My brother turned around. “We aren’t telling them anything. You won’t tell them anything.”
“You were searching the palace for proof of Lucius’s orders, weren’t you?” I was pleading. “That’s what they told you to do, wasn’t it?”
My brother said nothing.
“Darren could help you. Even Blayne. If what you said was true—”
“The Crown can’t be trusted.” Derrick’s voice echoed across the stalls. “Even if the two princes weren’t involved in Lucius’s schemes, do you really think King Blayne would call off a war? With the Pythians’ support Jerar will win, and the Crown stands everything to gain.”
“Darren could help him see reason, Blayne trusts him—”
Derrick raised his hand. “Lucius raised Darren to be his brother’s right hand. He will serve Blayne above all else.”
“You don’t know him!”
“I don’t need to. They are the Crown. They will betray us.”
“Derrick!” I was on my knees, begging him not to go. “You have to stop. If they find out you are with the rebels after the attack at Montfort—” They will kill him.
“You are going to have to tell them to stop me.” My brother’s jaw clenched, and I saw he was no longer just the boy I had helped raise, but a man. “I will keep searching. Because one of us has to. And if you turn me in—and I don’t think you will—you will have to deal with my blood on your hands. And you can live your life knowing you betrayed your own brother. And when Alex and our parents cripple in despair, you will know it was you who did it. It will be you who destroyed your life.”
****
I stumbled to my chambers—but before I did I made sure to dry my eyes. To clean my face. To brush the straw from my breeches. To hold my head up high and smile as I passed the regular patrol of guards.
As soon as I had reached my chamber I threw the door shut and fell to my bed, a muffled scream into the mattress beneath. I hated Derrick. I hated him for using my love against me. He knew I would never betray him to the Crown, and even if his tasks now were innocent enough, I would not be able to protect him if he got caught.
Why? Why does it have to be my brother who gets involved in this scheme? I hated Commander Nyx. Ian. HOW DARE HE TRY TO CONVERT ME! Ray. All of those angry soldiers at the keep. Jacob. Myself. Why couldn’t Derrick have been more like Alex? Why did he have to be like me?
I hated every last one of them. I hated Derrick for asking me to choose. Because by asking me, he had known I would choose him. He knew I wouldn’t betray him to Darren. Because I couldn’t betray my brother, my own flesh and blood—the little boy who I had spent all those days chasing around a field, wrestling in the mud… Which meant Darren could never betray Blayne—the brother he had seen beaten and bruised, the one he had sworn to protect. And I couldn’t count on Blayne not to condemn Derrick.
My brother had made me a traitor. And I would never, ever forgive him.
A sob escaped my lips.
“Ryiah?” There was a concerned knock at the door.
My chest squeezed until it hurt, and I had to dig my nails down into the blankets to fight back a cry. I couldn’t talk to Darren. Not now. Not while everything I knew was falling apart. My brother had forced me to pick a side. And it wasn’t Darren’s.
I held my breath and waited until he left.
Derrick had implied the one I loved could be the traitor in our midst. But he was wrong. Because deep down, I knew. If Darren had asked me to kill an evil tyrant and his brother? If he had begged? If he had told me it was all for Jerar? I would have stood by his side.
The true traitors were the rebels. Or King Horrace of Caltoth. Or perhaps the Pythian king himself.
Had I known that this was how it would be? The life of a mage of Combat, betrothed to a prince? A kingdom in ruin. And with so many loose threads, something would tear.
And when it did, it would all fall apart.
Chapter Seventeen
I had picked a side. But it didn’t mean I was willing to embrace it. I was still determined to stop my brother any way I could.
Even if it meant becoming a traitor myself.
If I find him proof, he can go back to Commander Nyx. And that was all I cared about. Because as long as he was in the palace, he was at risk. And some part of me really did want to believe what he said about King Lucius. Because after all the man had done to his sons, anything was possible.
