Of Silver and Beasts (20 page)

My eyes stay on the relic and the pulse continues to beat against my heart. The empress is alive. But she’s getting weaker. And I’m just feet away from the thing that can save her
and
my home.

“Release me, bottom-dweller,” I shout.

Bax grabs my other arm and turns me to face him. His eyes widen, sending me a silent message. “Stop,” he says. Then his forehead relaxes. His features mold into softer lines, revealing the man beneath.

My neck muscles tense, but I allow Bax to usher me out of the temple and back onto the bridge with the confused contenders.

“Get back in line, protector,” he commands, his face returning to the hard-set lines of the ring leader.

Caben captures my hand. “What are you doing?”

I open my mouth to explain, then think better. Too many ears listening.

Krewl interrupts my thoughts. “Looks like his father gave him another free pass,” he says to Collar. “. . . always gets away with . . .” His voice fades out.

My eyes squint as I watch Bax move ahead of his league.

Father?

Caben quit his questioning as Bax led us down a side street toward the Cage and cell. The main street was already clearing out by the time we left the temple, and the music and cheers that filled the air were gone, returning the Otherworld to the eerie whipping of the fan blades and clanking steam devices.

The whole walk back, my mind reeled. I’m still trying to piece together what I heard in the temple. But the sight of the relic, the very thing that can save Empress Iana, keeps invading my thoughts.

Caben tugs on the sleeve of my tunic and jerks his head to one of the side tunnels. I nod and follow him through the winding, dark tunnel. We find one of the secluded chambers Bax spoke of, and I wonder how many contenders are killed off before they ever enter the Cage. Maybe it’s best if we lock ourselves away from now on.

After he closes and bolts the door, I pull him into the corner. “What was all that about the Perinyian protector?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I have no idea.” He drives a hand through his dark hair. “Maybe he meant the king. As in the ruler—”

“No,” I say. “They are looking for someone very specific and who’s still alive.” I press my lips together, sorry that I have to remind him of his father’s death. But we have to figure things out. “Something you said before . . .” I trail off, thinking aloud.

His blue eyes hold my gaze. “About what?”

“The crest,” I say as it comes to me. “You said your father told you to guard the crest—that you’re its protector.”

Caben’s eyebrow cranes, and he shakes his head. A laugh tumbles from his upturned lips. “Oh, no. That was just my father’s eccentricity. He’s always been melodramatic with family lineage.”

I scan the prince, searching his body. He crosses his arms, and a wave of heat splashes my cheeks when my eyes slip over the sliver of skin revealing his hard abdomen as his tunic draws up. Forcing my eyes to continue their search, I look at his hands.

“Where’s your ring?” I ask. “The one that bears the Paynebridge crest? Did you throw it out before we were captured?”

Caben’s arms wrap tighter around himself, and he cocks his head. “I still have it,” he says low. “I’ve sworn to protect—” His eyes widen. He’s made the connection. Finally.

Reaching behind his head, he ruffles his hair and yanks. I cringe at the ripping sound. But when he opens his hand, the ring is there in his palm.

Without talking, I accept the ring. He flashes me a warning with his eyes, as if I might run off with it and hand it over to Bax. I simply glare at him, and he huffs. I remove the thread that he had tied around the band in order to knot it to his hair, then run my fingers over the crest.

I’m certain there is more to this ring than its symbolism. The Otherworlders wouldn’t invade a whole country merely to take a token of lineage from a king. I study the silver of the winged serpent, and the oval blue sapphire beneath. Then I flip it over and trace the backing.

There.

With deft movements, I twist a nearly invisible cog on the inside of the band.

The silver-plated backing springs open. Caben reaches out and catches it mid-air. We glance at each other before we both dip our heads closer to the ring. Inside lays a tiny sliver of crystal.

A shard.

“How didn’t I know—” Caben starts, then shakes his head. “How could he have kept this from me?” The blue of his irises deepen, and his brow pulls tighter, his features troubled—betrayed.

“It’s discovered now,” I assure him. “I’m sure you father didn’t want to endanger you with its truth unless forced.”

“What truth?” Caben asks. “That the Otherworlders burned my kingdom and killed my father for a chip of glass?” His anger burns blue-white in his eyes, the black light adding to the effect.

Again, I’m at a loss on how to comfort him. Why did his father keep this from him, yet put the danger right on his person? A ribbon or anger coils around my chest. His father’s action wasn’t as abhorrent as sticking a syringe in Caben’s arm and poisoning him. But he still endangered his son for the sake of protecting himself.

His father probably wanted to keep the shard close, and having his son wear it, he’d have access to it at all times. I inhale a deep breath, then try to focus my thoughts on what needs to be done now.

“Put this back in its hiding spot,” I tell Caben. “As long as the Otherworlders don’t have it, they can’t complete whatever it is they’re trying to do.” I slip the shard and backing back into place.

