But he left Ribos crumpled on the floor of his study, and he washed his hands. This was not a battle that would be won with emotionally charged theatrics, no matter how loudly, how viciously his heart howled for justice. He would keep a level head. If he didn’t, Tanith just might try to separate it from his neck.
The Firedrakes on the door didn’t want to let him in. He’d had to remind them that Dragon Prince or not, he was still a noble of the court, and he would enter the great hall to pay his respects, as was his right. The falsehood was sour on his tongue, but Caius swallowed his bitterness with a cordial smile.
Denied entry into my own court, Caius thought. Honestly, the very notion.
He wanted to be surprised by what he saw when the Firedrakes finally opened the doors leading into the great hall, but all he felt was a terrible, sinking resignation.
Tanith reclined on the throne that had been his, the crimson silk of her gown pooling around her feet like blood. Her hair was arranged in several thick braids piled atop her head, with a few curling strands framing her face. The gold cloak fastened around her shoulders perfectly matched the thin diadem she’d donned for the occasion. Caius had no doubt she’d picked the cloak for that very reason. His sister had always had a flair for the dramatic. How many times had he lounged on that throne, one leg thrown over the arm, as if he owned it. As if it were his by right. As if no one could take it away from him. But there was Tanith, as lovely as ever in her signature colors. The throne wasn’t his anymore. Perhaps it never had been. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the enemy within rather than scanning the horizon for the one he only imagined was there.
“That seat’s taken,” he said. The words were empty. He knew it. Tanith knew it. The courtiers cowering behind their layers of finery knew it.
“Yes,” Tanith said. “But not by you. Not anymore.”
“You work quickly.” Dozens of eyes bounced between himself and Tanith, as though this were nothing more than a sporting event. There were fewer nobles present than there should have been, but the only sign that there’d been a disagreement over Tanith’s call for a vote were a few scattered bloodstains and black burns on the stone floor. Trust his sister to handle her dissenters with fire and death. The rest huddled together, silent as mice. Cowards. All of them, cowards.
“I’m gone for a few hours, and you have yourself elected Dragon Prince. I’m impressed, Sister, really, I am.”
Tanith rose, long skirts cascading to the ground. The epitome of royal elegance. “It was a free and fair election, Caius, as is the way of our people.”
“I’m not so sure that’s what Ribos would call it.”
“Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”
“It should,” Caius said. “He was one of my guards, and you killed him.”
“The ends have justified the means among the Drakharin since the age of the first Dragon Prince.” Tanith walked down from the dais with careful steps. The gown was lovely, but she’d always been better suited to armor, much like she had always been better suited to battle than statecraft. She would learn that soon enough, and if she didn’t, then the Drakharin who voted her in would, when it was their own blood spilled across her killing fields.
“Still,” Caius said. He was pushing his luck, but Ribos had been loyal. He deserved no less. “It hardly seems fair that he should die so that you could gain a crown.”
Tanith paused, halfway between Caius and the throne. “Fair?” She laughed. “This is what you never understood. It isn’t about right or wrong. It isn’t about good or evil. It’s about power. Who has it, who doesn’t. And now, Caius, you don’t. And I do.” She nodded at the Firedrakes that flanked the inner doors. “Take him. Let him cool his temper in the dungeon until he sees the error of his ways.”
Caius held up a hand, and the guards halted. Tanith’s mouth tightened into a firm line. They were her Firedrakes, but he had been their prince for a century. Old habits died hard.
“That won’t be necessary,” Caius said. From the corner of his eye, he spotted four more Firedrakes within the hall, in addition to the two behind him. If this went south, he could take out four of them, maybe five. But if Tanith were to jump into the fray, the odds would be stacked against him. There was only one way out, no matter how much it pained him to admit it.
“You’re right,” Caius said. “If you’ve won the vote, then you are the rightful Dragon Prince. I’ve always done my best to honor the wishes of our people, and I will do no less now.” With a graceful sweep of his arm, Caius cut a deep bow, eyes downcast as was right and proper. “You’ve won, Tanith. Congratulations.”
