The Cruelest Mercy

by Natalie Mae

  And a new kind of anger stirs in my gut. “No. I don’t deserve these any more than you or anyone else.” The woman jerks her head up in surprise. “And this is way too many clothes. Whatever’s in the trunk, that stays here; that’s what I’m wearing for the next ten years. I just need seven changes of clothes for the trip. And three nightgowns.”

  The woman clenches a dress to her chest. “Th-three?”

  “Oh, just wait.” I gaze around the towering shelves. “I have plans for the rest of this, too.”

  * * *

  By the time Jet returns with Marcus and Melia, fifteen servants are bustling in and out of my room, their arms overflowing with fabrics. One nearly runs Jet over as he tries to come in, and he leaps back. This is the kind of chaotic, nonsensical scene I would usually come across at Hen’s house, and I have to admit I’m starting to understand why she does this. There’s a definite sense of satisfaction watching the confusion settle over Jet’s face.

  “What . . . is happening?” he asks, dodging another servant.

  “I have too many clothes,” I say, and brighten as Marcus and Melia push their way in: towering Marcus in his black armor, his blond hair curling around his ears and his pale arms wrapped in military charms; and petite Melia in a gorgeous purple jole, her umber skin glittering with golden antelope symbols and her queenly braids crowned in leaves. “Marcus! Melia!”

  “Zahru!” Melia says. I pull her in for a hug, and she squeezes me tight. “It’s good to see you. And congratulations.”

  “Thank you. It’s great to see you, too.”

  “Zahru,” Marcus says, clasping my arm in greeting. “Glad to see you well. And back at toppling ancient traditions, as usual.”

  I let out a panicked laugh. “Just another day in the life. How have you both been?”

  “Quite well,” Melia says. “I’ve been away visiting family, but I’m glad to be back. I even took on a young apprentice.”

  “That’s amazing,” I say. “They’re in very good hands.”

  Marcus nods. “And I’ve been promoted to captain . . . and gotten myself engaged.”

  “Marcus!” I laugh, pouncing on his arm when he flexes it to show me the bracelet. It’s a handsome piece, a deep red leather woven in intricate knots. “Congratulations on both! Your pitchfork-wielding grandmother finally got to you?”

  He chuckles. “We’ll just say the Crossing rearranged my priorities. The world changes too fast, but people . . . you keep the good ones close.” He nudges me, and I smile shyly back. “And yes, Grandmother might have made one too many comments about wanting to be alive for the wedding. Of course, the second I told her Tomás and I were engaged, now she’s going on about great-grandchildren.”

  I chuckle, though I can definitely commiserate, seeing as I know Mora will make many, many more comments in the coming weeks about the ways I could still make Jet a king. “I’m so thrilled for you both. And thank you for coming.”

  The last of my tunic-burdened servants exits and the door slams solemnly behind her.

  Jet gestures to the empty closet. “Can we talk about the clothes now?”

  “Oh, right,” I say, tugging the three of them with me. “I decided I had a ridiculous amount of outfits. I don’t need that many clothes. No one needs that many clothes. So I’m sending them to Kystlin.”

  They duck into the emptied closet, eyes wide. Only the joles and tunics that had originally been packed in the trunk remain, a slender line of shelves dwarfed by the room. It’s still much more than what I had at home.

  “Kystlin?” Marcus echoes, examining one of the two crowns left on the middle table. “The city housing the Aterian refugees?”

  “They definitely need them more than I do. I talked to the Royal Materialist, too. Any clothes she was planning to make for me, for the foreseeable future, will go to the poor districts across Orkena. And all of the weird stuff is going away. No cactus spire, no strangling snakeskins. Just fancy things. I’m sending messengers out to get counts of what’s needed.”

  “Zahru.” Jet turns back to me, smiling. “You’re amazing. I would never even have thought about that.”

