Chapter Twenty-Three

A commotion behind me grabs my attention as Roshan and Aran enter with Javed hanging like a rag doll between them. He’s more conscious after the dose from the inhibitor, but his face is still pale, and his ice-blue eyes are bloodshot. His head keeps lolling backward as if it’s connected to his neck with strings. They’ve wrapped a threadbare woolen cloth over his shoulders, but glimpses of his bruised and beaten body peek through. Javed is a piece of horse shit, but I still feel sorry for him.

“How badly is he hurt?” I ask.

“He’s out of it, but he’ll live.”

“Roshan—”

I begin, and halt with a harsh breath.

“I know, Suraya.”

His brown eyes meet mine, and I can see the conflict within them. I don’t have to explain what I was about to say—my thoughts are the same as his. We both know that Javed, no matter his current state, can’t be trusted. But we also can’t just leave him here to die. He’s the king, after all, and Roshan’s half brother by blood.

Plus, we have far more urgent matters to deal with, like getting out of this garrison before we’re surrounded by an overeager troop of Scav reinforcements hopped up on Jade. I also can’t help feeling a twinge of pity for them and their addiction.

“Don’t feel sorry for me, little one,”

the captain says, reading my expression and confirming some degree of emotional intelligence as well. “I make my own choices.”

“Where’s your war room?”

I ask him abruptly, slightly unnerved. Most military strongholds have them, and it’s clear continuing to underestimate the Scavs—especially this leader—would be a mistake. We need information. Maps, records, plans, anything useful.

“Through there,”

he answers helpfully, indicating a pair of exterior doors.

Roshan stares at the captain, a muscle ticking with slow menace in his jaw. “Could be a trap with a dozen of your men waiting.”

Slash Throat smiles. “That’s a risk you’ll have to take.”

His words send ice down my spine. So far everything in this shithole has been the worst. Unlocking the cage, I lift my dagger and point it at the Scav’s head. “Try anything and I will not hesitate to put you down like the rabid thing you are. This blade can cut through bone.”

My words only make him smile wider. “Such sweet nothings, Starkeeper.”

“You told him?”

Roshan’s eyes fly to mine as we leave the cell and file toward the exit, Javed lolling limply against Aran.

“He already knew,”

I say. “He saw when I had to use my abilities earlier. And he’s Fomalhaut from Eloni. Arcanist, if I have to guess.”

We enter a narrow hallway that connects to another chamber. Inside, the handful of Scavs on duty fall at ease at the gruff order from their captain, even though they stare at us with suspicion and hostility.

My mouth falls open as I scan the room. There’s jādū everywhere. Like, enormous stockpiles of it, enough to make the magic in my blood hum in response.

I scan the Scavs and realize two of the four have runic markings on their skin like Aran. And like their captain, they seem clear-minded.

Slash Throat stares at me, pale eyes indecipherable. That stare makes me nervous. For a moment, I think about shooting one of the remaining vials of Jade into his neck as a precaution. But we need him conscious if we want answers quickly.

“What is all this?”

Roshan demands.

The captain cants his chin, and two of the Scavs—magi?—move forward, each armed with a piece of jādū. “Roshan,”

I warn, but he doesn’t move, only angles his crossbow at the captain’s heart. The two men cast a rune I’ve never seen, and I hear Aran inhale sharply behind me.

Something shimmers to life in between the crystals. Though similar in appearance, it’s not a portal. It looks like a mirror . . . a communications mirror. I’d heard of the Imperial House using a similar contact method with the heads of the houses in the different cities, but I’ve never seen one. And to think that these Scavs have both the jādū and the runecasters to conjure such a thing makes my worry heighten.

Just how powerful and organized are they?

Once more, these Scavs surprise me. The idea of them not being mindless addicts is terrifying. The hairs on my nape stand at stiff attention, the magic in my veins going from a hum to a howl.

“Contact your superior,”

Roshan growls to the captain. If the prince is surprised by the jādū mirror, he’s not showing it.

The captain nods at the runecasters to do as commanded. The opalescent panel shimmers outward like a stone falling into a still lake before a picture forms.

