Chapter 12

I’m ushered through the central lobby where several servants are using long poles to light the sconces, then up the sweeping staircase and down the hall that leads to my quarters. I pause, ease the bag off my shoulder, and tuck it into a large, golden urn balanced atop a thin table pushed against the wall.

“What are you doing?” Kolden hisses, scanning our surroundings.

I fit the lid back into place, knowing exactly how this impending conversation will go if Cainon discovers I have Rhordyn’s shirt tucked in a bag I stole from his room.

“Playing it safe,” I mutter, urging us forward. I’d stuff the sword in there too if the guards hadn’t already seen it.

We enter the small lobby that leads to my room, coming to stop before the door opposite my suite; one I’ve never passed through. Kolden knocks three times, and a doorman answers, keeping his head bowed as I enter a vast space adorned with velvet chaises and plush rugs. Kolden follows me through, and I stop, turning. “Thank you. That will be all.”

His eyes harden, hands flexing into fists at his sides. Gaze spearing behind me, he steps close. “Be careful,” he grinds into my ear before he ushers the doorman out, closing me in the room.

Alone.

Relief filters into my lungs.

I don’t want Kolden to see this exchange. For him to watch me crumble myself down into a shape that fits Cainon’s perfect perception of who he believes I should be.

I make for the only other exit—a set of double doors on the far wall. Pulling them open, I step into a room that boasts big, square windows that look out across the bridge.

A lapis lazuli dining table dominates the space, capped with a glazed hog nesting on a bed of braised tomatoes, boiled eggs, and potatoes stung with the scent of lemon. The table is set with enough food and seats for eight people, though only one is occupied.

Cainon sits at the head like a bronze statue, one leg draped across the arm of his seat while he sips from a golden goblet, scorching me with his heated gaze. His face is sun-brushed, hair tied back in a loose knot, his deep blue shirt rolled to the elbows, the Bahari sigil pinned to his chest.

He looks at Rhordyn’s sword before our stares collide like boulders hurled together, splintering those domes—the sound cracking through me like a thunderous warning.

“Good morning, petal. I’ve missed you,” he says, the corner of his mouth kicking up, like a cat that got the cream. “I was so pleased to see my guards escorting you over the bridge, especially after the way our last conversation ended. I’ve been worried about you. I know those truths were hard to swallow.”

Play it safe.

I scream it to myself while scrambling through my insides, sweeping through my veins, hunting those beads of luster—finding seven … ten … thirteen tiny ones glimmering in the dim.

Not enough.

I gather them up, squish them down, and bog only the worst cracks, keeping hold of what’s left and tucking it somewhere safe.

“Come.” Black dots distort my vision of him glancing again at Rhordyn’s sword, before he gestures toward the chunks of meat piled on his plate. “You’re just in time for us to break our fasts together.”

My steps feel heavy as I move through the room, unbuckle Rhordyn’s sword, and gently rest it upon the polished stone floor. I drop into the seat at the table’s opposite end, not bothering to flick my hood back.

I stare at the hog. At the pear perched between its lifeless jaws.

At its charred and scored flesh.

Cainon kicks his leg off the arm of his chair and sits straight. “You’re very quiet, petal. Is everything okay?”

No.

I feel like his puppet—strings strung to my arms, legs, and heart. The blood of the man I love dripping from my hands.

“Perhaps your silence has something to do with that sword on the ground? Is there something you need to get off your chest?”

Another splintering sound, and I almost whimper, using what’s left of my remaining luster to bog the cleft in the dome containing my ravenous rage—though it still leaves it eggshell thin. The furious might sawing beneath it grinding it down from the inside out.

Wavering, I swallow thickly, catching the furrow between Cainon’s brows while soiled truths gather on my tongue, threatening to choke my airway if I don’t set them free.

His frown deepens, stare digging.

I squeeze my hand into a ball; the one with a cut that dripped a trail of blood.

That led—

“Did you … do something, Orlaith?”

Yes.

I killed the man I love.

“How did you obtain the Western High Master’s sword?”

I barely hear the words, deafened by the sound of those crystal domes popping—one by one—caving to the internal pressure swelling beneath their frail shape. To the sprouting, vining emotions that fill my chest with drowning sorrow and a crippling stab of pain. With a flush of gray morality and a twist of thorny rage that shreds my chest, threads up my throat, and coils on my tongue like a sitting serpent.

