Zander’s eyes scan the water. “I come here to think sometimes.”
I walk cautiously to the edge, marveling at the steep rock face. Far below, waves hurtle themselves at the stone.
From this angle, I spot Boaz and his men standing idly on the path, waiting and watching, but not pestering. Giving him space. If Zander comes here to think, it’s likely to brood. He has plenty to brood over lately.
“What are you going to do about those murdered by the tributaries?”
“The only thing I can do. Execute them. They murdered their keepers. I hear they have not even feigned innocence. We need to make an example of them to deter others.” His jaw tenses. “They are already on their way here. They should arrive on the day of the tournament, in time for a public execution before the crowd.”
I grimace. “A big day of death.” Six mortals plus three Ybarisans.
“More than you realize, I am guessing. We have not executed a mortal in Islor since King Rhionn’s time. We either send them to the rift to keep the border guard nourished, or we use them for immortal children to practice on when they come of age, to learn how to control their feedings.”
Mention of children makes me think of the sparring court, of the little girl giggling as Zander scooped her off the ground. “When do Islorian immortals come of age?”
“The cravings first being around six. We’re wild and greedy little things. It takes time to learn how to control our needs. It’s usually after you accidentally kill your first mortal. I remember mine.” He smiles sadly. “Her name was Erskand. She was a bread maker who stabbed a soldier when they came to escort her daughter to Presenting Day. The soldier lived, of course, the daughter was auctioned off to a lord, and Erskand died at the hands of a child. Or rather, to his teeth and unrestrained appetite. She fought me, which only made things worse.”
I flinch at the visual. “And you still feel remorse for it.”
“Every day,” he admits softly. “Your lady maids were both sent to the rift. I do not know if they still live.”
Punished accordingly, Elisaf had said.
“I am also enacting a new law that states any mortal who poisons an immortal through the act of repast will be sentenced to death, and any mortal who delivers a vial of this poison to the royal court will receive one hundred gold coins and absolution of any crime for possession.”
“That’s smart. The gold coins, I mean.”
“It’ll sway some, but not all. Ybaris has given the mortals a gift and a weapon, and once they realize what it is, there are those who will seek it out and make the best use of it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The tributaries who poisoned my parents are in the sanctum. We don’t have an alchemist caster, but Wendeline has been testing them regularly. It has been many weeks since that night, and yet the merth still hums in their veins.”
“So anyone who feeds off them would die, even now.”
He nods somberly, his jaw tensing.
I process what he’s saying. Oh my God. “It’s like having an immunity,” I say, more to myself. Or a vaccine. A thought strikes me. “Do you think that’s why the daaknar died when it bit me?” Did Princess Romeria drink this poison?
“We cannot ingest it. Wendeline tested that too, on an immortal sentenced to death for his crimes. He died just as dreadfully as my parents and Lord Quill. And merth is as toxic to Ybarisans as it is to us, so I have to assume you did not consume it. Then again, you freed Annika from raw merth cord with your bare hands, which is an impossibility, so you tell me, Romeria.”
I shake my head. I don’t know. What I do know is that there are a lot of mortals who would want to get their hands on this poison, for revenge or protection, or both.
“With regard to these prisoners, I cannot give them to the soldiers or the children. There is no other way to punish them, and we do not keep people in the dungeon that don’t serve a purpose.”
“Who knows about this immunity?”
“No one but Wendeline and us, but that will change soon.”
And when it does … fear will take over, above any moral decency among these Islorian immortals. The keepers will put them all in chains. “How many vials of this stuff do you think they brought over?”
“You came with five hundred soldiers. Each could have carried several vials, but we did not find any on them. There were also the supply wagons.” He shakes his head. “Who knows how many were in there?”
“But she thought she could seize the throne and then kill off the immortals by inoculating as many humans as possible with this poison? She thought she could do all that with five hundred men?”
“Plus whatever help she”—Zander casts a look my way—“corralled from within. It was a bold plan, I will admit, and perhaps it wasn’t to seize the throne but rather simply to remove Ailill’s heirs, so we would be a weaker target for Neilina to overtake. Your men remained camped outside the city wall before the wedding. During the night, they could have shuttled the wagons for safekeeping up in the mountains, until Neilina attacked with her army. We may never fully understand those plans.
“But even a handful of vials here and there has the potential to cause considerable strife within Islor, as we’re seeing. It will stir panic, and keepers will strip away what few rights the mortals have in a bid to keep themselves safe.”
“What about Adley? He can’t appreciate the idea of this threat of poison any more than the others.”
Zander scowls. “The worm tongue is still busy, poisoning the water and swaying people from within. I do not wish to think about him tonight.” After a moment’s pause, Zander reaches over and curls his fingers over my wrists. The smooth obsidian cuffs that have no visible seam click open.
My mouth gapes.
“I put them on you. I can take them off.” Zander slips the cuffs into an unseen pocket. He watches me intently. “What do you feel?”
I slide my hands over my bare skin. They’re naked without them on. “What should I feel?” According to Wendeline, nothing of my caster magic while I wear this ring.
“A pull. Deep inside here.” His fingertips press against my chest, just above the swell of my breasts. It’s an intimate gesture, especially with the flash that stirs of his mouth on my body, but he doesn’t take it any further.
I search for something—anything—that might resemble this pull he describes. “I don’t feel anything.”
He frowns. “Perhaps it has something to do with being brought back to life by Malachi. Maybe he somehow severed your ties to Aoife. I will admit, I do not understand the workings of the fates.”
That can’t be true. Wendeline tested me and found all four caster elements and my elven affinity. It must have to do with the ring, but that is not something I want to test now, in front of Zander.
I hesitate, smoothing my palms over my wrists again. “Why did you take the cuffs off?”
His shoulders sag, and his attention drifts toward the sea. “What am I to do with you, Romeria?”
He asked that exact question once not so long ago—though it feels like an eternity—when I lay in bed, recovering from the daaknar attack.
I don’t understand why he’s asking it again now. “Have I done something wrong?” Again? Is this about climbing into the tub yesterday?