“General Vogon,”

one of the runecasters says in a low voice, making us both gape.

“You’re contacting Vogon?”

Roshan asks. “He’s your direct commander?”

He doesn’t respond. A chill scuttles over my shoulders when a face finally appears. This Scav is a small woman with spiky dark hair and a line of metal studs piercing both cheeks in a swirling pattern. A forbidding crowd of armed Scavs stand at her back.

“We await your command, General,”

she says, and bows.

It hits like the force of an exploding volcano. My heart begins to pound as I look from her to Slash Throat. I move into a defensive stance, dagger at the ready, despite the fact that the general hasn’t moved a muscle. “You’re Vogon.”

“I expect some form of introductions should be in order,”

he replies with a casual nod. “We know His Majesty, the king, along with Prince Roshan, the second son of the late King Zarek.”

His cool, calculating gaze flicks to me. “And you, of course. Such an unexpected prize.”

My stomach plummets to my knees at this point, magic and instincts firing inside of me with nowhere to go. Something feels off . . . something we missed. My fingers tighten of their own volition on the blade in my hand, even as wild power roils through me. He knows who Roshan is, too. But if he is Vogon, why is he here in this garrison, at exactly the same time we are? It’s too much of a coincidence to be believed.

We need to go. Now.

“Ro—”

The name freezes on my tongue as I swing around. But I’m a half second too late as a very alert Javed leaps away from Aran’s hold, knife in hand. A second later, its very deadly edge is pressed to his brother’s neck. We all freeze.

A cold smile spreads across Javed’s ruined face as a laugh that chills my blood spills from his lips. “I could not have executed this better if I had planned for eternity.”

“They didn’t capture you, did they?”

I say slowly.

“How clever of you, Lady Suraya,”

he replies with a mocking bow. “They did not. I knew that you had disappeared with my maggot of a little brother for parts unknown. And that he was clever enough to make sure you were well hidden.”

He shifts the blade slightly, and a deep line of crimson appears on Roshan’s brown skin. Javed chuckles at my gasp, his gaze falling to my curling fists. “Come now, sweeting, let’s not do anything stupid.”

I wipe my face clean of emotion. “Go ahead, do what you will. What do I care about some royal Oryndhrian by-blow?”

Javed’s eyes dance as he makes a clucking sound of disapproval. “But you do care, don’t you? I saw the way he looked at you in the palace, and vice versa. I saw the way you looked at him just now, the way your heart tripped over itself at the sight of his blood staining the edge of this wicked little blade.”

His leer widens. “I’d slice his worthless throat open in a heartbeat, but then I’d lose my leverage. It’s written all over you, your feelings for him . . . and that’s why you’ll do fucking nothing.”

That conniving piece of shit isn’t wrong. With Roshan under his knife, I can’t risk using my magic. As powerful as I am, I doubt my magic can repair a severed throat if Javed makes good with his threat. Aran shoots me a worried look, and I send him a tiny shake of my head in return. I glance at Vogon, who hasn’t said a word during the king’s grandiose speech. His silence is unnerving. I haul deep breaths into my lungs, attempting to calm the sparks starting to flare deep inside of me. “What does the general have to do with this?”

Javed waves a nonchalant arm. “What do you think all of this jādū is? Payment, my girl. I needed an army, one that can be bought, and since I control all the mines in Oryndhr, it was easy.”

He grins and taps his chin. “My great-grandfather discovered Jade, you know. His runecasters formulated it to control the nameless—but then I found a much better use for it.”

“They’re people,”

I whisper. “You can’t just feed them Jade to turn them into puppets.”

“Why not?”

His eyes glint with arrogance. “They get high; I get steadfast soldiers. Win-win.”

I feel sick. “You’re a monster.”

He goes on as if I hadn’t spoken. “My kingsguard reported seeing this traitor to the crown fleeing with you. I planned to draw him out, you see, and find out where you were hiding. But my brother was slippery, so I had to resort to that obscene bounty to flush you out.”

