Still one moment, he pounces the next, grabbing me. I’m so shocked I lose my concentration and pop back into sight. One big hand is clutching the better part of both breasts, and the other is clamped over my ear, his fingers digging into my braid.
I suck in a sharp breath and pound on his wrist, trying to dislodge his hand from my chest, shaken by how large the warlord is, and how ungodly hot his hands are on me—a firestorm of muscle, sinew, and bone.
His eyes flaring, he adjusts his grip, banding hard fingers around my left arm. I fly at him with my right fist and punch him in the neck. He jerks, taking the blow on the muscular column instead of the sensitive front. I draw back for another hit, but he plucks my fist out of the air and then forces it down, easily shackling both wrists in one hand. He uses his other hand to disarm me, slipping the knife from my belt and into his own.
I nearly cringe at my own stupidity. Eight years with the circus has made me soft. I had a knife, and I didn’t even think of stabbing him when he couldn’t see it coming.
Snarling, I bang my forehead into his jaw.
A muscle feathers along the warlord’s cheek. Grasping my upper arms, he lifts me clear off my feet. “That is not a good idea.”
He’s conveniently put his nose within reach. I drive my head toward it, but he dodges, growling a curse as my nose slams into his cheekbone. Pain makes my eyes water. Gasping my next breath, I go still, dreading the gush of blood. When there isn’t any, I screech like a Harpy and kick him in the shins.
With eyes like thunder, he sets me down, spins me in his arms, and then crushes my back against his chest. “Settle down, Soothsayer.”
Settle down? Settle down!
“Could you see me?” I wheeze, his heavy arm compressing my rib cage.
“No, but I knew where you were.” The warlord sniffs loudly and then exhales, his hot breath tickling my ear. “You stink.”
Lovely. “Who are you?”
He turns me back around, keeping hold of my arms. “Beta Sinta.”
I go numb with shock for the split second before fear surges through me in a paralyzing rush. This is the warlord who put his sister on the throne? This is the Hoi Polloi who somehow overcame the previous royal family’s magic? This is the man now second in command of all of Sinta?
No wonder he got past Cerberus. All he had to do was order someone to bring him back here. He owns us all. He could have Desma arrested, Aetos executed, Tadd, Alyssa, Vasili, and all my other friends tortured until they begged for mercy. Selena deprived of her life’s work. No explanation necessary. He’s Beta Sinta.
“The better question is who are you?” He studies my face. “Fisan. I can see that even through all the paint.”
I almost say I’m Beta Fisa just to see his eyes bug out, but that joke wouldn’t really be funny for anyone. “Cat,” I answer tightly. I don’t deny being Fisan. My olive skin, light green, elongated eyes, dark hair, and long, straight nose give me away. It doesn’t matter. A lot of people are Fisan.
“Just Cat?” He cocks his head. “I don’t believe you.”
I stare at him, an inferno of hatred in my eyes.
Beta Sinta’s mouth flattens into a hard line as he nods to Kato. The Adonis-like blond takes a rope from Beta Sinta’s belt and then ties one end loosely around my waist and the other around Beta Sinta’s. The second we’re attached, the warlord lets go. I start working on the knot, and no one tries to stop me. It’s more of a bow. There’s nothing to it, so why won’t it budge?
“An enchanted rope.” Beta Sinta’s smug announcement has my eyes widening in astonishment. “Only I can untie it.”
My mind rebels. “You don’t have that kind of magic.” He doesn’t have any magic.
“You’d be surprised at the treasures one can find in the bowels of a despot’s castle.”
Actually, I wouldn’t. “But the Medusa’s Dust…” I sputter a curse. “I saved your life!” Obviously one of my stupider ideas. I used to be good at this stuff. If people could have gotten the better of me this easily when I was a kid, I’d be dead.
“You think you saved my life, but I appreciate the gesture, which is why you’re still conscious.”
I gasp and swing at him again.
He catches my fist before it can connect, crushing it slightly. “Control your temper,” he advises, releasing my hand with a soft shove.
There are some things about my blood even I can’t deny. Temper is one of them. “I’ll show you temper, you oversized, egomaniacal, murdering son of a Cyclops!” I ram my foot into his groin.
Beta Sinta doubles over with an explosion of breath. I’d do it again, but I’d rather run. I swipe my knife from his belt, bring the blade down hard on the rope, and plow my way toward the door.
A second later, I’m on my ass. The rope is perfectly intact, and three men are looking down at me, identical smirks needing to be wiped off their faces. Permanently.
Flynn’s foot lands on my wrist, stomping just hard enough to make me let go of the knife. Beta Sinta uncurls himself, glaring at me while he picks up my blade and slips it into his boot.
I change tactics and start sucking the magic out of the rope. Power nips at my skin and seeps into me, but the rope retains its enchantment. I keep sucking, and it keeps giving—a perpetual supply of magic!
Gods damn it! I pound both hands on the ground and howl.
“Up,” Beta Sinta orders.