“It would be smart to assume they are. At the moment, though, much of the court is here for the coming summer fair, and their lands are being governed by stewards.”
But they’re not safe here, either, if Quill is any indication. “The seamstress, Dagny, said the Ybarisans killed a tributary.”
“Lady and Lord Rengard’s of Bellcross, on the other side of Eldred Wood,” he confirms. “Males matching their description were seen fleeing as the body was found, so it is safe to assume they had a hand in it.”
“Why would they kill her?”
“That remains to be seen.” Something in his voice makes me suspect he has an idea that he doesn’t want to share with me.
“Hey, you know who would know?” I pause for effect. “Tyree.”
Zander’s attention shifts to the hearth, the logs stacked neatly in the grate. “I’ve already provided my answer for that suggestion.”
“But that was before Quill was poisoned.”
“And for all we know, that has nothing to do with Adley, and it was a message to you to let you know that you still have allies within the walls.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “Wouldn’t it be good to know that?”
His lips purse. He knows I’m right.
“Next time it could be Annika or Atticus who is poisoned. Or you.” What would happen to me if Zander died? Would they simply let me go?
“We are far too careful to allow something like that to happen to us, after our parents’ demise.” He pauses. “You are quick and persistent with your offers of help. Why do you feign to care what befalls us?”
“Because I have nothing better to do?” My flippant answer rolls off my tongue before I can stop myself.
His eyes narrow. “Or this demonstration of fervent support is an attempt to gain my trust?”
I snort. “We’ve both agreed that there is nothing I can do to gain that.” But it is becoming increasingly clear that Zander weighs every action and word out of my mouth, looking for duplicity. “Do you think in any way other than in angles?”
“Betrayal rarely approaches from a straight line.” He watches me evenly.
“Fair enough. How about this reason”—I lean forward—“because it’s worth trying before someone else dies.”
A long exhale slips from Zander’s lips. “We will see how things progress.”
At least that’s not a flat-out no. “What happens now?”
He studies his fingernail intently. “Boaz and his men are investigating. I suspect they won’t discover anything of import. People will be fraught with tension until they settle their nerves or someone else turns up dead.”
“Something to look forward to, then,” I mutter, curling my arms around my chest. The rain has brought damp and chilly air with it, and the hairs on my arms stand on end.
“You are cold,” Zander says.
“You don’t miss much, do you?”
“I do not miss anything. It is best you remember that.” His gaze is steady on me for a moment before it flips to the hearth and a rush of flames engulfs the logs in the iron grate.
My mouth drops. It’s the first time I’ve seen Zander use his affinity.
He chuckles. It’s the same easy, beguiling sound I heard in the sparring square earlier. “You look like the children who watch the priestesses light lanterns for the first time.”
“I guess they’re as new to it as I am. Or as I feel,” I quickly correct. “How did you do that? You can just set things on fire?”
He nods to the sconce on the wall, its flame dancing within the glass as if disturbed by a faint draft. “As long as there is a source, I can manipulate it in whichever way I choose.”
“And it’s the same for me with water?”
“As fun as it might be to teach my enemy how to use her element the moment her cuffs should come off, I’m afraid I must abstain,” he says dryly.
I let my head fall back as I release an obnoxious groan, earning another chuckle from him.
Zander isn’t in any rush to leave my bedchamber, his attention on the flames in the hearth, his thoughts seemingly miles away. What must it be like to sit upon that throne and rule all these people? To have the ultimate power and yet be wary of all those plotting to take it for themselves? It would make a person perpetually paranoid. I don’t envy him.
“What do you suppose will become of you once this charade”—he copies my gesture from earlier, waggling his finger between us—“is over?”
I’ll go home. Not to Ybaris, but to New York. I can’t say that. Sofie warned me not to, and until I know more about the nymphaeum, her words are my lifeline. “You mean, if I’m not a prisoner here anymore?”
“I do find it odd that you did not negotiate your release as part of this arrangement. It is almost as if you don’t expect to leave.”
Because I banked on Malachi getting me out of here when the time came, as Sofie promised. Now I’m wondering if that was foolish. “I guess I assumed you’d do the honorable thing. You know, being the decent person you are.”
He smirks.
But his question sparks a thought: What if there is no way back?
If what Wendeline told me of the Fate of Fire is true, he is not averse to using his subjects for his own ambitions. Do I even want to retrieve this stone for him? And will I be able to open this door? What makes him think I can, where the powerful key caster Farren could not? And what if Zander’s big plan to out Princess Romeria’s accomplice works, and we find them before Hudem? There won’t be a wedding—not between us, anyway. Will I be able to find another way into the nymphaeum? I still don’t know where it is.
“There it is again … that swirl of worry around you.” He cocks his head. “What troubles you so?”
I hate that he can do that.
“Those children today, the ones in the sparring court, you were good with them,” I say, changing topics.
He takes the bait. “You are surprised?”
“Yes.”
His lips curl at the corners, hinting at the dimples that emerge with his rare smiles. “Teaching weaponry has always been enjoyable to me, especially to the young ones. Sometimes I wish I could leave this and play soldier all day long. I envy my brother for that.” He reaches over his head to grip the back of the chair in a leisurely stretch.
I try to ignore the pull of material across his chest. “Seeing you with them made me think you aren’t awful,” I admit. Every day I spend a little more time with him, I remember less of the intimidating king in his suit of armor who was seconds from driving a dagger through my heart. Zander is quickly becoming like any other guy I might know, one who’s overwhelmed by his lot in life at the moment.
Except with fangs, I remind myself.
But it’s surprisingly easy to forget that, too, especially as we sit across from each other and talk like equals, rather than king and captive.
“Don’t worry. There’s still time to change your mind back,” he murmurs. “You were intrigued by Abarrane’s lesson.”
“You knew I was watching?” He hadn’t looked up once while he was with them.
He smirks. “You’re always watching. Standing outside as if these walls might suffocate you.” His eyes roam the gilded casting along the ceiling, the sharp jut of his throat protruding. “You watch the fighters on the court all day and the lovers in the grounds all night.”