He directs his attention to me. “But I didn’t bet on Vogon’s scouts finding my brother in the Dustlands. With you! That was pure luck. Destiny, as it were.”

He has an odd, fanatical glimmer in his eyes. “You were delivered to me just as you had been in Kaldari, willed by Fero himself.”

I suppress my shiver at the mention of the god of death.

“And your bruises?”

I ask, trying to buy some time, but not quite sure of what I’m going to do with it if he does keep talking. A part of me hopes that he’ll become distracted enough to lower the dagger and give me a chance to take him out. Without Roshan at his mercy, I’ll have Vogon at mine. But Javed is not stupid. It’ll take a lot more than words to get him to lower that blade.

“Some are real. Had to make it look believable. I grow weary of talking. Do we have an agreement? Your hand in exchange for my brother’s life?”

“My hand?”

I echo dully in shock. “You want to marry me?”

“I did make that clear before the Dahaka attack at the palace, if you recall.”

“That . . . that was a farce.”

“No, my bride-to-be, that was real. You will be mine in all ways. Body and starlight soul. You will comply, or I’ll carve the meat from my brother, one bone at a time. You’ll be surprised at how long a person can last while parts of them are cut away. Just ask any of our flesh-mongering hosts.”

“Suraya, no,”

Roshan chokes out against the blade. “Not for me.”

Javed rolls his eyes and sighs at my horrified silence. “Of course she will, brother. Women, so transparent when it comes to matters of the heart. She’ll offer her troth to save you, and a Starkeeper’s bond can never be broken.”

I rear back in surprise, and then I remember the text Aran had had me read in Nyriell, the one that spoke about birth chart vertices and bonds. Was this the same? I wish I could ask him now, but betraying my ignorance would make me even more vulnerable.

“What is it you hope to accomplish?”

I ask him. “I won’t kill innocent creatures beyond our borders to satisfy your lust for power. There are worse things at stake than your fragile, spoiled ego.”

“What kind of things?”

The quiet question is from Vogon.

I study him, recalling that he was once Elonian. Does that mean he is familiar with the prophecy? If he can unsettle Javed, it’s worth the risk. “There is an Elonian prophecy, told by the diviners from the House of Fomalhaut, that the Starkeeper will summon an ancient god who will bring nothing but destruction in his wake.”

“Heresy,”

Javed says, his hand jerking and making a fresh trickle of blood descend the column of Roshan’s throat. My heart crashes against my rib cage.

Ignoring him, I focus my efforts on Vogon. “Once the Dahaka have been dealt with, do you think your people will be immune from the yoke of his reign? You’re too much of a threat to him. And now, you have your own runecasters, jādū, and a sizable army. Do you know what he and the queen have been doing within the four houses ever since the king died? Eliminating any hint of a threat, just like they got rid of the king. If they’re capable of regicide, what do you think they will do to you?”

“She seeks to weaken us, Vogon,”

Javed growls. “My father died of heart failure during a Dahaka attack on the palace.”

“You fuck,”

Roshan snarls. “I saw him alive!”

“Shut up!”

Javed hisses, and pressed down with the blade hard enough to make Roshan stiffen in pain. I clench my fists as more blood trickles down his skin.

“I have witnessed what she can do.”

Vogon’s calculating pale eyes fall to me, and I hide the triumph swelling in my chest—the enemy of my enemy is my friend has never rung truer. “And now, Your Majesty, my terms have changed.”

Rage ripples across the king of Oryndhr’s face, pulling at his burns and making him look even more gruesome. “The agreement has already been met.”

“You dealt in bad faith by concealing vital information. Her power is worth far more than the negotiated price. And since you are in my territory, I offer you a chance to consider new terms.”

“Name them,”

Javed grits through his teeth.

“All the mines east of the Dustlands.”

Vogon purses his chapped lips. “And your vow that you will not bring the magic of the Starkeeper against us.”

The gasp is mine. That would mean more than half of the jādū-producing cities. Javed can’t want me that badly to give up so much control to the Scavs. But of course he does. He’ll do anything to drive the Dahaka insurrection into the ground. And he’ll take out the Scavs, too, despite whatever he says here. I know it.

