by K. A. Tucker
“This is why Ybaris calls them demons,” I whisper under my breath.
Beside me, Zander tenses.
And then the first scream ricochets through the square.
Chapter Thirty
It’s a domino effect, from the first aristocrat to the last who fed at the trough. The Islorian immortals feeding on the Ybarisan prisoners crumple to the dirt-covered ground, writhing in pain, their backs arched, their teeth gritted in agony.
“What is happening?” Annika whispers, her voice filled with horror.
“They took the poison.” Realization sweeps across Zander’s face.
“I thought they couldn’t,” I say. “I thought merth would tear them apart. It is merth. Isn’t it?”
Zander’s eyes snap to Wendeline. “That’s what I was told.”
Bodies thrash and people scream in horror, scurrying away as if whatever afflicts the nobles is contagious. The relentless screams—so many of them—set the hairs on my neck on end. The priestesses look toward Wendeline, who shakes her head. She can’t help them, she’s saying.
And in the center of it all, the three Ybarisans strapped to the tables laugh.
My head swims with dizziness. “There has to be something we can do,” I hear myself say.
Zander hesitates. “There is.” His jaw clenches as he steps to the edge of the railing.
An enormous ball of fire erupts around the three tables and the victims. People scatter even farther. The cries of agony cease almost immediately.
Zander is using his affinity, and this is not a parlor trick. By the countless hanging jaws, this demonstration proves he is far more powerful than anyone realized.
The crowd watches as scorching flames burn for another few seconds and then, just as suddenly, the fire cuts out, leaving nothing but a pile of smoldering corpses, the smell of charred skin and an eerie silence, as everyone absorbs the shock of what they just witnessed.
A deep, wicked laugh sounds from high above, carrying across the stillness in the square.
“Praise be the future queen of Islor!” a male voice sings.
It’s Tyree, in the tower.
“One drop of her blood to end your curse forever! One drop to free all!”
The color slips from Zander’s face. “Fates, it isn’t merth that they’re taking. It’s your blood. How did I not see this?” Again, Zander’s eyes dart toward Wendeline, and the accusation is clearly there.
The pained wince she offers says everything.
She lied to him about that, too.
What other deceptions has she spun?
My face burns as I feel the heat of countless stares crawling all over me. “I didn’t do this,” I croak, though no one hears my words. I steal a panicked glance Annika’s way. She knows I’m innocent. Those close to me know.
Zander turns to me.
“I didn’t have anything to do with this.” I feel compelled to remind him of that, given the conflicted look in his eyes. He must be able to read my confusion and my horror, can’t he?
“It won’t matter,” he says quietly.
Numbness washes over me. “What does that mean?”
“Yet again, we find ourselves here. You did not learn the first time, brother!” Atticus bellows, shifting into the center of the square. The flames from the torches glint off the gold in his armor. “Your betrothed suggested this royal repast, and now we know why.”
My mouth drops in shock. This was Adley’s idea. I didn’t even know what a royal repast was. Atticus knows that!
He walks a slow circle, addressing the crowd. “Twelve of our lords and ladies have been slaughtered in a single vicious swoop because our king can no longer see the danger standing right beside him, despite how many times I’ve warned him. He would put a queen on the throne with blood running through her veins that could poison us all if given the opportunity.”
He points to the smoldering mess. “This is no surprise. It was not the high priestess who killed the daaknar, but the Princess Romeria, when the beast sank its teeth into her.”
Gasps sound from every corner of the square.
“What is he doing?” I hiss.
Zander’s jaw tenses. “Seizing an opportunity.”
“But your king continues to lie and deceive, protecting a woman who came here to destroy us.” Atticus’s face is grim as he turns to Zander. “I fear you are leading Islor down a path it cannot recover from. I am sworn to protect you, even if that means I must protect you from yourself.” His voice is strong and commanding as it carries across the arena. I imagine it’s the same as on the battleground. “As King Ailill’s heir, and an heir to the throne of Islor, I cannot allow this foolishness to continue any longer. You will relinquish your seat immediately.”
“You have no authority to do this,” Zander says, his voice oddly serene.
“And what will you do to stop it from happening? Burn the city to the ground just so you can keep a crown you have no interest in wearing?”
Time seems to hang as the two brothers lock gazes and unspoken words pass.
“You may be firstborn, but you have proven that you do not belong up there. Not anymore. And I will do what you cannot.” Atticus’s chest rises with a deep inhale. “Guards! Seize her!”
Is this happening? Again? “He can’t do this, can he?”
Zander’s eyes shift to the soldiers moving in. A flash of shock skates across his face when he sees Boaz leading the charge. “Abarrane!”
“The Legion is with the rightful king of Islor, Your Highness.” She punctuates that with a fleeting bow.
Zander yanks his sheathed jeweled dagger off his hip and presses it into my hand, curling my fingers over it. To Elisaf and Abarrane, he orders, “Get her to her rooms and hold them off. I’m right behind you.”
I stare at the weapon in my palm until Elisaf grabs my arm.
“Come. It’s not safe for you here anymore.”
I clutch the dagger’s hilt as we run.
