“And bow before the Destroyer? I will not.”
“Bow before him?” His brows shot upward. “We intend to stand against him.”
Yvenne scoffed.
He smiled thinly. “Little choice will I have. Once, perhaps, I would have bowed before him. It would be the only way to survive him.”
“You survived him before.”
“Did I? Or after I held the line at the Four Ridges, did he come with the intention of killing me—and only let me live because I vowed to complete a task for him?”
A dull ache constricted in her gut. “What task?”
“He wanted a bride—a woman of the same bloodline that severed his arm. And a virgin, but your mother was not. So I was to get one upon her.” He put down his spoon, his gaze critical. “Imagine my panic when she whelped a sickly, weak heir. I was to present you to the Destroyer on his return? He would kill me.”
“You lie,” Yvenne said. “You sent me to Toleh to be married. Did you expect that king to leave me a virgin?”
“That was only after Aezil found his power—and I found a new use for you.” He lifted his goblet, looking at her over the rim. “Not all of my children are worthless. You think an alliance between the western realms will stand against the Destroyer? He ripped through us like paper. But if Aezil courts the same power, the same god? Then we will be victorious.”
“By being no different than him?”
“The difference is that we will not be crushed. Instead we will do the crushing. That is the only difference that matters, Yvenne, though you are too naive to see it now. One day you will.” Her father shrugged. “And if Aezil fails, then perhaps the bride will be the child you carry. I do not think the Destroyer cares how young she is.”
Vomit shot up the back of her throat. “I carry no child.”
“Do you pretend that barbarian did not rut upon you night and day?”
“No. But his seed has not found root. Even now is my bleeding time. Do you wish to see my rags?”
“Rags that you have bloodied with a prick of your finger?” He gave her an amused look, then glanced to the door when a soldier appeared there, face filthy with travel and sweat. “Captain! You have arrived. Where is my son?”
“Your Highness.” Eyes darting nervously to Yvenne, the Rugusian captain came into the room. “Our king is dead.”
Yvenne burst out with a laugh. So much for his plan to conquer the Destroyer.
Zhalen cocked his head. “What do you say?”
Face so bloodbare it was gray, the captain repeated, “The king of Rugus is dead. Slain by a barbarian.”
Knuckles white, her father demanded, “Which barbarian?”
“Their king. Maddek.”
Grinning broadly, Yvenne sat back. Her father said nothing more for an endless time.
Then a quiet, “Bring the barbarian girl.”
Yvenne’s grin vanished. “You will not hurt her.”
“I will not,” her father agreed easily. “Instead I will release her, so she might send a message to Maddek.”
“What message?”
“Something that will keep him from coming for you. You’ll say that you no longer want to marry him. And you no longer wish to have his child.”
Her heart twisted painfully. “He will believe the first. The second will not matter. There is no child. He knows this.”
Certainly not a child that her father might make a bride, to save his own skin now that Aezil was dead.
“You do not think he will come for you?”
“Maddek has told me that he will never come to my rescue. He will not risk his warriors’ lives for mine. And that he would kill me himself if any warriors died while attempting to save me.”
As Banek had. Sharp grief closed her throat.
Her father gave a short laugh. “A loving suitor you have, daughter.” He lifted his goblet as if in a toast, then downed a long swallow.
When he set it down, Yvenne picked it up and, careful to place her lips where his had been, thirstily drank the wine. It tasted sickly sweet, but she had no care as long as something was in her belly.
Her father gave her a bemused look, and then his gaze moved to the door. “Take her to the next chamber.”
Seri, looking uncertain and afraid. Yvenne gave her a reassuring smile in the moment before the girl was led away.
She faced her father again. “Have you ink and pen? I will write your message.”
“I think not to trust you with a pen,” her father said. “The girl will remember what you tell her to say—that he has not the heart of a king, and he couldn’t protect you, so you have no more use for him as a husband. And that I am relinquishing Syssia’s throne to take Rugus’s, so you also have no more use for his child.”
Her heart froze. Never could she imagine saying such words to Maddek. They were not at all the same as what Zhalen had said before—that she didn’t want to marry or have his child. So completely different the messages were, as if designed to rip open Maddek’s heart.
How had Zhalen known exactly what to say? The words that should be left unsaid, because they could never be forgiven?
Her father leaned forward. “Or I can send the message with the girl’s head.”
“No,” Yvenne whispered. “I will tell her.”
“Good girl. But of course, it will only be part of the message. The rest will be a stain on a sheet.”
She frowned at him in confusion.
“He killed two of my sons. Now I will take his.” He reached for the goblet, tipped it as if to see how much remained inside. “Three full doses I put in here.”
Doses? Yet he’d also drunk some. What would he put in there that he wouldn’t fear his own—
Oh, Vela. No.
In desperate horror, Yvenne gagged and gagged. Some of the sickly sweet wine came up, but not enough. Not enough.
Zhalen began eating his soup. “You said you were not pregnant?”
She truly didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. “If you send this message, with what he believes is his child bloodied in that sheet, he will come and kill us both.”
“He will not find it so easy. The walls of Syssia have held back barbarians for ages.”
They would not hold back Maddek. Desperately she tried to vomit more, but no more would come. Pain ripped through her, but it wasn’t the potion. Not yet. So little hope she’d had. So little. Yet when she’d remembered how Maddek had left her, his fierce kiss, his sweet promise—it had been a tiny hope that she’d so desperately clung to. Yet her father’s message would fit every twisted view that her would-be husband had ever had of her, and crush Yvenne’s every last hope.