Tanith was a master of many things. Few swordsmen could hope to best her in combat and fewer still had her keen eye for strategy on the battlefield. Her acts of bravery and feats of daring were known far and wide. But there was one skill that Tanith had never been able to master, and that was the art of spotting a lie, even when it was presented before her, bowed in a pretense of humble prostration.
“Thank you, Caius.” Tanith closed the distance between them. She placed a hand on his shoulder, urging him to stand. Her hand was warm, even through his tunic. “I was hoping you would see things my way.”
“Of course,” Caius said. He forced a small smile. “You are my only sister and no matter what, you have my support.”
Tanith smiled, and it was almost genuine. “Your loyalty does you credit, Brother.” She gathered up her skirts and turned her back to him, a show of confidence among the Drakharin. Giving someone your back meant you trusted them not to stick a blade in it. Caius’s hands itched to reach for the long knives he still wore, but Tanith was right. By Drakharin standards, it had been a fair and free election. Laughable, he thought. Absolutely laughable.
“Thank you again, Caius,” Tanith said as she ascended the dais. She sat down on the throne that was now hers. “That will be all.” It must have been a unique pleasure, throwing Caius’s words back in his face.
With another bow, low and reverent, Caius took her words for what they were. A dismissal. They nodded to each other, across a distance more vast than the great hall itself. It was all so terribly civilized, and that, too, was pretense. If he wasn’t gone by morning, the next body the Drakharin found bearing the marks of Tanith’s sword would be his own. The Firedrakes opened the doors for him, and he left, his twin’s crimson eyes burning a hole in his back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The darkened corners and moldy stench of the Drakharin dungeons were the only company Ivy had as she sat on the stone floor, arms wrapped around her knees, shivering from cold. Perrin had been silent after the blond Drakharin left, her golden armor stained red with his blood, and Ivy wondered if he was dead.
There was a leak somewhere in the dungeons, and she’d been counting the drips to pass the time. She reached five thousand before she started to worry that she was slowly going mad. Her cheek still stung from where the one-eyed Drakharin had struck her. She rubbed at her face, sticky with tears and blood and snot. Maybe madness wouldn’t be so bad. So long as her sanity anchored her to this hell, there would be no hope for her. Madness might be the only escape left, even if it was only in her mind.
The drips persisted, and Ivy persisted in counting them, clinging to the tattered remnants of her sanity with clumsy fingers. She’d only counted to seven when the dungeon’s heavy iron doors swung open, and she heard the most beautiful sound in the whole entire world.
“Whoa there, sailor, buy a girl a drink first.”
Echo.
Ivy flung herself toward the voice as far as her chains would allow. Echo was here, in the Drakharin fortress. Echo had found her. They would escape. They would be free.
“You call this a frisk? Ha!”
And just like that, Ivy’s heart began to sink. She settled back against the wall, shackled wrists hugging her knees. There would be no escape. Echo was here as a prisoner.
“Hands!” Echo shouted. “In places!”
&nbs
p; Ivy closed her eyes. The sound of at least two pairs of boots scuffing against stone and a cell door opening and closing was enough to kill the hope that had sprung in her heart. Echo wasn’t a savior. She was as trapped as Ivy. When the dungeon’s main doors clanged shut Ivy said, “Echo?”
A muffled curse drifted through the darkness before Echo’s face appeared between the bars of the cell opposite hers.
“Ivy?” Echo said, hands clutching the bars. “Are you okay?”
Ivy crawled forward, the raw skin on her knees keenly aware of every bump and ridge through her jeans. She met Echo’s eyes across the walkway between them, and tears stung her own. She thought she’d cried herself out hours before, but there was a well inside her that stubbornly refused to dry up. Echo smiled, though it was a bit wobbly at the corners. She had the unflappable composure of those who have lived too long in too short a span of time, and Ivy felt a twisted sort of envy at her ability to keep cool under pressure.
