My Ex Sold Me To The Devil のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 111 - チャプター 120

We traveled by carriage, which I had not expected. It was a great dark carraige, made for a King, drawn by four horses and flanked by riders, and it swallowed the miles far faster than my own two feet ever had when I fled north with Mael on my chest and nothing else in the world.The inside was the problem.Riven sat across from me. Stiles beside me, at first, the three of us folded into a space that was luxurious for two and unbearable for us, and no one said a single word. What was there to say? A Lycan King feared across nations. His old soldier, the one he'd sentenced to be hunted and eaten by ravens, somehow alive and breathing. And the woman who'd run from the King, rejected the auburn wolf, and then given herself to the King anyway not twelve hours ago. There is no small talk that survives a carriage like that.I watched Riven's eyes the whole first hour. He was not looking at me. He was looking at Stiles, and there was something in that look I had felt the edge of before, in t

He had a small tool in his hand I didn't recognize, some clever hinged thing of metal, drawing it along the edge of his blade in slow even strokes that caught the light."What is that?" I asked, for something to say, stopping a few feet off."This?" He held it up. "A whetting jig. Bought it off a tinker in one of the packs west of here, on my last supply run before, well. Before all this. Fellow said he got the design from some scientist over the mountains, one of the ones who work in metal and glass and don't hold with the old ways." He went back to the blade. "Keeps a truer edge than a stone. Waste of coin, Gideon said. But it's a nice thing, to own one nice thing that works exactly like it's meant to." A small smile. "Rare enough in this life.""Stiles."“Do you want one? I mean if we do return and you come back with me, I could go get you one. I believe those wealthy merchants must have invested a few coins into the scientist to make more. Good business if you ask me.”“Stiles!”

Oh, I knew!!Of course I fucking knew. I stood at that window with the child sleeping behind me and my husband turning pale below, and I felt the smile come and I did not stop it, because there was no one to see and because I had earned this, this one small terrible pleasure, this vindication years in the making.But hey, I had told him, hadn’t i? I had stood in the snow outside Whitewaters and I had told him, plainly, in words even a drunk vain fool could understand. ‘Tie the soldier and leave him. Or kill him quietly. Do not humiliate the Lycan King, DO NOT send him a severed head in a box, do not carve your name into the worst wound you could give the most dangerous creature alive, because that man will not answer an insult with an insult. He will answer it with fire. He will answer it with everything. I know him.’ I told Kaelen I know him, and Kaelen looked at me and heard a whore who was still frightened of her old master, and did exactly as he pleased.And now Frostbane was ash

Liora“Mael. No. No, no, don't, don't you touch him, don't you dare put your hands on my son, he's a baby, he's just a baby, give him back, GIVE HIM BACK TO ME…”I clawed up out of the dream with his name already tearing out of my throat, and there was a hand on my shoulder and a weight pressing me gently back down and something cool and wet across my brow, and I fought it, I fought all of it, still half inside the dream where a faceless cruelty was doing something to my son that I could not stop."Mael." I was gasping it. "Mael, where, Mael, it's all right, baby, Mommy's here, Mommy's coming, don't be afraid...""Liora. Liora, you're dreaming. You're safe. He's not here, none of it's here. Breathe."The voice reached me before my eyes would focus. Low, rough, steady. And when the tent swam back into shape around me, the canvas walls, the low banked lamp, the night sounds of a camp gone quiet, I found the hand on my shoulder belonged to Riven. He was kneeling beside my bedroll with a

KaelenThe floor came up to meet me and I lay there like a gutted thing, dragging air down a throat that did not want to open.It came in thin and burning at first. Then more. Then all at once, too much, and I rolled onto my side and coughed until my eyes streamed and my ribs ached and a thread of spit hung off my lip onto the dirty boards of that miserable inn. I did not wipe it. I could not make my hands do anything yet. They lay in front of my face, opening and closing on nothing, and I stared at them like they belonged to another man.I have choked the life out of people. I know the feeling from the other side of it. The slow close of the throat, the eyes going to blood, the way a body kicks when it understands before the mind does that it is dying. I have stood over men and lifted them off their feet with nothing but my will and watched them do exactly what I had just done on that floor.That was my power. Mine. The thing that made me more than the second son, more than the spare