  I force a grin, choosing to believe this means he’s impressed and not that I’ve just pointed out yet another divide between us. “Anyway, it’s just clothes. Do you all want to sit down? I have . . . a lot to ask of you. First, if maybe you’d want to stay on as my advisors? No pressure, though. I know it’s not the same.”

  Melia nods. “Of course. I would be happy to. We are still the same team, are we not?”

  Marcus claps my shoulder. “Agreed. We’re in this together, no matter who’s making the final decisions.” He grins. “We trust you. We know you’ll do what’s right.”

  This unexpected show of support makes heat climb my throat, and I blink back tears. “Well, that’s great to hear. Because I have something slightly illegal to ask you about.”

  We sit on the couches, Jade immediately jumping into Melia’s lap, and I fill them both in on the hunt and the tests the Mestrah intends for Kasta and me, and then onto Jet’s and my theory about Kasta being a Shifter. Marcus frowns deeply the entire time. Melia does too, though on her it comes off more as thoughtful, even sophisticated, or maybe that’s just because most people would look regal while stroking a small leopard’s back.

  There’s a long pause after I mention I want to commission a rune necklace without the appropriate proof that Kasta really is a Shifter.

  “Well,” Melia says, wincing as Jade launches from her legs after a fly. “For the lion, I would say you do everything in your power to bring Odelig back alive. That way you have more time to think about what you want to do. Are you allowed to bring any of us with you on the hunt?”

  I shake my head. “I asked. The Mestrah isn’t allowing advisors to come. He wants Kasta and me consulting each other.”

  “Mm.” She brushes some of Jade’s fur—and a wayward feather—from her skirt. “Even so, you should still have a team of Healers, and the Mestrah’s Wraithguard always accompanies royal excursions. Between them, you should be able to safely subdue Odelig and keep him under until he can be better contained here.”

  I rub my palms along my legs. “That’s good to know, thank you. And the rune necklace?”

  Jet shifts in his chair, maybe noticing how quickly I changed subjects. But this is the critical piece. Without this, nothing else I’m doing will matter.

  Marcus leans over his knees. “I know a Runemaster we can trust to keep quiet about this. An old schoolmate of mine. But, Zahru, he’s not going to craft it without proof. I can likely convince him to make it without the priests’ permission, but we need something tangible that could stand up in a court. We’re talking very serious charges for being wrong. Whippings. Exile. If we’re going to do this, we need to be sure.”

  “If we’re caught,” I grumble.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I say, shoving up from the couch. “It’s just . . . this is exactly what Kasta’s counting on. We don’t have time to wait around and hope he messes up. If we’re going to stop him, we have to take this risk.”

  Marcus grunts. “I understand your frustration. But you have to remember, even though we know he’s capable of this, we’ve seen him as no one else has. Here, everyone believes him a noble prince coming into his birthright. I want to reveal him as badly as you do. But we can only do this if we’re sure.”

  Melia straightens one of her bracelets. “I can watch him during training. All Healers are on call at the arena right now, with so many soldiers on staff. Kasta is there for a few hours every day. If I notice anything strange, I will let you know.”

  Jet nods. “I’ll work on getting access to his room, in case he’s hiding something that could help us. My mother is connected with everyone who’s ever touched palace security. I won’t tell her why we need access, but for us, she’ll do it wi
thout question.”

  “And I’ll watch the Shifter caches,” Marcus says. “We keep bodies of deceased criminals on hand to feed the army’s Shifters. If Kasta steals from it, we’ll know.”

  “Fine,” I say, dropping back again on the couch. “I’ll watch him on the hunt, see if I notice anything unusual. But what am I even looking for?”

  “For our purposes,” Marcus says, “if we’re going to do this without putting one of us in danger, then our best form of evidence is animal pelts. A Shifter must have them to change forms, and it’s illegal to keep pelts outside of the army’s guarded stash, considering what they can be used for. Kasta has to have them somewhere if he hopes to sneak out and hunt for his meals. Bring me one from his effects, and my contact will start on the necklace immediately.”

