by Natalie Mae
Also by Natalie Mae
THE KINDER POISON
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
New York
First published in the United States of America by Razorbill,
an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 2021
Copyright © 2021 by Natalie Mae
Map copyright © 2021 by Natalie Mae
Map illustration by Marisa Hopkins
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Names: Mae, Natalie, author.
Title: The cruelest mercy / Natalie Mae.
Description: New York : Razorbill, 2021. | Series: The kinder poison ; book 2 | Audience: Ages 12 and up. |
Summary: Both Kasta and Zahru bear the circle of Numet that marks them as heirs to the throne, but Zahru will do whatever it takes to prevent the ruthless prince from ruling, even if she must become a villain herself.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021016515 | ISBN 9781984835246 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781984835253 (paperback) | ISBN 9781984835260 (ebook)
Subjects: CYAC: Kings, queens, rulers, etc.—Fiction. | Magic—Fiction. Classification: LCC PZ7.1.M295 Cr 2021 | DDC [Fic]—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/202101651
Snake illustration: Shane Hello
Crown image: Zargon Design
Cover design by Theresa Evangelista
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
pid_prh_5.7.0_c0_r0
For Lori G.
Thank you for always being there.
CONTENTS
Cover
Also by Natalie Mae
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map of The Royal Palace
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter II
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VI
Chapter VI
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XI
Chapter XI
Chapter XV
Chapter XV
Chapter XI
Chapter XI
Chapter XI
Chapter XX
Chapter XX
Chapter XI
Chapter XI
Chapter XI
Chapter XV
Chapter XV
Chapter XI
Chapter XI
Chapter XI
Chapter XX
Chapter XX
Chapter XI
Chapter XI
Epilogue
Glossary
Acknowledgments
About the Author
I
LIKE so many things in the palace, the map is deceptively beautiful.
Jet smooths the creamy parchment on the desk, its golden border glimmering as he weights the corners with stones, a piece of artwork with gilded details and jewel-studded houses that turn my stomach. This is not how my hometown looked the last time I saw it. Memories spin as I trace the little buildings, remembering the horror we returned to at the end of the Crossing, with smoke billowing from Mora’s home and my father’s stable abandoned on the hill. Here’s where I almost jumped into crocodile-infested waters. Here are the roofs of the cratered estates I ran past with Marcus, Melia, and Jet on my heels, until I found a soldier who knew where the evacuees had gone. Here’s the leveled bakery where I fell to my knees in relief, after learning my family had made it safely to the next town over.
All of these lines should be jagged, smeared.
“There were three bombs,” Jet says, the sunlight dappling his arm where it shines through the palace windows and into his room. “Sixty dead. Mostly in the market, and here by the estates. We think Wyrim targeted your hometown because it’s close enough to the major cities to make a statement, but too small to have thorough security. But you have my word that our best soldiers are on this. We haven’t been able to link the attack to Wyrim’s queen yet, but we will.” His fingers curl around the hilt of the sword at his hip. “They will pay for this.”
The edge in his voice pricks up my neck. I can’t remember, after the moon we’ve spent apart, if it was there before. It sounds more like the other prince I knew, and that’s the most I’m going to think about it. That one haunts me enough without starting to see him in other people, too.
I’m not sure I want the answer to this next question, but I have to ask. “Are you going to declare war?”
His brow pinches, the question setting lines in his face. He looks so much older than he did on the day we said goodbye, like we’ve spent years apart, and I wonder what else he’s learned in this time that’s aged him. A fine blue tunic drapes his swordsman’s figure; a crown of silver leaves circles his close-cropped hair. At a distance he’s still the joking boy from the banquet who helped me with the food, ivory scabbard and all, but close up, I find myself searching for him. He’s nervous today, though I guess that’s probably natural since his coronation is in an hour.
I’ll admit I’ve been anxious for today, too. But also excited, like settling back into the saddle of a horse who once took my breath away on a glorious sunset ride and then threw me over a cliff. Such are my complex feelings for this luxurious place that turned me into a human sacrifice. But even though I’ve sworn off adventure for the rest of my life, the glass boat Jet sent to fetch me and my family this morning to be his honored guests was still a very welcome sight. It’s been a grueling moon, between relocating to the nearby city of Kystlin with most of our neighbors while repairs start on Atera, and helping the Kystlin Whisperers alongside my father, as they now have another town’s worth of refugee pets and livestock to care for. Mora and Hen have found work, too, and while I haven’t minded the long days, since they distract me from thinking about certain dead princes, we’ve all been looking forward to the day we can return home.
Back to our average, boring, wonderfully normal lives.