I draw a shuddered breath, blow it out.

Feel like the world’s rocking beneath me.

“Did you kill Rhordyn?”

Rhordyn …

His name flutters through me like a silver-winged butterfly, seeking somewhere to land. Perhaps a pretty flower to perch atop of.

But there’s just a graveyard of crystal splinters and thorny vines waiting to pierce.

I’m sorry …

“Did you?”

The two short words come to me like a distant tug—repeating—and I realize my eyes have closed. I snap them open, waiting for the black dots to fade as I reach down, absorbing the hollow thump that pulses through me when I lift Rhordyn’s sword off the floor and set it upon the table.

The chill slugging through my veins is no longer jarring me. But one with me.

“Yes,” I admit, tears slipping down my cheeks as I study the weapon …

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

“I did.”

There’s a beat of pause while a teeth-gnashing scream threatens to spear up my throat. While I try to remember what it is I have to do …

Tell Cainon I was wrong, silly, and naïve. Play the little broken girl he crossed paths with in that hallway at Castle Noir.

Get down on my knees and beg him to take me back.

My thorny rage coils around those safe, submissive thoughts, constricts the life out of them, then feasts on their remains while Zali’s stronger, fiercer words slither down and watch the carnage unfold—ready to strike.

Anything is better than going back to that man and offering yourself on a golden platter. Pretending to be his when we both know you’re not.

“How, Orlaith?”

Fuck this.

I hook Cainon’s darkening gaze as my upper lip peels back to expose the venomous rage within, more tears puddling my lower lids. “You told me exactly how.”

A brief pause, his stare digging.

“And you’re certain you hit his heart?”

Toocertain. Cainon wielded the perfect weapon.

Me.

Shoving to a stand, I stalk past several empty seats before I pause beside the hog, picturing Cainon laid out on this table with that pear between his teeth. I whip my dagger from its sheath and slam it down, unable to suppress a flinch as it cleaves through flesh and bone, plunging into the hollow that used to house its beating heart.

Cainon’s throat works, and I hold his harrowed stare, wondering if he’s regretting his decision to couple with me.

“Silly question, it seems.”

I don’t answer.

Landing a kill strike to the heart was one of the first lessons Baze taught me. But when he scooped me up and told me that small seeds grow into big, strong things, I doubt he knew I’d grow into a caustic weed that would use that heart-impaling strike on someone who meant so much to him.

To me.

Cainon’s gaze flicks to my dagger still hilt-deep in the hog, behind me to Rhordyn’s sword, back to my eyes. He cants his head. “You think I’m going to hurt you?”

“I think you know Ocruth is mine.”

Silence as both his brows lift—all the confirmation I need.

I lurch the blade free and stalk back to my seat, slouching down, legs wide as I flip the dagger—the metal hot and slick with the rich, fragrant juice of the cooked beast. My hollow belly churns at the smell, and I wonder if food will ever appeal to me again.

“You took down a monster, Orlaith.”

Mymonster.

A surge of raw emotion slashes my unguarded heart, and it’s an effort to keep my face smooth as my entire body threatens to fold around the hurt.

Don’t cry—

“You should be rejoicing. You rescued countless people from a fate worse than death and cleared the path for us to continue our courtship. The Gods will be pleased, and I have no doubt you’ll climb from The Bowl next time you try. Then there will be nothing standing in the way of us bringing our great territories together.”

It feels as though he chose each word from a vast collection of leftovers that weren’t perfect enough to make the cut.

“Except my conscience,” I say, flipping the blade again. Watching it dance for me while Cainon’s gaze carves across my face.

“Why don’t you put the dagger down, Orlaith? Look me in the eye so we can hold a proper conversation.”

Look me in the eye so I can weave my words into a web and sting you with fragments of truth. Make you pliable enough to mold to my will.

I harden my regard and do as he asked, shredding the silence with my own words before he has the chance to wield his. “I intended to come in here and beg for you to take me back. Now, I realize I don’t have the stomach for it.”

A frown shadows his brow. “I don’t understand your meaning.”

“Beyond your wall is a city’s worth of sick people rotting. Slowly. Painfully.”

His head kicks back, arms folding over his broad chest. “Would you rather me blow them all up?” he asks indignantly.

Asshole.