  I sigh and press my fingers between my eyes. This is going both better and worse than I’d hoped. Better because Marcus didn’t say no, and now I have something simple to look for. Worse because I’d really hoped he would just make the necklace and this would be done.

  “All right,” I say. “I’ll add it to my list.”

  Marcus claps his knees. “Sorry, Zahru. I promise, though, our patience will pay off—”

  Bird! Jade squeaks, dashing in from the balcony with the speed of a sandstorm. I pat my lap for her, but she knocks me against the couch with how hard she leaps, and shoves her head beneath my arm.

  Her fear, raw and cold, sinks through my chest like stingers.

  “Jade,” I say, holding her with one hand and quickly checking for injuries with the other. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  She’s shaking. Her heart thumps against her chest. She darts a look at the balcony, but outside, only the garden trees move, their ruby leaves fluttering in the sun.

  Bird, she thinks, pressing against me. Quiet.

  My blood jumps. She’s heard something. Or not heard something, in this case. This still, unnatural quiet is how the horses described being around Maia, too.

  Kasta is outside.

  “Where?” I whisper. “How long?”

  Trees, Jade says. Not long.

  Jet sits forward. “Zahru? What is it?”

  The windows are shut to the heat, and the balcony doors are enchanted to close again after letting Jade through, so I’m not worried Kasta overheard anything . . . but if I react and shut the drapes, or panic in any way, that will definitely tip him off that I think something’s wrong. I can’t let him know I’m paranoid about animals.

  Gods, we’re going to have to be so careful.

  I pet Jade’s back, forcing myself to relax. “She just got spooked by a protective jay outside.” I would tell them what I really suspect, but I don’t want them panicking or turning to the windows, either. “It’s nothing. But actually, my first tutor is due anytime now. I should probably get ready.”

  Melia stands, pushing her braids over her shoulders. “All right. We will see you again soon. Perhaps with evidence, after the hunt?”

  I hold Jade close. “I hope so.”

  “We’ll get there, Zahru,” Marcus assures me, rising and clapping my shoulder. “Be patient. He won’t get away with this.”

  They take their leave, Jet with the promise to be back this evening, if our schedules allow. I sit on the couch a while longer, Jade in my arms, but soon a rainbow catches her eye in the pool room, and she’s off again, as if nothing happened.

  When I think enough time has passed for Kasta to lose interest, I slip the dagger from the end table, wrap it in the folds of my sleeve, and make my way as casually as I can to the balcony doors. I should probably stay inside, not give him any reason to think I’m looking for him, that I know what he is. But I near the glass, and that same recklessness I felt when I first suggested the rune necklace threads through me, wire-tight.

  I slide open the door.

  The sun presses against my shoulders; the trees whisper and click. I brace myself for a rush of wings, for a fury of talons and beak, and my fingers twitch around the hidden hilt of the knife. But only an eerie silence curls around me.

  There are no animals in the trees at all.

  X

  I make it through lessons in writing, politics, and magic theory before I test my new power as dōmmel and insist someone replace my gossamer drapes with heavy curtains. I anticipate a reason might be asked for, and have already told myself fervently that I’m afraid a bird is spying on me is not a sentence that can come out of my mouth, lest Kasta hears of it later. But no one asks why. Maybe I’m already gaining a reputation for strange requests. Servants are called, and my tutor drones on about the various magical developments that have led to modern Orkena while people tug and fold fabric and climb bronze ladders behind him.

  My lessons don’t stop until after dark. At which point my brain is mush, so naturally this is when a messenger arrives to remind me that I’m still expected to meet the Mestrah at daybreak for an Influence lesson before we leave for the hunt. I think I agree to this, and then possibly fall asleep on the couch, because when I open my eyes again, Jet is tucking a pillow under my head.

  “Oh,” I say. “Hi.”

  He smiles. “Hi. You don’t need to get up. I’ll let you rest.” He blows on an oil lamp on the end table, and the flame flickers and goes blue, the torches along the walls following suit until they glow at lowest light. I snuggle under the sheet he brought me and drift off before I even hear him leave. And this time, I don’t dream.