Everything seems to move in slow motion and yet warp speed. My mind is caught in a fog, the sound of blades clashing all around me. Abarrane and the Legion cut down charging soldiers as if they were farmhands swinging shovels. Somehow, we make it from our seats in the tournament square to the royal chamber stairs.
“Hold them off!” Elisaf orders to Abarrane, not slowing to ensure they listen. We dash for my suite.
Corrin is pacing around my sitting room when we reach it. “I was in the kitchens when I heard the yelling! There are soldiers fighting everywhere. Who would attack us like this with all the king’s army in place?” she demands, but her normally resolute voice carries a tremble.
“I’m afraid it is the king’s army that has attacked. And the commander is leading the charge,” Elisaf says, his lungs showing some strain.
“I didn’t know about the poison! Atticus knows that!” I cry between ragged breaths. I’ve never moved so fast in my life.
“It does not matter. He is using this to his advantage.”
Shouts ring from somewhere far below.
“I warned you, didn’t I!” My indignant rage bubbles. “I warned you both that he couldn’t be trusted, and you didn’t listen to me!”
“I did not think he would do this.” Zander charges in, a smear of blood that isn’t his own on his cheek. A haunting shout carries up the stairwell, one of agony, of likely a final breath. “Atticus has claimed the army. Some still fight for me, but they will not last long. There are too many. We need to leave now. Even the Legion can’t hold them off. Abarrane knows where to meet us.”
“Why is Boaz against us?”
“Because Boaz is for the crown, and he clearly no longer feels I am fit to wear it.” He nods toward my dress. “Change out of that, quickly, unless you feel like running in it.”
Corrin and I rush to my closet. Her fingers work frantically over the hooks and buttons. I peel off the delicate material, leaving it in a heap as I don my tunic and pants.
Zander appears in the door
way just as I’m yanking on my second riding boot. Corrin is on her knees, furiously tying the laces. “Are you ready? We need to get out of the city immediately. We will meet Abarrane out near Eldred Wood.”
I curse. “I need to go to the apothecary first.”
“For what?”
I hesitate. “Bexley found Ianca and Gesine. They’re waiting there for me. She sent the message this morning. I was going to tell you after the tournament.”
“What message?” Corrin gasps as she remembers. “You’ve been scheming again! And with Dagny, of all people! I knew you were up to something.” She stabs the air between us with her finger. “I warned him not to fall for this new—”
“It’s not what you think!” I yell over her tirade.
“Why am I not surprised by this?” Zander shakes his head. “Wendeline has lied and manipulated us in far worse ways than I ever anticipated, and now you want to seek out more of these treacherous casters from Mordain?” His anger rises with his words. “That spectacle out there could have been avoided had she told us what this poison was. We would have known to check the Ybarisans. This is what she wanted. Islor in shambles.”
“But I don’t think it is.” Whatever her reasons for deceiving him, Wendeline said everything she did has been for the future of Islor that Zander wants.
“And what do you know about what is and what isn’t, Romeria?” he seethes. “All of Islor will be hunting you—the immortals, to ensure your death; the mortals, for your blood. No, the absolute last place I’m taking you is to more casters.”
“But I need to see Gesine,” I push through gritted teeth.
“Explain to me why?” he demands.
Wendeline said there would be a time to tell him, and I would know it. With his kingdom crumbling around him, I don’t suppose this is it. Yet I’m afraid that if I leave Cirilea tonight, I’ll never get the answers I need to survive in this world. “Because I’m a key caster, and she can teach me how to use my affinities.”
Corrin gasps.
Zander’s face pales. “You can’t be.”
“And yet apparently, I am. It’s a very long story that we don’t have time to go through right now, but I need to get to the apothecary. If you don’t want to take me, fine. Just get me past these walls, and I’ll get to it myself.”
“You won’t last an hour on your own. I don’t know how you’ll survive, even with me,” he murmurs absently, pushing his hands through his hair, sending it into disarray.
“I need Gesine to help me understand what I am. Please. Don’t worry, I’m not going to open any doors or tear any dimensional folds. I’m not going anywhere near the nymphaeum on Hudem.”
Zander’s eyes are clouded, his thoughts somewhere as he processes this. “The nethertaur sensed you. That’s why it came to the meadow.”
“Yes.” There is no other answer but the truth.
“How long have you known?”
“Since the day I went to the market with Dagny. Wendeline knew after the daaknar attack, when she tested me.”
“The market …,” he echoes, and I sense where his mind is veering—to all the intimate moments and opportunities I had to tell him. And I didn’t.
“I’m sorry. I was told you’d kill me if you found out—”
Elisaf charges in. “We must go now.”
A switch seems to trip in Zander’s head. He turns to Corrin. “You will come with us?”
“I would only slow you down. Besides, I have a household to take care of, Your Highness, including three new members, soon to be four.”
Gracen and her kids. What have I unwittingly dragged them into?
Zander’s jaw tenses. “I do not have time to stand here and argue. Atticus knows you are loyal to me.”
“And he also knows I maintain this castle’s operations better than any other could,” she says haughtily. “I will keep things in place until your return.” She nods as if confirming that decision, but in her eyes, I see a mixture of resignation and fear.