“No. I’d rather you give them a choice. Drop a pallet of liquid bane into the mosh. Stop using their disadvantage to your advantage.”

He plants his fists on the table, leans forward, and looks at me like I’ve got sauce on my face. “I know you’re new to this, but a bleeding heart does nothing to stack the stones of a great territory. Something you need to move past since you’ll soon be sharing my throne.”

I bristle all the way to my toes. “You’ll have to solder me to it.”

He cocks a brow, the corner of his mouth curling into a salacious smile as he steals a glance at my cupla. “I’m good at that.”

Yes you fucking are.

Holding his stare, I flick my dagger into a spin, catching the honed tip between my thumb and forefinger. “And I’m good with a knife.”

A familiar flash of thrill ignites his eyes, making my cheeks flame. “Clearly. But if I’m to be perfectly honest, that excites me.”

I stab it into the makeshift sheath, but his smile only grows.

He picks up a goblet and drains the contents with the remaining drabs of my patience, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm as he clonks the empty chalice down.

Watching me.

I break his stare. Let my gaze roam across the hog and platter of eggs, potatoes, and tomatoes it’s nesting on—all Ocruth produce shipped down the great river that weaves through the continent before spilling out here in Parith. I spent years creeping around Castle Noir, listening to conversations not meant for my ears. Bahari produces nothing more than sugar, seafood, and a shit ton of gold that buys almost everything it can’t pillage from the sea …

Get your teeth out. Bring him to his fucking knees if you have to.

Zali’s words bolster me, and I lift my chin, forcing myself to hold his stare. “While your territory might glimmer in the sun, it’s codependent. Vulnerable.”

That smile finally falls off his face. “Vulnerable, you say?”

The words seem to writhe across the table, coil in my lap, and hiss at me.

I nod. “You’ll send the ships to Ocruth. Now. Or I’lI stop all trade with Bahari and prevent any barges from sailing farther south of the border. You currently have an oil shortage, do you not?”

His eyes bulge the slightest amount, and he looks at me as though he’s seeing me for the first time.

A beat of silence.

Another.

“That’s not all.”

“Do go on,” he bites out, and I picture him backed against the wall with my dagger poised at his throat while I scream at him like he screamed at me—his face pocked with the same weepy, maggot-infested lesions currently gnawing on his people.

Zali’s people.

Rhordyn’s people.

“In addition to gifting your ships to the cause, you’ll reopen the vast network of underground tunnels beneath your capital. You will use this extra space to offer refuge to anyone rushing to your border—a small price to pay.”

His pupils blow so wide his eyes are more black than blue, and there’s a slight paling to his brassy complexion.

I feel my heart race. Feel it come to life.

Rhordyn was right … Cainon’s hiding something down there.

“You’ll do all this or not only will I cease trade, but I’ll instruct Ocruth’s army stationed at Quoth Point to carve a path through your precious jungle, leaving Parith more vulnerable to Vruk already threading through your defenses. Your people will lose faith in your ability to protect them, and you’ll be forced to flee to the islands and give up land I’ll happily accept because frankly, after what I’ve seen beyond the city wall, I’m now convinced you view everyone but yourself as sacrificial pawns.”

I snap my teeth together, relaxing my upper lip that had curled with my spitting rage.

“Threats …” he murmurs, and I shrug.

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

“I didn’t know you had it in you.”

I ignore the swipe and hold his gaze. Watch his mind churn within the depth of his eyes.

This is all one big fucked-up political game. I see that now. I believe Rhordyn tried to tell me it once in his own brutish way—I was just too busy cowering to listen. Too busy pouring my energy into the circles I spun.

Now I’ve got too much energy. Responsibility. Regret. Too many unbridled thoughts and emotions smashing around inside my head. My heart.

Too much to atone for.

“I don’t want a war, Cainon. And I don’t want your land. Not really. I just want those ships so I can secure Ocruth.”

For him.

So I can finish what he started and make his people safe.

“You’re starting to sound like Rhordyn,” he says, gaze dragging down my body, up again. “Though I dare say, a moredelectableversion.”

I sigh and shove to my feet, grip Rhordyn’s sword, then swing it over my back and buckle it between my breasts. “I’ll give you time to consider your options,” I say, before striding toward the door.

“And what about Zali?”

The words are pelted at me, stilling my feet.

