Captive

Captive THE CURSED BLOODSTONE BOOK TWO LIANNE KAY Copyright © 2023 by LiAnne Kay All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For my husband. It keeps getting better. Every day. Every month. Every year. Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Afterword Also by LiAnne Kay Acknowledgments Chapter One “Who are you working with?” Luc’s anger spears the space between us, sending a bolt of ice up my back. “There is no one.” I wipe my bound hands against the sweat beaded on my brow. I suppress the powerful urge to glance at the man to Luc’s left. The one sitting in an ornate chair, wearing the same gold livery collar Roland wore when he slaughtered Mother. It takes everything in me to not rush to my feet, run to where Hector sits, rip the collar free, and throw it in the deepest part of the ocean. Nobody would ever wear it again. Even if I did, it would change nothing. Hector would still be the Bloodstone’s chieftain, and he would still sit there in this throne room as if he’s a king. And I would still be forced to kneel in front of the dais with my hands bound. “I’m no fool.” Luc taps his finger on the side of his goblet, then narrows his green eyes. “The Kyanites despise us. They wouldn’t have sent you by yourself.” “Nobody sent me.” The words scrape against my tongue. “Vengeance was mine, and mine alone.” Luc surges out of his chair and charges toward me, momentarily startling me. I flinch but quickly recover. He looms over me, goblet still in hand. “You’re lying.” Inwardly, I pray for calm, then lift my chin to face the resentment glinting behind his stare. “I am not.” “How many are there, Sol? Who are they? Give us their names.” When I don’t answer, he speaks to Hector while continuing to glare at me. “I told you the Kyanite wouldn’t willingly give them up.” Luc bends down, putting his face within inches of mine. “I could make you talk.” Anger rips through me, and I shout in his condescending face. “If I had an accomplice, it was you, Luc! You brought me here, remember? You drugged me, kidnapped me from that alehouse, and brought me to your camp to heal your sister.” Luc jerks back as if my words scald him. I see an opening, so I press on. “And I saved Leah, didn’t I?” When he doesn’t answer, I continue. “You’re the one who said I should marry—” An animalistic growl explodes from Luc as he pivots and hurls the goblet. It crashes into a terracotta jar, and both skitter across the floor. “You can throw whatever you want, Luc,” I say coolly. “It won’t change the part you played in all of this.” He spins back around and pierces me with a lethal stare. “A decision I regret every day, Kyanite.” “Luc.” Hector’s deep, calm, voice comes from the dais. Luc grips his sword and glares with enough fury to make a thousand hardened soldiers melt into a giant puddle at his feet. A chill runs down my spine as I envision him unsheathing his sword and driving it through my chest. Nobody would storm this throne room with its tall arches and many windows to rescue me. Nobody would even care if they killed me. These Bloodstone barbarians probably wouldn’t even give me a proper burial. They’d throw me in the dirt and allow the buzzards to feast. Luc turns and walks a few paces away. He inhales and appears to collect himself. When he turns back to me, he says in a firm voice. “Explain why there is another Kyanite here and how you know him.” Shock rips through my body. They know about Malachi? Olah, help me. Somehow, I remain outwardly calm, staying in the kneeling position they forced me into when they dragged me to this room inside the Astarobane palace. I even adopt a meek tone. “There are no other Kyanites here.” “You continue to lie and deceive.” Scorn curls Luc’s mouth downward as he glances toward the door and nods. The cold marble cuts into my knees as I pivot toward the entrance. The massive, metal-trimmed wood doors open, and two unfamiliar Bloodstone warriors enter, dragging Malachi between them. No. No. No. This cannot be happening. Giant knots coil inside me as I take in my friend’s bloody, torn clothes. The warriors shove Malachi to his knees beside me, and my heart shudders. His hands, bound behind him, are held up at a severe angle by one of the guards, so that his shoulders are pushed forward. He’s forced to lean his head and chest toward the floor to relieve the pressure on his arms. Luc addresses Malachi. “Are you Kyanite?” Malachi jerks his gaze to me, and my stomach plummets. His face is so swollen, he is barely recognizable. Sadness and regret burn behind his familiar gray eyes. “Don’t look at her,” Luc snaps. “Answer my question.” Malachi nods at Luc. “Say the words.” Luc’s command pierces through me. No. Please don’t say it.