“War,” Jet repeats sadly, working his hand over his jaw. “No, I don’t think we’re there yet. I’m hopeful other tactics will discourage them. Embargos, reminders of our military strength over theirs without taking lives. There are ways to make them sorry without killing people.”
This, at least, sounds more like the merciful boy I saw as a king, and I exhale. Jet has a plan, and I chide myself for even thinking he could sound like Kasta, because of course he’ll find a way to do this with the least amount of pain possible—he doesn’t want a war. He has no point to prove here beyond wanting to protect his people.
“Good,” I say.
“Now, in that same vein . . .” He rolls the
map, and freezes. “Not in this same vein. I don’t know why I said that. This vein is terrible, this is terrorism, and what I want to ask you isn’t—do you want something to drink?”
I lean against the desk. “It’s really strange seeing you this nervous.”
“Nervous?” He laughs, as only someone half panicking can. “This isn’t nervous. I’ve been in war rooms with Orkena’s deadliest soldiers telling me to start wars, and this does not make me nervous. I was raised to face giants.” He points at me like I’m about to disagree. “I am the Steel of Orkena—”
“Jet! What do you want to ask me?”
He closes his fist in front of his mouth, grimacing. “I . . . have a present for you? Follow me.”
I would point out this is yet another change in subject, but he’s already striding through the door and I have no choice but to follow. And I really do mean no choice, because being in Jet’s “room,” it turns out, is vastly more complicated than being in any other normal bedroom, as it comprises multiple suites and hallways and secret passages and false doors, and I’m concerned I will get very lost in here without him. And so I gladly leave behind the study’s maps and disconcerting thoughts of bombs, duck through the hidden door of a greenhouse fluttering with jewel-winged butterflies, cross a room that houses an actual pool, and step back into the original space we entered at the start of this tour—the main bedroom.
Again, I’m using that term loosely. No bedroom I’ve ever been in has been made entirely of silver-veined Icestone to ward off the day’s heat or had a ceiling several stories high, especially one with domed cities carved into it and backlit by enchanted fire. Likewise it seems decidedly more ballroom-like to have seven windows the size of carriages along one wall and a balcony that could host a large dinner party. That also overlooks the inner palace gardens. With spindly trees strung with light potions that look like stars.
“It’s not a ballroom,” Jet says loudly, because that’s what I told him it reminded me of the first time we walked through it. “I told you, think ‘warrior’s den.’ ‘Swordsman’s lair.’ There are sixty weapons on the wall over there.”
“I’m really sure I didn’t say anything out loud this time.”
“I can feel you judging it.”
I smirk. Now things are starting to feel easier, more like we were at the end of the Crossing, and I acknowledge that maybe things have only seemed stilted today because I’ve been nervous to see him, too. It’s been an entire moon. During which I’ve alternated between wondering what it would be like to actually kiss him, and worrying that I only started feeling for him because I was in a high-stress situation and thus found the idea of anyone who didn’t want to kill me attractive. I’m still not sure where I’ve landed on it. But remembering this ease, this safety, is a good start.
Jet leads me to a recessed section of the floor—which, I might add, would be perfect for dancing if the couches were cleared—and turns around with a grin. “Close your eyes.”
This is the kind of statement that years of friendship with Hen have taught me not to trust, but if Jet and I are going to move anything past awkward, trust is probably a critical thing to begin with. Also, I like presents, and I’m hoping it’s chocolate. I close my eyes.
Sandaled feet slap the floor. Something wooden slides over tile, and then there’s no sound at all, to the level that I can’t even hear the birds outside—Jet must be using his Soundbending to keep quiet. This piques my curiosity to unbearable levels, but just as I’m cracking an eye open, he moves in front of me.
“All right,” he says. “You can open them.”
The first thing I see is his warm eyes and that cheeky smile he wears so well—and then I take in the spotted, wriggling bundle of fur in his hands.
“Oh. My. Gods.” I reach for the feather-soft, purring animal. “You got me a kitten?”
“I believe she was item number four on your list of things I owe you for your near-death experience.” His smile quirks. “Do you like her?”
“Do I!” The kitten gazes up at me with bright green eyes, little pearlescent universes that send all other thoughts scattering from my mind. Thumb-sized spots cover her golden fur from head to tail. It should be stated that I’ve already been affected by the sheer size of everything in the palace, for calling her a “kitten” is like calling Jet’s suite a bedroom. She is young, but she’s also the size of a large house cat. “I love her! Is she a leopard?”
“Yes, and actually she’s a cub, but I thought you might forgive me the technicalities. She’ll be a loyal companion, and a fierce protector when she’s grown.”
“Thank you. Really.” I rub behind the cub’s ears, my heart swelling. “I’m going to call you Jade. Do you think you’re a Jade?”
