Defy the Sun (Beware the Night #2) - Jessika Fleck Page 0,19

memories came flashing back. Veda’s Offering … The countless moments I spent time with her over him … How I stalled during her execution … It might not have been obvious to most, maybe not even Raevald, but Arlen knows my tells too.

I backtrack. “Don’t let them win, Arlen. It’s not worth it.”

“You don’t think?” I shake my head, knowing full well he’s up to something. “You, heir to Bellona, wouldn’t do the same if in my position: Protect the Imperi’s information at all costs—even your own life.”

“Damn it, Arlen.” I lower my voice. “I’m not going to tell them anything you tell me.” This causes him to think. On what, I’m not sure, but he’s back to fidgeting, softly kicking the leg of the chair with his heel. “I’ll obviously lie. Then we can work to break out of here—we’re no help to one another if one of us is dead.”

He nods, slight humor in his eyes. “True.” Then he lifts an eyebrow. “Too bad I don’t have any information.” He pauses for effect. “It was a good plan, Denali.”

He’s either dead set on being some sort of martyr or really, really doesn’t trust me.

“You must have something.”

“Not anything of significance. And even if I did … even if I made something up to save my own skin, I’d still come out on the other side as a traitor. I’d rather die honorably than live the rest of my days a deserter.” He eyes me in a deliberate and scathing sort of way. “Besides, you seem too eager. You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, but hers even longer.” He laughs under his breath. “Leave it to you to fall in love with a traitor.”

“I’m not … I’d never…” But he sees through me. I know he does.

He changes tactics, leaning forward again, so much he scoots his chair closer. “It’s too late anyway, Nico. Raevald’s dead set on killing her. He’ll get his Offering one way or another, and this time you won’t be around to get in the way. This time her blood will spill across that altar.” Then he looks across at me. Shrugs. “Sorry, man.”

I stand. “We’re finished here.”

“Was she worth it?” he shouts.

I knock on the door. “I’m done.”

Keys jingle on the other side as Arlen manages to scrape his chair across the stone floor so he’s sitting right in front of me. And despite how I tower over him, he beats me into the ground with five words. “Veda’s as good as dead.”

The door opens, but Arlen’s still mumbling away about Veda. “As if it would have ever worked out between the two of you!” He glances down at his hands tied in his lap, toys with the fraying rope between his fingers. “Guess now you’ll never know.” The guy leers up at me.

And something about the satisfaction of that evil grin stretched across his face sets me off.

I lunge toward Arlen, ready to kill him myself. I cock my arm back for a good swing when Dorian grabs me around the waist and pulls me out of there.

As we’re walking away, all I can hear is Arlen singsonging the words, “It’s over, Nico … Any day now … You know it’s true … It’s over…”

* * *

I’VE NEVER SEEN anything like it, and I hope not to witness it again.

Unfortunately, the ceremony hasn’t even begun.

The whole of the Night stand four or five bodies deep in an arc—a crescent moon. Forced to watch, I sit to the side, my hands and ankles bound with rope. Dorian and the other Night higher-ups are perched on a platform above me and to my right.

There’s an hourglass slung on a hook before the platform. It’s been turned twice now and is shifting toward its third rotation as we wait for the clouds to clear. For the ceremony to begin. For the moon to shine down.

To my left is the Great Sea. When I look out over the water, it’s dark but the endless blue knows no bounds and reflects the twinkle of stars between the blur of clouds.

This is the section of beach the Night has claimed. Their first stronghold of Bellonian land and the only time in centuries, first war aside, the Night’s been openly aboveground.

Under the shadow of the Crag, shoved into the rocky sand and marking their territory, is a black flag. Upon it, a silver crescent moon. The fabric whips and snaps with the cold, unforgiving