On my three days off for each of the next two weeks, I scoured every inch of the old king’s rooms. Blayne hadn’t transitioned over to King Lucius’s chambers—after all, he was still in mourning—so nothing had yet been moved. The guards in the Crown hall only monitored its entrance, and since my chamber was a part of it, they never sought to check beyond.
I didn’t need a key. I broke the lock on the second try. Rusting the metal until it cracked with just the slightest casting necessary. No one would ever suspect a thing.
And they didn’t. Blayne was too busy in his war chambers, meeting with his board of advisors and Darren, whose counsel served to advise those in all of Combat with the other two Colored Robes following his lead. I didn’t even miss not being a part of it; it was like Derrick said, now that I had my own mission, the envy was gone. My time was too busy spent searching, silently thanking the gods for sparing my brother and me thus far.
And praying we found whatever it was we were searching for before they found us.
But I didn’t find a thing.
“The king would never keep the documents in his chambers!” Derrick admonished me one afternoon in the stables when I came to report my findings. “A man as underhanded as him? He probably burned them all.”
“Then why are you still searching?” I threw up my hands in frustration. “Why are you still here? Go back, Derrick. Go back to the keep before they catch you.” My voice broke, and I punched at the wall with my fist. “I can’t keep doing this.”
“No one is asking you to help,” was his cold reply.
I stormed off, hating my brother even more than before. When Darren came to sit beside me that evening I was too busy stabbing my venison to notice.
“Ryiah?” The prince’s hand slipped over my own. “What’s wrong? You haven’t touched your food in days.”
“Nothing.” I said the word bitterly, tearing off a forkful of roast and shoving it into my mouth.
“Did I do something to upset you?” The pain in his voice lanced at my heart. “I…” He lowered his voice so that his brother couldn’t hear us over the other advisors and Council at the table. “I had the servants deliver that potion, but I…” His neck tinged red. “If that’s w-what you are upset… I d-don’t expect… If you aren’t ready...”
My whole face flushed. “I-it’s not that.”
“Are you sure?” His eyes bore into mine until I was forced to look away, traitor that I was.
I fumbled for an excuse. “It’s Wren.” She was certainly a part of it. The lie flowed easily enough. “Every night your brother talks about Pythus, and I can’t help thinking of her.”
Darren’s gaze drew dark and his hand tightened on my own. “Soon, Ryiah, we will catch every last one of those rebels. Blayne has me scouring all Marius’s reports for something he might have missed. He was so thorough, but I’ve been talking with the other advisors, and I think he might have been going about everything wrong. What if they aren’t in the South?”
My breath caught in my throat as he continued: “We always thought that’s where they were. Because of all the attacks. But maybe that’s what they wanted us to think. Maybe their base is in the north.”
“YOUR MAJESTY, WE HAVE A TRAITOR IN OUR MIDST.”
I slammed back in my chair, wooden legs scraping against the floor.
Mage Mira barged into the dining hall, leading two of her favorite mages and Derrick. His head was hung and his arms were dripping blood, all of his weight shifted to one leg.
My heart slammed against my ribs so loud I couldn’
t hear the next words she shouted. NO. GODS, NO.
King Blayne shot out of his chair, his brother a second later. Blayne’s eyes flitted to mine and then Mira’s, and then back again. An inscrutable expression.
Darren staggered back, mirroring my movements only a moment before.
“We caught this one in the war chamber.” Mira had her men jerk my brother forward, and I heard the whimper as he was thrown to his knees, a sickening crack as his bad leg slammed against the marble tile. DERRICK. “He was making a list. Looking at the books. Keeping a count of each city’s regiment. Writing names.” She spat the words and a drop of saliva hit my brother’s shirt. He made no move to wipe it away—he couldn’t, his hands were bound behind his back.
Lists? Numbers? My pulse stopped as the facts came into play. My brother had never been looking for proof. His whole story about King Lucius was a lie. He had been gathering information for the rebels on the Crown the entire time. And he had been using me to get it.