“I’m fine,” Ivy said. She wasn’t—not even close. “What are you doing here?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I was here to rescue you?” Echo said.
“Say it,” Ivy hissed, “and I will smack you.”
Echo snorted. “From all the way over there?”
“I swear to the gods, I will find a way.” The tendrils of madness that had wrapped themselves around Ivy’s mind slowly dissolved, forced back by their comfortable banter. It was strained, but it was familiar. Ivy clung to it, letting Echo’s voice be her rock.
“Why are you here?” Ivy asked. “For real.”
“Long story short, the Dragon Prince hired some jerk to hunt me down for stealing some crap,” Echo said. “I just wish I knew how they found me.”
It was an innocent enough statement, curious without the expectation of an answer, but bile rose in Ivy’s throat. She remembered the sound of Perrin’s choked screams and garbled words, thick and wet, as if he had been drowning in his own blood. She dug her nails into the soft flesh of her forearm as she recalled the part of Perrin’s interrogation that stung most of all. She’d screamed, called him a liar, a traitor, a coward. It hadn’t mattered to her that he’d resisted as long as he was able, that he’d told them selling information was one thing, but handing over children was another. He’d gone quiet hours ago, and Ivy tasted the sour venom of regret for the things she’d said to him.
“The bracelet,” Ivy said, eyes closed tightly against the memory. “The one Perrin gave you. He tracked it. He didn’t want to, but they tortured him. They made him do it.”
Echo spit out a curse and fumbled at her wrist. What sounded like leather and beads smacked against the floor. Ivy let the moments pass in silence, and slowly, the memory of Perrin’s cries faded into nothingness. She listened to Echo breathing, letting the constancy of the sound steady her. After a few minutes, she felt almost sane again.
Echo sighed, the noise soft in the quiet of the dungeon. “You know, I’m getting real sick of people tossing me in prison cells.”
“What?” Ivy asked. “Who else tossed you in a prison cell?”
“Altair,” Echo said. “Naturally.”
Ivy plucked at the straw beneath her knees. “I want to say I’m surprised, but I’m not. Not even a little bit. Not at all.”
Echo’s laugh was tired but genuine. “Yeah, yeah. Now shut up so I can figure out how to get us out of here. That handsy guard stole my tools.” Grabbing the bars of her cell, she shouted, “AND YOUR AMENITIES LEAVE SOMETHING TO BE DESIRED!” With a huff, she settled back against the wall, crossing her arms and kicking her legs out in front of her.
Ivy went quiet, pressing her forehead against the cool metal of the cell’s bars. It wasn’t comfortable, but it reminded her of where she was and whom she was with. Echo was here, and together, they would escape. They had to. They couldn’t not. The seconds ticked by, and the silence thickened, as if the air itself were coagulating with Ivy’s despair.
“So,” Ivy said. She needed to hear something, anything, besides that infernal drip. “What’s the plan?”
Ivy heard more than saw Echo shift restlessly.
“I don’t know,” Echo admitted. “Weep. Panic. Die horribly.”
The laughter that bubbled its way out of Ivy’s throat was tinged with no small amount of hysteria. “Great pep talk.”
“You’re welcome,” Echo said. “I tried really hard with that one.”
Silence fell again, and Ivy began to count the drips. One drip, two drips, three drips.
“Ivy?”
“Yeah?”
“What happened to Perrin?”
The memory of Perrin’s screams, as Tanith asked him, again and again, to tell her about Echo, roared back to life. For a moment, the blood that Ivy smelled was fresh, and the fire that burst from Tanith’s hands lit up the whole room. She buried her fingernails into her palms, and the pain brought her back to herself.
“I think they killed him.” Her voice sounded like a stranger’s. With any luck, the numbness she was beginning to feel would take her soon, so she wouldn’t have to think or feel or fear anything anymore. “He hasn’t moved in a while.”
Echo scrambled to her knees and snaked a hand through the bars, reaching out for Ivy. At least Echo’s hands were free to do that. Ivy pulled at her chains, rattling them like some vengeful ghost. No matter how desperately she needed to feel Echo’s hand in her own, to feel assured that she wasn’t going to die alone, forgotten in a cold, dirty cell, the shackles held her back.
