The Wolf and the Sparrow by Isabelle Adler

Author:Isabelle Adler [Adler, Isabelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: NineStar Press, LGBT, Fantasy, nobility, arranged marriage, abduction, enemies to lovers, witches, magic users, action/adventure, family drama, pansexual
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2019-01-01T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

THEY’D TAKEN CALLAN away just as evening was setting in. Panicked, Derek had tried to object, to demand the guards tell him what was going on, but they ignored him as they would a yapping dog. Callan had thrown him a quelling look, and Derek clamped down on his outrage, if not his worry.

He fidgeted, wide-awake despite the late hour, his heart racing. He strained to hear what was going on outside his small prison but could hear no roar of an incensed crowd clamoring for blood. Either the execution was taking place somewhere farther away, or it had not happened yet.

With every ounce of his being, he prayed for the latter. But prayers were not enough. The gods never answered prayers that weren’t backed by actions, and as usual, he only had his own acumen to count on to get Callan out of this mess.

He knew Callan was certain this was the end for him. He’d seen the bleakness in his eyes, born not of despair, but of acceptance. Callan had steeled himself for the punishment he believed was his due, for the death he’d been courting his entire life.

Well, fuck that. Derek wasn’t going to take the solution Callan had proposed, serving as a harbinger of tragedy to be sent back to Duke Bergen. For Derek, their earlier whispered “I do’s” hadn’t been a goodbye; they’d been a promise, and he was damned if he’d break it while he still breathed.

The dull pain, his constant companion since the arrow had gone through his shoulder at Laurel Falls, was gone. Derek tried not to dwell on the reason why the witch had bothered to heal it; for now, it was enough that his arm was as strong as it’d ever been. The cut on his thigh still smarted when he moved, but the pain was bearable.

The chain attached to the metal cuff around his left ankle was bolted to the wall. Made of sturdy metal links, it was rusty with age and disuse, as were the bolts that held it in place. He could try to yank it off the wall, but there’d be no hiding the racket. The guard stationed outside the door would be on him in moments, and he wasn’t deluded enough to think he could overpower him bare-handed—or, indeed, at all.

Perhaps he could try talking to the clan elders, appeal to their common sense, make them see Callan was not the man they thought he was. He could promise to broker some sort of renewed understanding between the Danulf and Mulberny, one that wouldn’t be fraught with prejudice and distrust. But he had to do it as fast as possible and be clever enough not to let his desperation show.

After a few minutes, the guard unlocked the door in response to Derek’s insistent shouting.

“I want to speak with somebody,” Derek said quickly, before the burly Agiennan could shut him up with a well-aimed slap. “Somebody from the council. I have important things I want to discuss with them.

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