Betrayal cut across my chest like a knife. And what was worse? My heart still bled for him. Even when I knew the truth. Even when it was staring me in the face. “It has to be a mistake!”
“It’s not.” Mira’s eyes lobbed daggers at my own. “And for all we know you were helping him! He’s your brother, seems to me a traitor wouldn’t fly far from the nest.”
“I wasn’t—”
“If you ever accuse my betrothed of treachery again,” Darren’s voice rang out low and ominous without a second glance my way. His fists were white on the back of his chair. “You will be disrobed and tossed in a cell to rot. Do you understand, mage?” He didn’t even address her by her name.
A hot flush of shame threatened to drown me in air.
“That’s enough, Darren.” Blayne’s eyes were glued to my face. “Mira, have your men take him to the dungeons. Ryiah, Darren, you will come with Mage Mira and me. To the war chambers. Now. The rest of you, continue your meal. You breathe a word of the rebel’s presence to anyone, and I will have you thrown in a cell right along side.”
****
“Ryiah.” The king met my eyes, and his ice-cold gaze bore into my own. Even though he was a good deal younger, I could see his father staring right back. Lucius had trained his son well.
I could only hope it was still Blayne on the other side.
“Did you know your brother was a traitor to the Crown?”
Deep, slow breath. No sudden movements. Shock plastered on my lips. Terror in my eyes. Fury and betrayal burning in my lungs. “No, I-I didn’t.”
It’s not a lie. It’s not a lie. I thought he was a good rebel. I thought he cared about the kingdom. I didn’t know he was helping prepare the Caltothians for a war.
“I told you, brother!” Darren’s voice whipped out and struck his brother’s accusation in a rage. “Ryiah would never betray us!”
“If you can’t keep that temper in check, I will have you tossed out of this chamber!” Blayne snapped. “Gods all know your beautiful betrothed can do no wrong. Any fool can see the way you look at her. But I am not blinded by love, Darren, and I am asking her a question. As her king. It would do you well to remember your place.”
“It would do you well to remember she tried to save our father!” Darren shouted. “Ryiah tried to save Wren! She was attacked in Mahj! You tell me I am blinded by love, but she would be the last person in the world to betray the Crown, and it would do you well to remember I answer to you as your Black Mage, not a servant.”
“ONE MORE WORD, BROTHER.” Blayne’s voice boomed across the room. “ONE MORE WORD AND I WILL HAVE YOU THROWN IN THE DUNGEONS TOO. I AM YOUR KING, AND YOU WILL NOT SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT AGAIN.”
Darren wrapped his arms around my waist. He didn’t say another word, but his stance was a statement of its own. I shivered in his arms and prayed the brothers’ fight had kept Blayne from noticing my lie.
“I say we string the rebel up like the lowborn scum he is—” Mira’s eyes made a not-so-obvious slant toward my own, daring me to counter her claim. “And then feed him hot coals. One at a time. It has been a while since the people saw a traitor choke on his own deceit. If I recall, the screams are something unlike any other. While they last.”
Darren’s arms and the look in Blayne’s eyes were all that kept me from tearing her apart, limb-by-limb. Fingernails dug into the palm of my hands, and I imagined it was her skin instead.
“Please,” my voice came out a croak. “Let me talk to Derrick first. You don’t know anything about the rebels. M-maybe he has information—”
“Which we will get after a couple hours of torture,” Mira drawled.
“How would you know?” I countered. She was so eager to get to my brother, and a part of me knew it was for the sins of my past. “All the other rebels have never succumbed to questioning, they chose death or found ways to take their life—”
“And maybe they haven’t been questioned by me.”
“Maybe it’s time to try something else.” I slipped out of Darren’s hold to fall to my knees in front of his brother.
“Ryiah—” Darren tried to protest but I shook my head.
If I had to beg, I would. “Please.” My head shot up to look at the king. Please don’t be your father. “H-he’s so young. Derrick didn’t know…If he confesses to his crime? I-if I can get him to tell you who they are, where they are…”
“Go on.”
