“She knew,” Shildreth said. There was not even a single note of hope.
I rounded on her. “She knew what?”
Faren stood between Shildreth and me. He put a hand up toward me to ward me off. “Give her a chance to—”
“She knew what?” I yelled.
“I told her they were coming for her. I had intel, you see, just this morning. She knew, and she let them. She let them…” Her voice broke on a sob. Faren went to her.
I sank to my knees and gazed up at the ceiling. The workers hadn’t gotten to this part of the keep yet. The crimson image of Desmerada in a bath of blood was still there. Her eyes taunted him, laughing at her inside joke. The king, powerful and victoriously returned to his throne. But those laughing eyes knew, as I knew, I was nothing without my queen.
She had sacrificed herself for me. Her plan was no doubt to kill Menelaus. But even if she managed to cut off the serpent’s head, the rest of it would coil around her and take her life. Menelaus’s army was legendary for their brutality. They would make her suffer. I had failed her yet again, allowed her to slip through my fingers and back into death’s tight grip. Here I was, playing at being king, while she put her life on the line to take out the most powerful enemy of all vampire kind.
I had to get her back. Her resolve, her fire, spurred me back to my feet. “Faren, how many days to Decanum from here?”
“It’s impossible, my lord. The Desert of Thorns is rife with Menelaus’s soldiers. There is no way to get there without paying with your life.”
I knelt before Shildreth and Faren. “I need your help. I’m not asking you as your king. I’m asking you as her friends.”
Shildreth put a trembling hand to my face. “I’m afraid Faren is right. There is no way to reach Decanum alive through the Desert of Thorns. And there is no way around it. Decanum has no other entrance. Our portal cannot access theirs, and in all the time our spies have been searching, not a single secret passage has been discovered. I am so sorry, my lord.”
Shildreth’s gaze strayed from my face and focused on a point behind me. I turned to see Arachne and a contingent of her spiders. They followed in two even lines behind her.
“She’s right. You will never make it through the Desert of Thorns. But”—Arachne ordered her spiders to stay put as she came to my side—“you could fly over it.”
It would take Zirga days to get to the Bloodkeep, and I had no way of summoning her. The furies would be of no help—they worked only as assassins, not couriers. Out of options, I asked, “What did you have in mind?”
“Farnkelan.”
Faren scoffed. “The dragon? He’d never let a vampire ride him, especially after what Desmerada did to him!”
“Like all wild things, he can be tamed.” Arachne’s black eyes glittered in the light, giving her an otherworldly beauty.
I remembered the great wings and talons I’d seen through the dark branches of the wood. A dragon that size could carry a band of soldiers and me to Decanum, and take out legions upon legions of soldiers with its fiery breath. But it was an insane strategy. If gentle Zirga had misgivings about me, how would I convince Farnkelan to trust me?
Helen’s words drifted through my mind, how she pitied the dragon for its mistreatment. How anything, if given a chance, could become something better. I would take my chances if that meant I had even the slightest hope of getting her back.
I stiffened my resolve. “Faren, bring your six best soldiers. We’re going to the Darkwood. After that, we rain down destruction on Decanum.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Helen
Cold seeped into me, chilling my bones. Only one spot on my body radiated any warmth—the demon mark on my back.
I opened my eyes and saw I lay chained to a bed, my body bare to the chilled air that wafted through the room. Large windows hung open on either side, allowing the breeze to blow through from the cold dunes of the Desert of Thorns. Decanum. My hands were bound above my head with simple chains.
I smirked. That wouldn’t stop my magic. Instead of burning the chains and the bed into ash, I settled my heartbeat and closed my eyes, feigning sleep. I needed my enemy to come closer before I struck.
It wasn’t long before I heard a door open, followed by quiet footsteps. It was Menelaus, his brand searing my skin. The bed shifted. He settled down beside me, no doubt taking inventory of his prize.
“Helen,” he whispered and ran a hand down my neck, my side, and then rested it on my hip. He was so close now. It was time. I felt him draw a sheet over my body, the light touch shielding me from the winds.