That slithering darkness tucked inside me wiggles.

Slowly, I spin, looking at him down the line of my shoulder. “What about Zali?”

He tips his head to the side, brow bunched. “What do you plan to do about her, of course?”

I chew on his words, not wanting to admit that I have no idea what he’s talking about, but in the end, ignorance will get me nowhere.

I realize that now.

“I don’t understand,” I admit, pushing the words past the clamp of my teeth.

Cainon releases a deep sigh and wanders around the table, pausing by the hog, prying the pear from its maw. “Lyra!” he belts out, leaning against the stone, inspecting every side of the bright-green fruit.

Movement catches my eye, and I look up to see one of the palace servants step through a door on the far wall—a long lighting stick clutched in her white-knuckled fist. The woman is parchment pale, shoulders curled, her eyes shaded by the forward tip of her head. Her simple blue tunic sways around her slender legs as she shuffles toward the table.

I notice the tracks of sweat lining her temples. Dappling her forehead.

She’s nervous.

A lump of dread rises in my throat, and I move forward a step.

Another.

Lyra stops a few long strides away from Cainon, head bowed. He continues to inspect his pear, pulling a small dagger from the inside of his boot. “Have you been listening to our conversation, Lyra?”

“N-no, Master. I w-wasn’t—”

He stabs his blade at her face, making her flinch. “Don’t lie to me,” he belts out, the words blasting off the walls.

Breath whooshes out of me as a whimper escapes her lips.

I steal another few steps, the pads of my fingers skimming the hilt of my dagger.

“Did you hear my promised admit to murdering the High Master of Ocruth?”

Silence.

“Yes or no, Lyra.”

She shoots me a nervous glance, swallows, then nods. “Y-yes, Master. I did.”

“Right. Thank you for your honesty.” She curtseys deep and begins to shuffle backward, but Cainon halts her with a sharp look. “Stay right there,” he says, carving off a slice of pear and biting into it, looking at me sideways. “Once word gets out that you killed Zali’s promised, her Masters and Mistresses will expect her to challenge you to a duel.”

This sinking feeling plunges through me as I recall Zali’s stern warning: We must keep Rhordyn’s death a secret until we’ve found somewhere else to pin the blame.

The words hold a different weight now that I’m sitting here, choking on the sharp tang of Lyra’s fear.

“To the death,” Cainon adds, plunging the last word through me like a spear.

My knees threaten to buckle.

“Zali’s land is mostly sand. Hard to carve out reliable bunkers. By blurring the line between their borders, Rhordyn was offering refuge to many who will otherwise perish in the surge of Vruk attacks. You’ve cheated them out of extra resources, extra land and revenue. Extra safety. If Zali doesn’t challenge you for the right to claim Ocruth, she will be seen as weak, and it’ll only be a matter of time before she’s usurped.”

The blood drains from my face, gaze darting to Lyra who’s shriveling by the second.

Fuck.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out—my tongue pinned to its roof, heart pumping so hard and fast my head spins.

Never show your hand unless you know exactly what you’re up against.

Rhordyn’s words strike me like an axe swung from the past—another sound piece of advice I let ricochet off my stony regard. Too blinded by my own rage and the love-sick dance swirling inside me.

The realization sours my insides, making my cheeks tingle, mind scrambling as I weigh my options.

A cold sweat gathers across the back of my neck …

“You really are selfish,” I bite out, and his eyes soften.

“Open your heart to me and I’ll prove you wrong.”

My hand tightens around the hilt of my dagger, stare darting between Cainon and Lyra, but instinct stops me from whipping out the blade. Flinging it at his head.

His confident stance, the way he carves off another piece of pear and bites down on the crispy shard, winking at me … it all tells me he’d have the stealth to dodge it. Then I’d be without a dagger, bearing no other weapon but a close-combat sword I’ve never used before.

“Seems we’re at an impasse.” Another crispy bite. Another languid chew. “We can keep his death a secret for now, and I’ll take care of your little … problem so you can claim it as an accident,” he proclaims, waving the pointy end of his dagger at the trembling woman cowering in his shadow. “Though I will require insurance to keep my mouth shut.” He looks straight at me. “You.”

No.

“All of you. Once we’re officially coupled, you’ll be under my protection, which will eliminate most of our issues. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll garnish the deal with some ships. But first you’ll have to prove yourself by completing the trial. I’m sure you’ll understand that I, too, have lost trust.”