“If h-he does all that…Can you spare my little brother’s life?” I emphasized the term, hoping to draw on Blayne’s relationship to his own.
The king folded his arms, his steel gaze unwavering. “For you, Ryiah, three days. If you can get your brother to confess, if you can get him to give my men the information you claim, I will consider it payment for his life.”
“Thank you. Oh gods, thank—”
“But, Ryiah,” Blayne’s voice was sharp. “I give Mira permission to start her methods the second day.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, and Darren knelt down to help me stand, shooting a glower at his brother. “You don’t have to scare her,” he snapped. “Ryiah’s brother isn’t a bad person. Whatever fool decision he made, he’s young. She’ll get him to talk.”
“You’d be surprised what kind of villain can reside under a person’s skin.” Blayne’s tone was curt. “Or have you forgotten our father so soon?”
“Derrick is hardly—”
“Anybody is capable of anything.” The king’s gaze flitted to mine and then back to his brother. His expression was dark. “It would do the two of you well to remember that. Do not let your love for anyone blind you from the truth. Those are the ones we stand to lose the most, when they betray us.”
****
Mira and Darren led me through a series of halls, following a torch-lit corridor, passing stone stairs and rusted gates and all sorts of foul smells, before we finally reached the end. Through a narrow tunnel we came across a final set of doors bound by iron bars and a set of two guards in King’s Regiment garb.
The palace dungeons.
“She’s not going in alone!” Mira snarled. “She could be plotting his escape!”
“Do you not trust your own mages against one shackled soldier?” Darren gave the woman a hard look. “The rebels never responded to an inquisitor. Ryiah’s brother will be less willing to talk with anyone looming over their conversation.”
“It isn’t right—”
“Mira.” The prince swore. “I am not happy about finding a rebel in our midst, either, but there is nowhere that boy can escape. As your superior, and your prince, I am asking you to stand down.”
The mage shot me a sour look as she gave the two others a nod, indicating they should let me in. I swallowed as the men turned the heavy key into the door’s lock, praying the guilt wasn’t written all across my face. Did Mira see it?
The guilt was eating away at my lungs, but in that moment there was nothing to stop me from seeing my brother and convincing him to take Blayne’s deal. Nothi
ng. I would see him live.
The door swung open, and the second it did the terrible scent of decay and fresh urine was so overpowering I had to fall back. My hand was covering my mouth and nose, but it didn’t make a difference. I felt as if I had inhaled a cloud of death and rot; the air was so thick I could feel the particles pressing against my skin.
Iron bars separated ten cells between the door and the wall. Manacles were secured to the bars inside. Blood stained the ground beneath, along with seeping buckets of what looked like old human waste.
Then I spotted my brother. The only prisoner, furthest from the door. His leg was sprawled out on the dirty floor, and he was clutching his ribs. Blood stained the rags that barely covered his form, nothing more than an old potato sack, threadbare and worn. Of course they would have made him change; they could never allow a prisoner to wear the uniform of a guard.
Not three feet from where I stood was an iron chair, covered in spikes on every inch of its surface—even the arm rests.
A whimper escaped my lips. The Prisoner’s Chair. I’d read about it in the history books at the Academy. It was a longstanding favorite of inquisitors. Criminals were strapped in and then straps were tightened. The pain was supposed to be terrible, but most wouldn’t die. They would writhe in agony, for hours holding their breath wishing the pain to end. And then they would be removed.
They would bleed to death in their cells. If they were lucky. If they survived there were other methods far worse. Mice trapped against the flesh that would eat a person out from the inside. Devices that would stretch and then rip the limbs out of their sockets. Mutilation. Fire. Hot metal poured onto screaming flesh.
The kings of Jerar had many ways to interrogate their criminals. Most methods were usually too complex to waste the time. A normal crime that warranted death was done by hanging. But most prisoners didn’t carry secrets that could reveal a large grouping of traitors to the Crown.
“Derrick!” I threw myself against the bars of his cell, trying to hold my breath against the stench.
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