Dragons Against Them (Kingdoms of Fire and Ice #2)(52)
Damn.
Stale air stirred behind her, ruffling her gown.
“Only the hands of a priest are to touch the Holy Scripture, Princess.”
Addie spun toward the strange voice and found herself staring at the chest of a tall, thin figure dressed in a long midnight-blue robe. Though its hood was up, a long, dark beard hung from its owner’s face, the subtle glint of glowing blue eyes higher still. The way he stood, studying her in weighted silence with hands clasped before him, reminded her of another robed man she’d met the day after her initial arrival in this realm. As her brother, Quinn, and now Brom stepped into view behind the stranger, Addie knew with confidence exactly who this was.
And with that knowledge came a spike in her anxiety level.
The partial bonding spell. The rumored pain. The unknown effects it would have on her.
“But of course,” he added, a mocking tone to his tenor voice. “As a foreigner to our lands you would not know that now, would you?”
I’ve got to do this. For Zayne, and for countless other lives we hope to spare from an unnecessary battle.
With lifted chin, Addie stretched one hand out toward the stranger, curling the torn parchment into the palm of her other. “High wizard Haelan, I presume?”
Chapter 29
Rosalind paid little attention to either the scenery or the breaking clouds during their return to Weston. How could she when her thoughts were consumed by the pain of betrayal still fresh upon her soul? Of love lost and her future’s certainty destroyed?
Why, Quinn? Why have you betrayed me?
Jaxon landed and angled his shoulder toward the ground to ease her dismount. She remained upon his shoulder a moment more, reluctant to return her feet to the ground. Had she been born with the gift of flight, Rosalind might never have touched down again after witnessing what she had in Forath. Her scaled steed snaked his head in her direction and remained in that position even after she reached the clearing’s grassy floor, one eye glowing bright, the other a duller russet.
“Why do you study me so? Do you expect me to run off now, after my pathetic display of weakness?” The beast continued to stare. “What? What is it? I demand you transform and speak to me as a man, rather than hide in this coat of scales.”
At that, the wind began to whip and swirl around her. She turned to shield her face from the flying dust and debris. A hand clamped on her arm.
“I refuse to stand here and watch while ye stomp and whine like a child. Come.”
She tried to tug free from his grasp, but just as before, the action was pointless. Never had she met a stronger man. Even stronger than—
No. He was dead to her now.
“Where are we going?” she demanded of her naked escort.
“To the river. It is time.”
“Time? Time for what? A bath?” Maniacal laughter bubbled from her lips. “Is this another of your rudimentary customs, then?”
Jaxon growled and dragged her forward but otherwise ignored her question.
“Heathens, all of you. Living on borrowed land, possessing great powers and yet squandering them away on manor house furnishings.”
With a roar, he yanked her to a stop and raised a hand in the air. Rosalind closed her eyes and braced herself for impact, eager for the pain. It would eclipse all else.
“No.”
She cracked one eye open. Jaxon’s hand remained frozen in midair, his good eye glowing and chest heaving.
“Ye don’ have to do this anymore, lass.”
“Do what?” she asked as his hand lowered to his side.
“Let anger command your every waking thought, nor your speech to always inspire it.”
He tugged her forward again, and she turned to spy the river’s edge a short way off.
“But…I deserve to be punished for what I said. A strike to my face is a reasonable payment of retribution, is it not?”
“No.”
Jaxon continued steering them forward and did not slow at the water’s edge. Instead, he strode into its cool depth, hauling Rosalind along with him. Panic wrapped like a claw around her chest. If there was one thing she feared, it was deep water. She wriggled and squirmed in his grip as the waters rose higher upon her body.
Her knees. Her thighs. Her waist.
Rosalind stumbled, struggling not to be dragged down by the water-laden clothes wrapping tighter around her legs.
“Is this my punishment, then?” she squeaked. “To be dragged into the river, drowned by your hand?”
“Have I found the lass’s one true fear?”
Hatred flowed through her in a rush at his mocking tone. Even so, she drew closer to him as the water crested the swell of her breasts. Still he strode onward, with her locked in his grasp. When the water slid over her shoulders, attempting to swallow her whole, she reached both arms in desperation around his neck and clung to him like an infant to its mother.
“I have many fears, Your Highness. One of which is that I may kill you if I live to feel dry land beneath my feet again.”
“Ye shall no’ kill me this night, nor shall I kill ye. Now lean back.”
She tightened her grip around his neck. “No. I cannot swim.”
“I will not let ye sink. Now lie back. Allow the water to cleanse ye of your anger. Your pain.”
She met his russet gaze, mere inches from her own. There was certainty there. A calm determination. He had given her no reason not to trust him, aside from drugging her that first night. But it had been the will of the clan which had required it be done. Still, she hesitated. “But—”