Page 13 of Seasons of War
Life couldn't be over when people relied on her. Plenty of people knew how to write news, but no one else handled the Pixi Dust. Kira may not know how the Old Ones created it, but she knew exactly how to make it bleed. How to draw it out of hiding and do what the Phaedra claimed only he could do. They spent three years planning and risking their lives for their next big move. All this danger for it to unravel weeks before their big night?
She lodged her fist against her gut, desperate not to get sick again. Her stomach was rushing up her throat when she heard the handle of the door turn.
Instantly, Kira whirled around and flattened against the wall, fists clutched at her chest like she might protect her heart from whatever came next. First, she sawa broad shoulder, straight enough to cut through glass, and then the door opened to a far sharper stare. Eyes, as frigid and faintly blue as ice, drilled into her own.
Zayne Riven. Military royalty.
She grew up with pictures of the Rivens and the Phaedra in the children's home. It didn't seem possible for the terror to grow, but it exploded now, and her knees buckled. She clung to the wall like when the wind ripped at her from the edge of the building three years ago, certain that gravity—that this man—would throw her to her death.
That light, strange feeling of heights set the world around her in motion, spinning unsteadily, like the wobble of a top, moments from falling. What was one of the Riven men doing here, with her?
Kira was going to die.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she looked up at the light, holding on for dear life to keep from passing out.
The Phaedra called upon his inner circle to deal with her. Did that even happen to people?
A select few in the empire bore the Phaedra's seal on their forearm. The shadowy ink tower represented his trust in that person and granted his full authority to them. But she heard the Riven brothers were honored with a double seal, one on each forearm. No one came closer to the Phaedra than they did. No one other than their cold-hearted father.
Kira was trapped in a nightmare. Nothing else made sense.
What had her mother done to attract the attention of the Rivens?
“Kira Stiles.” A deep and crisp voice drifted to her, as cold and cutting as the rest of him. Every sound he spoke was precise. This was a disciplined man. One who strategically measured every moment, every decision. Every single thing about himself, no matter how minor. “My name is Sergeant Riven. I'll be your liaisonin the prison.”
Liaison sounded too civilized a word. Kira looked into the eyes of power, and that was the moment she truly understood that nothing—absolutely nothing—would ever be the same.
Seeing Zayne Riven changed everything.
“You must have questions,” he said with a manufactured politeness she figured came from habit more than any respect for her dignity.
He waited for her to answer, but if she dared loosen her jaw, she might shriek. Instead, she averted her eyes and shook her head, unable to hide her fear. What was she supposed to do? Not even her masked stranger could help her here.
“There will be plenty of time in the future if you change your mind,” he said.
Plenty of time? Did he intend for that to sound so menacing?
“I'm obligated to ask if you've decided to share any information about your mother or the Followers, though you don't look ready to talk.”
Until today, she didn't even know Mom was alive. “I… I don't know anything.” She hated how pathetic her voice sounded.
“Of course, you don't.” He opened the door wider. “I'll escort you to your cell. Cuffs won't be necessary as long as you stay calm.”
Her gaze shifted to the handgun on his hip. An image of him drawing it shot a painful chill down her spine. He looked lethal enough without a weapon.
Kira didn't want to give him a reason to slap cuffs on her. No, thank you.
Instead, she followed him down a long hallway while he explained things that should matter but didn't. Meals, clothing, necessities that involved anything except what she actually needed. An escape. Or at least, answers.
With each step, her mind shrieked in a primal warning too deep for words, pounding at her with the weight of death. Destruction. Doom. The cries inside swelled so loud that her ability to feel the danger snapped. She felt herself detach, part of her floating away while she stared at the back of Zayne Riven.
“I'll come by most days,” he said.
Lovely. He looked like such great company. A really sweet guy, surely.
Kira bit her cheek, wondering if she looked at the man who would one day take her life.
“Panic kills.”
