King's Folly (Book 2) by Sabrina Flynn Read Free Book Online

roasting meat and she nearly gagged over the carnivorous stench.
    Oenghus sat by the fire, poking at its embers, while Lucas turned a makeshift spit. Acacia slept nearby and Rivan was perched on a fallen log beneath the overhanging rock, watching the forest. It seemed the rain had tired, ghosting through trees and brushing leaves with a shimmer of dew in the calm aftermath of a passing storm.
    Isiilde was sore and shivering, and her shirt was damp and caked with dried mud. She snuggled against Marsais’ lean body, but the fire called to her with a promise of greater warmth.
    Despite her hope, Marsais did not stir. She did not want to endure the paladins’ eyes alone. Unfortunately, with injuries as extensive as his, the healing had taken its toll from his body—a harrowing night had not helped matters. He needed rest. As if to ward off the long night, she brushed her lips against his bony shoulder, reminding herself of everything wonderful. Reluctantly, she rose, draping the robe over his body.
    As if taking a plunge, she held her breath and moved quickly across the cave to the fire. Heat welcomed her as she sat beside her guardian. The scarred paladin, Lucas Cutter, gazed at her across the fire pit. And even though Oenghus’ shirt came past her knees, she felt exposed under the paladin’s scrutiny.
    “Afternoon, Sprite.” Oenghus wrapped the long folds of his kilt around her and drew her close. She leaned against his strength and heat. He was always as warm as a furnace. “You’ll never guess what I found.”
    “Clothes?”
    “Even better.” Worry dimmed his eyes. He produced a handkerchief and unwrapped it, revealing a large pile of strawberries, pine nuts, and a motley assortment of green leaves and roots. Eagerly, she accepted the offering. Her stomach growled its gratitude and her guardian smiled. He appeared relieved, though she couldn’t account for it.
    For the next few minutes she occupied herself with eating. The sparse meal didn’t quench her hunger, but it lessened the sting. Still, she saved some berries for Marsais.
    Lucas removed four roasting rabbits from the spit and set them aside to cool. She tried not to look at the cooked carcasses, but it was impossible. They sparked memory, and she stiffened, feeling the terror and press of stone as if she were there. In her mind’s eye, Zander’s charred corpse flashed around and around like a child’s gruesome top. As much as she wished, she could not stop the vision.
    Isiilde gazed into the fire. With a single frantic call, the coals in the dungeon had leapt to her defense, burning everything in its path—not unlike her flesh and blood guardian. She rested her head on Oenghus. What if she had accidentally set Marsais on fire? She had nearly killed everyone in that dungeon. There was no control, no focus—only rage and fear. And when those beasts lay quiet, there was emptiness.
    Isiilde stared until her eyes burned. When a figure approached, she blinked, heart jumping in her throat.
    Rivan stopped short. “I didn’t see you there,” he smiled.
    Oenghus glared, and the blood drained from the younger man’s face. Rivan turned, reached for a pair of leggings drying on a nearby root, and thrust them at Oenghus. “I thought she could use these, sir. I’m from Mearcentia. I’m not used to the cold, so I always wear layers. I tried to clean them, but there was nothing to do for the blood and tears.” Caught under the Nuthaanian’s glare, Rivan looked as though he’d rather face another Reaper swarm.
    “Thank you,” Isiilde replied softly.
    Oenghus took the offering. Rivan bowed, and Lucas handed him a stick with an impaled rabbit. He retreated to his post.
    Isiilde sniffed at the leggings. They were, she supposed, better than nothing. With a sigh, she untangled herself from Oenghus’ side.
    “Wake that old bastard up while you’re at it.”
    “He’s not old.” She narrowed her eyes, snatched her strawberries, and moved to the back of the