Caben reaches out and grasps the ring. His warm fingers trail over my palm. My skin flushes, my heart quickens, and my stomach muscles tighten against the tingling sensation when his fingertips linger a second longer on my skin. I swallow down my nerves, shaking off my anxiety as he attempts to reattach the string to his hair.

The sight of him trying to do this, for some reason, makes me smile. I shake my head. “Turn around,” I say. When he concedes, I part his dark hair, my fingers taking in its softness, and begin to tie the string to a strand in the middle.

His shoulders tremble, and he gives himself a shake. “Sorry,” he says, abashed. “Haven’t had someone play with my hair in a long time.”

I raise an eyebrow, surprised. Surely the prince has women fawning all over his rich, lustrous locks daily. “I find that hard to believe.”

Whipping around, he turns on me—my hands freeze midair from where they were just in his hair. “You have too many assumptions about me, protector.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap. “Not now that Bax has taken a liking to it.” Caben’s forehead creases, his mouth parts, and I groan, feeling bad for my outburst. I’m ashamed that I’ve allowed the Otherworlders to turn my title into something vile. “Just . . . sorry. I don’t like how he says it. And it’s fresh.”

Caben’s features relax and he nods once. “Understood. Though, it can’t be worse than”—he lowers his voice to match the announcer’s—“‘The Prince of Pain.’” He smiles, and I laugh.

“Very true,” I admit.

His gaze holds mine for a moment, then he sighs, breaking eye contact. “Before, what I meant was . . .” He trails off, and continues after clearing his throat. “I was referring to my mother. She used to run her fingers through my hair when I was boy to soothe me to sleep.”

He looks away, adjusts the sleeves of his tunic. Checks the back of his head, making sure the ring is secure. And I watch.

I see Caben.

Not the prince—not the title. Not even the spoiled heir to a kingdom. But a man who has lost things.

Settling along the stone wall, I slide down and bring my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs. “My mother used to whisper-sing to me,” I say. I clarify when Caben furrows his brow and cocks his head. “My father was moody a lot”—I roll my eyes at this, thinking moody is too kind a word—“and she never wanted to bother him. I just remember she had a beautiful voice, and I would scoot as close as possible to hear her.”

Of course, what I don’t tell him is now that her sickness has taken over her lungs, she’ll never sing again. That thought sinks my heart. I’d give anything to afford the medicines that would restore her health. If such medicines exist.

A quiet, unspoken comfort settles in the room, and I stretch out on the floor, ready to retire.

Caben jerks his head toward the cot. “Take the bed,” he says. “I think it would be wise for us to share a chamber—and one of us to be on the lookout for other contenders and whatnot. I can take the floor.”

I’m about to argue, because technically, he’s a prince and I’m still his protector. By protocol, I should be the one to offer up the cot, listening for enemies. But then I remember his words from earlier, about how defending him against Crew belittled him as a man, and wonder if this is yet another of his ways that makes him feel empowered as such.

I decide it is. I simply nod, then move to the cot and lie on my side.

There is much more to discuss and to figure out about the Otherworlders, our countries, and our own predicament. But right now, I’m exhausted. So I close my eyes and hum the song of my childhood as I drift off.

I stretch and relish the feel of my body moving with more ease and less soreness.
Thank you, Alyah.

As my blurry sleep vision clears, I spot Caben in the corner, his back pressed up against the chamber wall. Watching me.

“You snore,” he says, a smile curling the corner of his mouth. “Loudly.”

Annoyed, I say, “Sorry your accommodations are not up to your royal standards.”

This only stretches the smile on his face.

I push off the cot, walk across the chamber, and unlock the metal door. “Come on. I’m starving, and we need to keep up our strength.”

Once we’re back in the master cell, we accept our trays of food—if that’s what you can honestly call it—and find a place along the wall. The grain bread and cheese are dry and bland, but I devour every crumb. Then I guzzle from my canteen, first drinking and then taking another swig to swish around my mouth, spitting it out behind my back.

“Ladylike,” Caben says.

“Again, I apologize that things aren’t to your liking.” I scowl. “Did I sleepwalk during the night and whip up on you? I must have done something to deserve this degree of etiquette critiquing.”

He laughs. “Sorry. I’m just feeling lighter.” He tilts his head. “Relieved, I guess. That we discovered—”

I press my finger against his mouth and peek around the cell. Most of the contenders have moved out to the training ground, but one of the feather brothers, Kaide, lingers near the opening, sending looks our way. The brothers don’t talk. Always quiet. And it’s the quiet ones that worry me.

As I continue to glance around the room, I become acutely aware of my finger still resting over Caben’s lips. They’re soft and warm, and he doesn’t remove my hand. Instead, he holds perfectly still. I meet his eyes and lower my hand, the grooves of my finger taking note of the curves and warmth of his mouth. Then I quickly tuck my hand under my thigh.