A Deadly Bite

3.1 || Exposed

Climbing a set of stairs has never felt like such a struggle. My boots have become leaden weights, protesting as I drag them up each step. I wince at the wood's disconcerting creak. Every nerve in my body twinges, a multitude of hooks latched under my skin and tugging me back to the safety of the floor below.

It's crowded down there. Noisy. But at least I would be free to hide.

Dalton's guiding hand on my shoulder is a lifeline. I use the contact to ground me, steadying myself as we reach the upper floor and begin down the hallway. The journey is an anxious eternity and yet not nearly long enough. My thoughts still scramble over one another, tangled and squirming and impossible to pin into an ordered line, as Oscensi's king slides a key into the gap beneath the handle of a door up ahead. One twist, and he's vanishing into the room. Sarielle and her father duck in after him with rapid fervour.

"Trust us," Dalton murmurs, quiet enough that only my ears must catch it. With a parting nudge, he releases me. I summon all my willpower and step into the room.

I've stayed in two or three tavern rooms along with the regiment, and this place is little different. A shabby bed takes up much of the space, the table beside it littered with implements I haven't the mental stability to identify, with a door curving off to the right that must lead to a washroom. Nothing worth studying, and yet I'd rather examine every inch of it than meet the eyes of a king who locked me in his deepest cell.

My gaze has the treachery to wander to him regardless. As Dalton clicks the door closed behind us, he suddenly seems to grow several inches, back arched and head tilted as if it bears the invisible weight of a crown. Reverence twines a thin thread over my fear. If I'd had any doubts over his status before, they are all tossed away now.

Beside me, Dalton drops to his knees. Sarielle is lowering as well, her head dipping in an odd sort of servitude that doesn't suit the warrior I know her to be. I scramble to mirror the action. The faint idea of royal respect, bowing to our ruler, flits between my shredded thoughts, yet that isn't the reason I press my knees into the coarse floorboards and hunch over, staring at the ground. I'm simply glad for an excuse to turn my eyes downward.

Perhaps the cold was a blessing. Fiesi's cloak has become a second skin, a form of camouflage that I cling to.

A laugh splits the silence, low and rumbling. "Get up off the floor, Sarielle. You've no place down there."

I twist my head to see her spring to her feet, every detail of her expression gilded with sunshine. With a grin wider than any I've seen her wear before, she launches herself into her father's arms, burying herself in his embrace. Tears sparkle in her eyes, shining with such intense happiness that I can't help the smile that turns my lips. Whatever his face might mean to my darkened memories, he is her family, one she feared was dead. I can't begin to imagine what a relief it must feel to be in his arms again.

I glance at Dalton, expecting to see a similar smile reflected back. Instead his jaw is clenched, shoulders tense, his gaze a blade that impales the floor beneath him. He catches me watching and softens the look, although I'm sure his ears have flushed red. In fury or shame, I can't tell.

He clears his throat and any trace of it vanishes. "King Cyneric. Lord Diraldi. It's an honour to have finally found you."

"The honour is mine." This is the king's voice, gentler than that of his advisor, not at all dissimilar to the floating drift of birdsong. It is armoured with command nonetheless. Perhaps Sarielle's pattern of speaking stems from royalty. "Rise, both of you."

Seamlessly, Dalton obeys, although his spine doesn't straighten fully. I struggle not to trip over my own feet as I stagger upright. Fighting to remain steady, I lift my head.