My gaze darts between him and Lyra, trickles of sweat beading my brow.

He’s got me backed against a wall of spears primed to slide between my ribs.

Based on the assumption that I make it out of The Bowl, there are only three possible outcomes to this political shitshow:

One, he’ll couple with me, bed me, burn me at the stake once I don’t bleed for him, then claim Ocruth as his.

Two, if I’m pliable—let him use and abuse my body and political stance—he might let me live, though I doubt he’ll be very forgiving once a portion of his fleet disappears without his consent. Because there’s no fucking way he’s willingly giving me those ships.

I see that now.

And the final option, the one that leaves Cainon just as far from getting his claws into Rhordyn’s territory as he was before I stupidly accepted his cupla, I take the duel, sacrifice myself, and leave Zali in charge of Rouste and Ocruth—an easy sway of power since Rhordyn’s people have already accepted her. Lyra won’t die, and Zali can implement the trade halt. Starve Cainon out until he’s forced to yield the ships.

Rhordyn trusted her.

I trust her.

“Cat got your tongue, petal?”

I blink, lift my chin, and turn my attention back to Cainon. “I’ll take the fucking duel.”

He sighs, long and deep. “There you go again, pushing me away.”

His arm whips out.

There’s the short whistle of metal splitting air before a meaty thud makes me jolt. Slowly, I let my gaze drag to the dagger now protruding from Lyra’s chest, amidst a blossom of red blooming on her tunic. She lifts her head, looks right at me, then opens her mouth, spilling a ribbon of blood that pours down her chin.

Her lighting pole clatters to the floor, and she crumples into a heap at the same moment my knees smack the stone.

I taste the metallic perfume of her blood in the air as I draw a shuddered breath, hands clapping upon my mouth in a failed attempt to stop the violent scream that rips up my throat.

He killed her.

He—

Cainon whips a napkin off the table, flicking it open. He strides toward his motionless servant and rolls her onto her back. “Look what you made me do,” he mutters, exposing me to her vacant, wide-eyed stare.

I force myself to watch him pull the dagger from her chest. Endure the wet sound of it slipping free before he wipes the sharp on the dark-blue napkin that gobbles up the red.

“I appreciate the fact that you’re trying for the sake of your new responsibility, but all you’re really doing is hurting more people.” He looks at me from beneath folded brows. “If you were better prepared for the outside world, you wouldn’t be constantly making such costly mistakes.”

He walks toward me and threads his hands beneath my arms, hauling me up like a strung puppet—my body a shell folding to his whim. He sets me in my seat, then uses the blade he just pulled from Lyra’s chest to carve a hunk of meat from the hog, piling it on a spare plate. “But it’s okay, you have me now.” He places the meal before me, and my guts cramp.

Easing down my hood, he sweeps my hair over the back of my chair and runs his fingers through the length, separating it into three long sections. “You will never cut this, do you understand?”

I don’t answer.

He weaves it into a braid that tugs at my roots, my head jerking with each forceful twist while I stare at the puddle blooming beneath Lyra’s lifeless body.

“I know we’re off to a rough start, but I’m certain we can overcome anything together.”

A shiver runs the length of my spine …

And I’m certain he’s delusional.

He yanks my braid so hard my head whips back.

I’m forced to look up at his features pinched with an unreadable expression. “Would it be so hard? To love me?”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

He clears his throat, releases my hair, and walks back to his seat.

I stare at the blank wall. Feel like I’m pinned against it.

His chair grinds along the floor, utensils scraping together as he carves into his meal while I choke on the musk of Lyra’s blood.

For a moment, I consider ripping off my necklace. Letting my ugly spill. Until I picture the palace heavy with the reek of fiery death, blackened halls full of the charred remains of men and women who were nothing but innocent bystanders.

“I will give it to them, petal.”

“What?” I rasp.

He stuffs a chunk of meat in his mouth, chewing, one cheek bulging as he says, “The liquid bane. None will take it. The sickness only has a ninety percent mortality rate. Most cling to that sliver of hope with clenched and shaking fists until they draw their last breath.” He shrugs, drowning his mouthful with a guzzle of red wine that bleeds down his chin. “Take your time to mourn, then pick yourself up, plant that dazzling smile on your face, and try.”