“Done,”

Javed snarls with an irritated glower. “Now, Lady Suraya, your answer? My brother’s life for yours.”

He bares his teeth. “And just in case you don’t think I’m deadly serious, here’s a little more incentive for you.”

He points to the communications mirror, which shimmers slightly . . . and then the smoking embers of Coban fill its surface.

The gruesome image is like a kick to the gut, making me double over as tears spring to my eyes. The entire town has been razed. I see the charred remains of Saab Inn, half of it still standing, the other gone. The market square looks like an explosion has been discharged at its center.

Is it real or a cruel illusion?

“What have you done?”

I whisper, knees nearly buckling.

“I told you—I’ll do anything to convince you.”

Is my family alive? My fingernails dig into the flesh of my palms so deeply that blood wells into the crescent-shaped wounds, but the sharp pain serves to tether the grief welling within me. The enraged simurgh in me wants to lay waste to every monster in this fortress, starting with Javed himself.

“How could you?”

I burst out. “They were innocent.”

“I am their king. Their lives are mine.”

“People are not property, you twisted prick.”

My stomach clenches as the mirror flickers and reverts to the previous Scav delegation. Someone is being pushed to the front.

Please don’t be my father or Amma. Please don’t be my father or Amma.

But as matted green hair comes into view, relief is the last thing I feel. The blood drains from my body at the sight of my best friend. The dullness in her eyes disappears as she sees me, her nostrils flaring with suppressed emotion. “Sura, you’re alive,”

she whispers, her speech slightly slurred, and my face tightens. Has she been drugged, too?

“Laleh, are you all right? Did they hurt you? Did you see my father? Amma?”

“Amma is here, but she is too ill to walk.”

Rage fires in my chest as Laleh’s lip trembles, her eyes darting in fear to the king of Oryndhr. “Your father wasn’t here when he and his fucking army came.”

“Now, now,”

Javed chides her. “Don’t make me regret sparing you.”

Laleh swallows a strangled sob as fury settles deep in my belly. My blood boils to unbearable levels, the wings of the beast inside of me beating harder and harder. I glare at the king, wanting to claw that satisfied smirk off his face with my bare hands, to scorch him to coal where he stands, but I can’t. It would be consigning Laleh, Amma, and Roshan to death, and who knows how many more innocent lives. Control, calm, control.

Shuddering, I exhale and inhale, tears stinging my eyes.

“Exciting, isn’t it?”

Javed crows, tongue snaking out from between his lips as if he can taste my power in the air. “That this all depends on you—a commoner with such uncommon magic.”

“Go to the pits of Droon.”

“A more than generous exchange, I say. You for them.”

My magic flails, helpless, a trapped bird behind my rib cage. We have been outplayed and outmaneuvered despite all our efforts, and I have only one option left to me to save the lives of three people I care about most in the world. Not that I’ll ever get to tell Roshan that. After this is over, I’ll be wed to Javed, and according to Oryndhr’s laws, I will belong to him in every way.

“Your oath that my family and my friends will be safely released and remain safe,”

I whisper through clenched teeth, though I know trusting him is pointless. He’s a liar and a killer. “And that my family will be left in peace and returned to me. You must release Roshan and Aran as well. Unharmed. To a city of their choosing.”

Javed’s mouth curls at my familiar use of his brother’s given name, but his eyes glitter now that victory is in his grasp. “Very well. Now kneel to show your fealty.”

“Suraya, no!”

The cry is from Aran, being restrained by the two other Scavs in the room. “The prophecy—”

“This is the only way, Aran,”

I cut him off.

Maybe that prophecy is built on nothing but myth and my magic is a mysterious fluke of nature. But all I can do is barter what I have in hand, which is my life for theirs. I’m out of options and out of time. I hope that Aran is wrong, but as his eyes meet mine, I see the real fear in them—fear of what I will do . . . and fear of what I might become.

I slowly lower myself to kneeling, the pitted floor biting into my skin. I swallow and meet Javed’s gaze, even as my heart drops. “I accept your terms, Your Majesty.”