Zander sees it too. “Do not risk yourself needlessly. If he presses, give him whatever information he demands.” He bows deeply. “Until my return.”
“I will buy you as much time as I can. Stay safe.” She looks to me. Her face remains wary, but her curtsy is uncharacteristically deep. “Both of you.”
“How does Atticus not know about this passage?” I stumble over a crumbled stone, nearly dropping my lantern.
“Because it’s called the king’s alley for a reason. Only the king has seen it since it was constructed many centuries ago,” comes Zander’s muted response. “Four kings have used it. Ailill, Rhionn, my father, and me. My father led me through it, and his father led him through it, and so on. And while Atticus deigns to play king in my absence, he will never know of its existence.”
Instead of unlocking the passage at the bottom of the winding steps as Zander did last time, he led us beneath the steps and along a hidden path I had to crouch to pass through while the men had to crawl. Now we trek silently along an endless corridor that reeks of mildew, the skeletal remains of dead rodents crunching beneath our boots, as we flee into the night with stockpiled provisions—mainly weapons and gold.
That the king of Islor had his own go bag like the one I stowed in my apartment for a quick getaway is not lost on me.
“Imagine how differently things could have gone had you only been honest with me,” Zander muses.
“I was afraid you would kill me!”
“Yes. Spend the night wrapped in a woman and then rise to execute her in the morning. That sounds like me.”
“Sounds like that night in the tower.”
Zander stops so abruptly, I plow into his back.
“And while we’re on the subject of being honest, you knew Atticus wanted to be king. He brought all those soldiers, loyal to him, into the city. Was it for protection, or was it so he could overpower you?”
“Possibly both,” He admits, continuing forward.
“How could you not see what he would do?”
“Because he is my brother! And because it seems I cannot see anything clearly when you are around.”
“So this is my fault? Even though I warned you not to trust him?”
He sighs. “I think we’re past the point of blame. But I wager Ybaris got what it wanted.”
“Who poisoned Quill? Was that also Atticus?”
“I do not claim to know anything anymore. Whoever the culprit, they did so to keep people afraid of the Ybarisan princess set to be queen. Atticus has been seen with Adley and the others. I don’t doubt now that they have been whispering in his ear notions of claiming the throne, convincing him of the righteousness of it. And then today happened, and he saw his chance. It could not have been more perfect, really, though it seems the priestesses have had their own hand in plotting, independent of everyone else. It does not matter anymore, does it?”
Atticus’s accusation loiters in my mind. “Do you even want to be king?”
“No, I do not,” he admits, shocking me with his resolute answer. “Which is why I must be.” He pauses. “So this story you fed me, about not remembering anything—”
“A lie. My name is Romeria Watts. I’m from New York City, where mostly everyone is human and there is no talk of fates and casters and immortals. An elemental named Sofie tricked me into helping her save her husband, only to stab me in the chest with a token horn from Malachi. I woke up in this body, which is exactly like my own body, with people accusing me of murder.”
Behind me, Elisaf curses.
“Except you’re not human. You’re a key caster.”
“Apparently, but I had no idea. I don’t know how it all works. I never felt anything until I took this ring off the other day.”
“You tried to tell me,” Zander says, more to himself.
“Yes. But that didn’t work out well for me.” God, it feels like a concrete block has been lifted off my chest.
“And how are you supposed to save Sofie’s husband
?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I think he might be imprisoned in the Nulling.” Sofie said Elijah was trapped somewhere and it sounded like Malachi was the one who sent him to that place. When the fold was torn, the monsters who escaped were from the Nulling, sent there by the fates. It would make sense then, that the two are the same. Though, the last time I saw Elijah’s body, it was in a stone coffin in Belgium. “Malachi sent me here to try to open the nymphaeum door, which I obviously am not going to do. And I’m not going to help Sofie. So that leaves me with learning how to be a key caster.”
“Until people find out what you are. As if they didn’t already have reason to kill you,” Zander mutters.
“How do you know you can trust Gesine?” Elisaf asks quietly. They’re the first words he’s spoken to me since we crawled through the tunnel.
“I don’t, but if they wanted to kill me for being what I am, they had a thousand opportunities to do it.”
Silence drags on as we trek along the path. I ache to know what’s filtering through Zander’s mind right now, but he isn’t saying anything.
We arrive at the end of the corridor and meet a solid stone wall that I’ve come to learn means nothing in this world of secret passageways.
“How close will this bring us to the apothecary?” I ask.
“A few blocks away.” Zander puts his finger to his mouth for quiet. He listens for a moment, before reaching above his head to press on a block. A telltale click sounds and the wall moves out.
And the tiny thrill skates through my mind. I was made for this kind of world.
“Your childlike fascination with these things continues to amuse me,” he murmurs, obviously sensing my reaction.
“I was a thief in my former life, so sneaking in and out of places was sort of my thing.” It feels oddly liberating to admit that.
Zander shoots an incredulous look my way before we step into a cramped room full of dust-covered crates. “It’s a storage cellar,” he whispers. Moving for a wooden door, he pushes against it. And curses.