“I can’t,” Ivy said, swallowing around the growing lump in her throat. “I can’t reach you.”
And then she was crying, tears burning little paths through the layer of soot and blood on her cheeks. Echo whispered soft, soothing nonsense, but Ivy couldn’t hear anything over the sound of her own sobs and that godforsaken drip.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Ivy,” Echo said again. She’d been calling her name for a solid ten minutes, but Ivy was inconsolable. The sound of her crying had faded to a quiet sniffling, but she refused to speak.
“Ivy,” Echo said again in a harsh whisper. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise. The Ala and Altair were looking for you when I left. They’ll find us. I know they will.”
Ivy mumbled something so quietly, Echo couldn’t quite catch it. “What was that?”
Raising her head to meet Echo’s eyes through the bars, Ivy cleared her throat and spoke, voice raw from crying. “I said, they won’t come after us. Not here. And Altair threw you in a jail cell, so why would he come looking for you?”
“Because in Altair’s twisted little world, he’s the only one who gets to mess with his own people.”
“But you’re not his people.”
Under normal circumstances, Ivy would never have said something like that quite so bluntly, but a day in a Drakharin dungeon would take a toll on anyone’s tact. And even if the words were harsh, Echo couldn’t deny that they were true. Altair didn’t care about her. He tolerated her. And now, he was probably glad she was out of his hair.
“Yeah, I know,” said Echo, sitting back against the wall. “And he never lets me forget it.”
Ivy’s face softened, and her big black eyes were clearer than they’d been minutes earlier. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, I know. It’s fine.” Echo sighed. “And you’re right, he won’t come looking for me. I could rot for all Altair cares, but he will come looking for you.” Echo glanced at the pile of robes that Ivy had assured her was Perrin. “And him.”
Ivy nodded, listlessly, and looked down. “If you say so.”
The moments passed in silence. Echo felt her hope dwindle, dripping away, drop by drop, like the leak that had been driving her insane since she’d noticed it. How Ivy had been down here as long as she had, listening to that lonely, persistent drip without going mad was a mystery.
The guards had rotated shifts twice since she’d been dropped off, so when the heavy iron door creake
d open again, Echo didn’t bother looking up. She busied herself braiding tiny pieces of straw plucked off the dungeon floor. A single set of footsteps approached. When they stopped in front of her cell, only then did she look up. Caius stood on the other side of the bars, peering down at her, green eyes inscrutable. He’d washed away the blood on his hands, but the fabric of his tunic was darker where Ribos had leaned against him. The blood was probably still tacky to the touch.
“Missed me already?” Echo asked. She resumed braiding the straw, but her hands were shaking too much to make it even. “You seemed so busy before, what with all the blood and the horror and the dying.”
Caius eyed the main door. The Firedrakes were on the other side, separated from this room by four inches of solid metal, but he kept his voice low anyway. “There’s been a change in management.”
“And what does that have to do with me?” Echo said, dropping her mangled straw.
“My contract’s been cut short.” Caius jingled a ring of skeleton keys at her through the bars. “As far as I’m concerned, that means you’re free to go.”
Echo pushed herself to her feet, knees creaking in protest. Seventeen and already too old for this crap. “Can I ask why?”
“I was hired by the Dragon Prince to bring you in. There’s a new Dragon Prince now. I can’t say I’m a huge fan of her methods.”
“Tanith?”
Caius looked mildly surprised. “How did you know?”
“I have these things I like to call eyes and ears.” Echo flexed her ankles, trying to get her circulation back in working order. “You know, she doesn’t exactly seem like the subtle type.”
“Tanith has been called many things over the years, but subtle was never one of them,” Caius said, keys still dangling from his fingers.
“I ask again,” Echo said. She could almost taste her freedom. Ivy had gone still, watching their exchange closely. “What does this have to do with me?”
“This has everything to do with you.”
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