  But my nemesis is quickly becoming the main doors. Because I swear I’m only asleep an hour before someone is knocking at them again.

  I groan and sit up, pinching myself first to be sure I’m not back in a nightmare. But dawn glows at the edges of the heavy curtains, and the water clock on the dresser confirms an entire night has passed. It’s the messenger for my Influence lesson. The knock comes again, and with an exhausted sigh, I pad to the doors. I don’t even bother with a robe—I’m still in yesterday’s gown.

  It occurs to me, as my hand falls on the handle, that I could have just asked this person to come in. But I’m already here. So I pull the door open.

  A slice of white tunic. Two burning blue eyes. This is all I see before I slam the door and drive the locking bolt back in place.

  “Zahru,” Kasta says, the word like the tip of a knife against my throat. I lean against the wood, my heart pounding. “Open the door.”

  “No,” I snarl. “It’s not time to leave yet, and you’re not allowed to be here.”

  “I don’t want to be here, either. But they’re the Mestrah’s orders. So get changed. We’re supposed to walk together.”

  I brace for him to shove against the lock. For the golden bar to bend; for blood to seep over the threshold where he’s struck down the guards. Neither happens. Someone clears her throat outside—one of my guards—meaning she’s still alive, and well, and guarding. Kasta is waiting for me like a normal person, not an assassin.

  A knot builds in my throat as I step slowly away. We’re supposed to walk together. As in, to our Influence lesson, because of course we both have to learn, and it wouldn’t make sense for the Mestrah to teach us separately. Not when he wants us to do everything together, so that I can see Kasta every day, every hour, every second I’m not studying; as much as the king can make possible.

  I grab my hair and shout my frustration at the ceiling.

  I storm to the closet, my blood a hot current beneath my skin. I select the first silvery satin dress I can find, relieved to have a more manageable selection to pick from, and wrestle it on. I pause long enough in front of the looking glass to brush my hair over my shoulders and darken the kohl around my eyes, and from the crowns I select one with silver leaves and twisting bronze thorns. When I set the brutal piece atop my head, I hardly recognize myself. I look predatory and cold, a blade in the shape of a girl.

  I grab the dagger from the
bedside table and secure the sheath beside my ribs. Then I return to the doors and twist the locking bar free.

  Even though I’m expecting him, the sight of Kasta still lances my heart, a sharp needle of dread and resentment. Silver skulls crown his black hair, and his gods’ mark swirls above the draping neckline of his tunic. His gaze lingers a moment too long on my face. Then he’s moving, jaw set, and I drift behind him, frustration stretching against my ribs. I know I shouldn’t be able to hear his thoughts, but I still try, hoping I was just distracted before, hoping to hear even the smallest hum.

  But his presence is the same as always. Deadly. Charged. And silent.

  We go on this way through the entire royal wing, down the theatrical stairs, into the marbled foyer. This early in the morning, the grand room is empty of people, silence drifting between its potted trees and statues of gods. White and gold banners shift along the walls, glittering with Orkena’s seal of Numet’s swirling sun. But instead of turning for the war room, Kasta heads for the archway that leads to the gardens.

  “Where are we going?” I say, feeling suddenly foolish I’ve even trusted him this far. Guards stand at every corner, but the rest of the palace is asleep, and the gardens are vast enough that if he led me deep into them, it would take a while for anyone to reach us. A couple of guards would be no problem for a Shifter.

  “I told you,” Kasta says. “To our Influence lesson.”

  “In the gardens?”

  “In the Mestrah’s private garden. Our power is to remain secret, for now. Only a select few will even know we have it.”

  “He’s not telling our allies?” I don’t know why this should surprise me. To me, it would only make sense to reveal something this enormous to kingdoms we want to trust us, but of course, this is politics, and everything is about secrets and control. “Isn’t someone bound to figure it out by, I don’t know, looking at any past Crossing result?”