“They must share your fate,” I informed him, for the sake of our many listeners, though I had no intention of releasing the wizard if I could keep him.
I couldn’t pretend the wizard hadn’t been there. But I could order him executed and then hide him. I’d done so before. Never with anyone who’d interest Anure so greatly, however. And Leuthar would likely want to send their heads along with the imprisoned Slave King. I could find a way around that. If I did, I’d try to save the Lady Sondra, too, if only because I couldn’t stomach consigning any woman to Anure’s horrors.
“And what is this fate you plan?” the Slave King asked, still in bargaining mode. It took me a moment to realize he addressed what I’d said, not my thoughts.
“I am to deliver you to His Imperial Majesty.” I couldn’t pretend to frivolity there. Even my considerable powers of subterfuge couldn’t make that sound anything worse than horrible.
“I think I’d rather die here,” he said, as if confiding a secret. I had to ruthlessly suppress the urge to smile in return. Surely the man couldn’t be flirting with me. This man was my enemy and I’d do well to remember that.
“Your death can be arranged.” I layered ice into my tone.
“I suppose Anure will reward you for my capture?”
“Or your corpse,” I answered, sounding as bored as possible. “He’d be equally pleased with either.”
“Then why haven’t you killed me already?” He delivered the question with a bite. Far too clever by half. “You could have cut us down the moment we stepped off the ship and saved all this … theater.” He waved a dismissive hand at the court.
I resisted narrowing my eyes, letting my lashes droop drowsily instead. He couldn’t possibly know my true reasons. This Slave King simply fished for information. And sought to delay the inevitable. “Your ignorance is showing. My court has been agog to lay eyes on the escaped slave foolish enough to tweak His Imperial Majesty’s nose. This has been great entertainment for us. But now I grow weary of this circular conversation. You will be removed from My presence—walking or on a slab. Your choice.”
He assessed the guards, obviously measuring their distance, then his proximity to me. “Seems I could cut your throat before your guards reached me. If I’m to die, I could take you with me.”
“Don’t try it,” I advised him, keeping an eye on the wizard, who smiled genially at me. “It will not turn out as you imagine.”
He took a deliberate step forward, his unsheathed sword poised to strike. “If you think me an honorable man, that I won’t strike these pretty ladies who stand between us, you’re greatly mistaken. I lost my honor long ago.”
A fascinating man, indeed. I wondered if he truly believed that about himself. It so clearly wasn’t true—but he might think so.
“The blossoms of the Flower Court have thorns,” I replied lightly. “Again, I advise against this foolish—and desperate—plan.”
He growled. Actually growled, like the wolf I’d dreamed him. Surely he wouldn’t.
“Conrí,” the Lady Sondra said, her voice as rough as his. She looked apprehensive for the first time. “Be—”
“Shut up, Sondra,” he bit out, advancing another step. “I won’t wear chains again.” He directed that last at me. His eyes held a world of pain and rage, and my heart pounded in understanding. We both lived as prisoners of the tyrant, even if our lives and the manner of our chains were so very different. It took everything in me to harden my heart—how had I thought it cold?—against the weakening sympathy.
My father had taught me to make decisions based on cool rationality, duty over emotion.
The Slave King took one more step and my two lowest-tier ladies, Zariah and Nahua, shifted their feet. The Slave King likely couldn’t see it in them, but they were poised to intercept him. Still, I’d rather they didn’t have to act.
“I’ll caution you a third and last time,” I told him. “And I promise: no chains.” I wasn’t sure why I added that, unless something about the wild, even desperate glint in his golden eyes reminded me of that wolf, its horrible howling, and how I’d shredded my dream fingers on its manacles. I might have the coldest of hearts, one that will never love, but even I am not completely impervious to another’s pain. I wished I could be so callous that the scrape of sharply defined duty didn’t cut so deeply. “Go quietly with my guards or suffer the consequences.”
“Stop him, Ambrose!” Sondra shouted. I glanced at her, seeing real fear in her face.
The raven flapped its wings, its raw cawing an echo of their harsh voices. The wizard, Ambrose, gave me a long look, then pointedly gazed at the orchid ring. “I think it has to go this way,” he commented, almost absently.
The Slave King lunged. Zariah and Nahua moved in a blur.
Some men simply had to be shown.
16
I woke to a headache worthy of a three-day bender. A sour and bitter dry film glued my stiff tongue to the roof of my mouth, my eyes as gritty as on a windy day in Vurgmun. My body ached as if I’d been slaving in the mines. Had I somehow wound up back there? Panic gripped me—and turned my stomach.
But no. The air didn’t smell like sulfur. It smelled … like flowers. And though warm, I wasn’t baking hot. Not Vurgmun, then, and wrenching relief filled me.
But what the hell had happened?
The last time I’d felt this awful had been in the first village we’d taken after escaping. I’d fought hard, then indulged in a celebration in the tavern, drinking a local whiskey that scoured my stomach like lava. I hadn’t stopped to consider that I’d never had liquor before in my life. Apparently the drunk had led to brawling—of the friendly variety, though no less bruising—and I’d woken up feeling like this. I’d learned my lesson then, so … Oh right.
Calanthe. Euthalia. That beautiful and treacherous viper of a queen.
Ah, Sawehl, I’d lost my temper entirely and moved to attack. I wouldn’t have cut her throat. Not really. I only meant to take her hostage.
And then … I still couldn’t remember.
Concentrating, I peeled my tongue from the roof of my mouth and licked my cracked lips, then wedged my eyes open. I squinted at the bright light of the setting sun. Hours had passed. Hopefully not days. Merle, perched on a bed post next to me, flapped his wings and cawed. Sondra appeared, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, her expression as sour as my mouth.
“Good morning, Conrí,” she said, sounding anything but genial. “Glad to have you among the living again.”
Morning? That must be the rising sun then. Well, I’d truly fucked that up. That is, Euthalia had fucked me up.
“I told you he’d be fine!” Ambrose’s head popped into view. “How do you feel?”
“I thought you just said I’m fine.” I levered myself up, head spinning, gorge rising. I swallowed it back and swung my feet to the floor. Bare feet. My armor—and weapons—had vanished, and I wore only my pants and shirt. Wonderful. Leaning my elbows on my knees, I dropped my face into my hands, cradling my pounding head. “What the hell did Euthalia do to me—crack my skull?”