Blood Oath (Darkest Drae #1)(38)

I wanted to kill the king. I wanted to kill Jotun. How could I leave without making them pay for what they’d done?

I squeezed my fist tighter, the pain in my hands nothing compared to the pain in my mind, until warm blood oozed between my fingers. A drip rolled over the pad of my thumb before falling to the floor. The idea of revenge was even more dangerous than the hope of escape. Those were dreams I couldn’t have.

With a groan, I rolled onto my side and sat up. “Ty? You there?”

The silence that met my question filled me with guilt. If Ty wasn’t answering, it meant he was being tortured, and he’d endured more frequent torturing since I arrived. This was the second time . . . this week? I still couldn’t tell time in the dungeon. Around five weeks had passed, by my guess, but I couldn’t be sure.

My frustration solidified my determination. If Tyr snuck me out, there was no way I’d leave without Ty. Second rule of torture club: Don’t leave friends behind bars.

I circled my shoulders in an attempt to relieve tension and moved my neck side to si—

No!

I gasped for breath as I stood. My blood pooled with the sudden motion after being supine for so long. I sank back to the mattress in response, but my mouth hung open as I stared at the far corner in disbelief.

This couldn’t be happening.

I blinked, trying to clear my vision, but the three huge pumpkins still remained, sitting there by my chamber pot, ensnared in the voluminous green tangle of their vines.

I lifted trembling hands and covered my mouth. Pumpkin seeds . . . from my bread yesterday. This time it took no effort for my mind to connect the dots, but the how, or more accurately when, of the new growth had me stumped. The pumpkins hadn’t been here when Tyr was in my cell. Or maybe they hadn’t been here before he’d been in the room, but they’d grown immediately after.

I’d fallen asleep straightaway, hadn’t I?

I shook off my daze. Because the how mattered less as the moments passed, and hiding the large squash became increasingly urgent.

“Ty?” I choked out and then called louder, “Ty!”

I crawled to the corner, at a complete loss over what to do. The vegetables were up to my knees and bright orange, though, like the sunflower, the green of the vines was pale and unhealthy, a sure sign the plants shouldn’t be growing in the dark.

How could I possibly hide them?

“Ty,” I begged, moving to our wall. “Please. Please, wake up.”

The only answer was the weighty silence, a clear message that no help was to be found next door. If he’d answered? What could he, a prisoner as I was, do to help? Would he hide the pumpkins for me and incur another beating on my behalf when the ruse failed? Impossible. I couldn’t even get the pumpkins out through the bars.

Dread blanketed me, swallowing me whole. As I settled deep within the beast’s belly, I knew there would be no escape.

I returned to the pumpkins and sank to my knees in front of the largest one.

And awaited my fate.



I didn’t move from my kneeled position in the far right corner of the cell as the rattle of the lock drifted down the damp hall. When the dungeon door creaked open, I didn’t even shift my position. What was the point?

I had a fleeting hope the person wouldn’t be Jotun, but his heavy tread announced him as he crossed the room.

At least my mind had broken partially free from stunned disbelief. The time spent gazing in astonishment at the pumpkins had unlocked one truth.

I knew why this had happened. Rather, I knew who made it happen.

I knew what Tyr was.

He’d healed me more times than I could count. Brought me back from the precipice of death. Not only that, in the last week he’d begun to heal my heart of its wounds, too. At least it felt that way.

Tyr was a Phaetyn, a healer. His powers could be used on land or mortals. He could halt death in its tracks. He could make plants grow. He’d done something to the seeds. Unwittingly, I assumed. I knew he’d never intentionally hurt me, not after experiencing his meticulous care firsthand.

Tyr was a Phaetyn.

Phaetyn weren’t dead.

Jotun wrapped his hand around my upper arm, hauling me upright. My gaze stayed on the pumpkin, even as my hated guard ripped one of the orange squash from its prickly vine. Then Jotun hauled both me and the pumpkin from the cell.

The dark, rough dungeon walls blurred into the dark, rough walls of the stairwell, but we kept going up past the torture floor, and then the dark, rough walls blurred into the smooth, gray walls I hadn’t seen in weeks. The windows became more frequent and larger, and light—glorious, blinding, vibrant light—slapped me to my senses. I threw my free hand in front of my eyes to shield them from the onslaught of the sun. After so long in the dark, the light was unbearable.

Tyr was a Phaetyn.

I kept up with Jotun, knowing he would simply drag me to our next destination if I didn’t, but as my eyes adjusted to the light, I began to recognize the grand furnishings. Blood pounded in my ears as Jotun directed me into the one place I feared even more than the torture chamber.

Rows of the king’s guard lined either wall of the magnificent, dreadful, deadly hall. I stared at the ceiling-length double doors ahead and readied myself for what most certainly lay beyond.

I would not betray Tyr. My hooded protector’s secret would not cross my lips. He was a person I owed many times over for my life, and—as I remembered his tender kiss on my forehead—someone who grew more important to me with each passing day. The king drank Phaetyn blood to stay young, I could only imagine what he’d do to Tyr after discovering the truth. I would take his secret with me to my grave. No matter what.