I clambered to my feet and turned to run toward the stairs, picking up the sound of pounding footsteps.

I took two steps before slowing.

I was too late. Druman filled the passageway as I watched.

I should have run instead of wasting time in Ty’s room. Foolish girl. I’d lost my chance.

I glanced at Jotun’s writhing body, watching blood pour from his mouth as he flailed, until he stopped moving forever. My sacrifice hasn’t been for nothing. I tilted my chin, strength burning within. A monster was gone from the world, and I was the one to banish him to death.

I stood and marched to meet the Druman rushing toward me.

I expected to be taken to a torture room or my cell. But my blood chilled as the Druman corralled me the rest of the way up the stairs, herding me back to the throne room.

As we exited the stairwell, the ring of Druman surrounding me parted and I came face-to-face with Lord Irrik. The air sizzled between us as he stopped directly in front of me. His eyes flashed with a molten fire I couldn’t decipher.

He pushed past me and slammed his fist into the wall. He roared as he punched the wall repeatedly, and with his final blow, he simply asked, “How?”

The ground shook with the force, but his question wasn’t for me, or the Druman, apparently. He stomped off, snarling in his guttural Drae language.

A bruising shove had me dutifully following the mass of Druman into the throne room. As soon as I crossed the threshold, I knew something was different. It took me a moment to spot it.

The massive quantities of food were gone. The tables laid bare and pushed to one side of the room, stacked one on top of another, much like Dyter had stacked the stools at The Crane’s Nest. But the difference wasn’t just the lack of false gaiety in the ambiance or lack of food on the tables. The air in the throne room was heavy with a thick expectancy, a dark anticipation, a shivering tension.

I thought I was marching to my death, and I’d been at peace. But that was shattered as I saw who stood amidst another group of armed Druman.

I’d forgotten the king’s threats until my eyes locked on the only person I had left from my former life. I stared at my friend and mentor, lips numbing.