She chirps and nuzzles me, my magic translating her sweet, childlike words in my head. Jade, she agrees. You, mine!
Jet claps a stack of crates. “Also from your list of demands: salves for your stable. Three crates to start, and if you need more, just write. The bottom crate is four weeks’ worth of chocolate, with my apologies for being late, since I believe you specified ‘weekly shipments.’ Rest assured the others will come on time.”
“Oh my gods, Jet—”
“Item five: a job for Hen.” He lifts a scroll from the crate. “It turns out the Royal Materialist is looking for help, and she’s been following your friend’s work for some time. This is an offer of employ to assist her here in the palace.”
I can’t make my mouth work. I gape between the kitten and the tower of crates, which is easily half a year’s worth of supplies, and back at Jet.
“Last but not least.” He holds up a silver key with a delicate white rune carved into its top. “After the coronation today, come with me to the stables. This will glow when you’re outside the stall of your new horse.”
“I have a horse?” I squeak, then yelp when sharp teeth bite into my arm.
Ouch, Jade thinks. Squeeze!
“Sorry.” I set her down, and she tears off across the room. “Wow. I just . . . I don’t even know what to say.”
“If you think of anything else, by all means, tell me. I wouldn’t be here at all without you.”
Heat builds behind my eyes, and I shake my head in bewilderment. “It’s definitely enough. But you do realize I was joking about that list?” I press a hand to my head, laughing. “I made it while we were soaked in blood, and had both nearly died . . . You didn’t have to come through on it.”
“I felt like I owed you.” He steps closer, and my pulse ticks up. “Also, I tend to buy presents when I miss someone, and I . . .” He fidgets with one of his silver bracelets, and I swear I feel a flash of nerves, as strongly as I would from Jade. “Well, that brings me to my next point. I was wondering if . . . that is, if you want to, and you definitely don’t have to, but I thought maybe you’d be interested, or maybe you’d want to go home, but in case you didn’t—”
My own nerves build, and I almost shake him. “Jet, what?”
He inhales and reaches into his tunic pocket, and panic jolts through me as I realize this is starting to look a lot like a courtship proposal. By which two people would make a relationship official, and very public. Except, as I reflected just a moment ago, what Jet and I have is barely a ship. This is a friendship; this is two people who survived something horrible and thought it might be nice to kiss this person sometime and see what happens, except I know the royals like to move ridiculously fast—
He pulls his hand from his pocket. But where I dreaded there might be a couples’ necklace, instead a wide silver armband shines in his palm. “Will you be my advisor?”
“Oh, thank the gods,” I say, relieved that maybe we’re on the same page after all. Jet looks slightly concerned by my reaction, and I clear my throat. “I mean, yes. Maybe? What would I need to do, exactly . . . and why is there jewelry?”
Jet snor
ts. “What did you think I was going to ask you?”
“Nothing! Absolutely nothing, I just like to make things awkward— What were you about to say I’d do?”
Jet snickers, likely putting together exactly what my assumption was, and holds up the band. “There’s jewelry because this is what all advisors wear to display their station. It’ll give you access to nearly anyplace I can go in the palace. There’s a symbol here, see?” He shows me a golden lantern stamped into one side. “You’d be on a team, helping me make decisions about things like taxes and laws and how they would affect people.”
I blink. “You’re going to put me in charge of laws?”
He gives me a look. “Don’t discount what you can do. You’re my best eyes and ears for how to help the working classes. I’ve also asked Melia and Marcus, who’ve agreed to stay, bless them, and I’ll likely pull in a top scientist, and one of my father’s advisors, too. Your help would be invaluable in so many ways.” His smile turns clever, and he nudges my arm. “I also rather like having you around, you know, in general. Melia tries, but no one can throw out demeaning compliments quite like you.”
I nod. “You do make it easy sometimes.”
“Is that a yes?”
I pluck the armband from his hand, weighing my potential responsibilities in my palm. This would mean decidedly not returning to a normal life, with the problems with Wyrim just beginning and all the pressures this job would entail. Already Jet has had to make decisions that have no happy outcome, like choosing his life over his brother’s. There would be a lot to learn—about politics and the court, trade and taxes, and I know there would be days I’d long for simpler times at the stable. Not that all my work is easy there, either, but at least my decisions don’t determine the fate of kingdoms.
But it wouldn’t all be stress. I could see Jet and Marcus and Melia whenever I liked. I would never again worry about what would happen to me after my magic fades, when I’d otherwise be assigned to various jobs around the country, separated from my family, until I served Orkena my full sixty summers. And instead of wishing laws like that would change . . . I could be the one behind the changes. I could help other Whisperers in a way that would actually matter.