18

When the door to my room opens, I startle upright and scoot back against the headboard.

I thought Meridian had taken care of Zevin, that I'd be spared from entertaining the vengeful young lord tonight. My fingers wrap around the handle of the hairbrush under my pillow—the closest thing to a weapon I could find. Though I'm not sure I could bring myself to use it, after Rahzien's threat against Parma's life.

To my relief, the person who enters isn't Zevin, but a young woman dressed in black, with a lithe build, tawny skin, and curly hair. Candles still burn on my bureau, and their light flickers on the twin blades in her hands.

"I see they haven't replaced your guards yet," she says without introduction or explanation. "Have you thought of an excuse for their absence? Other than Meridian killing them, of course."

So she's with Meridian, the red-haired pickpocket. Which means she's also a friend to Kyreagan .

I lay down the hairbrush. "I'll come up with a plausible reason why they left. But I'm more concerned about someone finding the bodies."

"They won't be discovered for weeks. Give me your hand."

I narrow my eyes. "Why?"

"I'm going to find a sorcerer who's caring for a wounded female dragon who just so happens to be immune to magic."

There's far too much information in that sentence. "Wait… a female dragon survived?"

"Yes. And we have no time for further questions. Her blood might be the key to detaching you from Rahzien, but to find out, I have to take some of your blood, hair, and spit to my sorcerer friend."

"Isn't that dangerous for you?"

"Very dangerous. Hold this." She shoves a small glass tube into my left hand, then pricks my right forefinger with the tip of her knife and holds it above the open mouth of the tube, squeezing mercilessly. "I'm used to danger. Rather enjoy it, actually. Besides, he's a good man, your dragon prince."

"Yes, he is."

I watch my blood drip into the tube. When it's nearly full, she says, "Suck on that for a second," and produces a miniscule cork to seal the tube. Then she grabs my hairbrush and inspects it. "Strange, I thought there would be a few strands stuck in here. I suppose we'll have to do this another way." With an unceremonious yank, she pulls a lock of my hair taut and sets her blade against it.

"Wait!" I exclaim. "Do it from the underside, so Rahzien won't notice."

"Good thinking." She separates a lock from beneath the rest of my hair, near the base of my neck, and cuts it free. "Now, spit into this vial a few times."

When I grimace, she rolls her eyes. "Would you rather provide a piss sample? "

"No," I say firmly. "Give me a minute."

Seconds later, she seems satisfied that I've provided a decent sample. She stoppers the second vial, wraps everything carefully in a cloth, and tucks the bundle into the satchel at her side. "It's been a pleasure, Princess."

She's striding purposefully to the door, and yet I still have so many questions churning in my mind. I settle on the simplest of them all. "What's your name?"

"I'm Aeris. Be well, Princess." With a brisk nod, she's out of my bedroom, closing the door. I barely hear her footfalls on the carpet of the sitting room as she leaves.

I don't blow out the candles. Instead I stay sitting up for a long time, clutching the hairbrush, wondering if perhaps I dreamed her, and she was never really there at all.

Parma doesn't come to dress me in the morning.

I try not to panic about it. There's a pink day dress hanging in my empty closet, and a fresh corset and underwear lying on a cushioned stool by the full-length mirror, so I put them on. The mask and belt from last night are hidden under my bed now, and I wedged the key into a crevice behind one of my dresser drawers. Rahzien could have my rooms searched and find the items, but I don't want to make it easy for him to put me back in those demeaning contraptions.

I'm braiding my hair when Rahzien enters, looking ominous.

"Where are your guards?" he says tersely .

"When Zevin came to me last night, he yelled at them to leave, and finally they did," I say. "He had his own men stand guard while he was in my room."

His frown darkens. "Were you unpleasant to the young lord?"

"Not at all. After I left the ball, I waited a long time for him to visit me. When he finally arrived, he was very drunk. He said he had lost the key you gave him, and that he looked for it for hours before he finally found it. He barely managed to unlock my belt and mask, but he couldn't, um… perform. He stumbled out of my room, and I'm not sure where he went after that."

Rahzien lunges forward, grabs my arm, and wrenches me away from the dressing table, yanking me close to his body. His stony eyes glare into mine. "Are you lying to me?"

"No," I whisper.

"No what ?"

"No, Master."

Rahzien's hand collars my throat just beneath my jaw, and his thumb strokes my chin. The fury and accusation vanishes from his eyes, replaced by an expression I like even less—a patronizing sort of intimacy.

"I had to frighten you a little just now, Spider, to be sure you were telling me the truth," he says, almost soothingly. "I did hear reports of Zevin wandering the halls last night, drunk out of his mind, yelling about a key. And I heard that one of the lords found him nearly unconscious and helped him into his carriage. I wanted to see if your story corroborated those reports."

I bow my head. "You own me. I wouldn't dare lie to you. Not when it could endanger people I care about."

"One thing's for certain—Zevin Harlowe has forfeited his time with you. He made an idiot of himself, after I chose him above all the others. What a fool he was, not to enjoy his prize. This charming, entrancing little prize… "

Someone taps on the half-open bedroom door. I use the distraction to extricate myself from Rahzien's hold and step back. He throws me an irritated look, then whirls to face the guard who just entered. "What?"

"Your Majesty, something you should know—one of the sentries on the east wall reported seeing a dragon."

Rahzien makes a scoffing sound. "Unlikely. Was the sentry drunk on duty? If so, have him killed."

"Begging Your Majesty's pardon, he seemed quite sober when he reported the incident. He said a dragon took off from the palace's highest tower and flew east."

"In broad daylight?" Rahzien says incredulously.

"No, Sire—the sighting occurred last night."

I can't see Rahzien's face, since he turned his back to me, but I note the way his whole body goes rigid, exuding a nearly tangible cloud of threat. The guard shrinks back a step.

"This sighting occurred last night ?" Rahzien says in a terribly calm voice. "And I'm just being informed of it now?"

"Forgive me, Your Majesty—I was going to tell you sooner, but when I arrived at your chamber with the news, you were—with a couple of ladies. I didn't want to interrupt."

"And after the ladies and I finished our fun?" says Rahzien evenly. "Why did you not tell me then?"

"Sire, you were asleep. And I thought—"

"No." Rahzien cuts him off. "You didn't think. Fuck my life. Am I to be forever surrounded by fools? If anyone sees a dragon anywhere near this palace, this city—anywhere within our borders, the creature is to be shot on sight, and I'm to be informed immediately. I don't care if I'm sound asleep or balls deep in god's asshole, you tell me at once. I thought I'd made that clear to everyone, but it seems I shall have to emphasize it."

He strides toward the guard, who retreats again, babbling a plea for mercy right before Rahzien's hand grasps his throat and chokes off the words. Rahzien is bigger, stronger, fueled by rage. He drags the soldier out of my chambers, then orders over his shoulder, "Spider! Come with me. Now."

I hurry out of my suite and follow the King down the hall. My stomach growls as we walk. I'm sure Rahzien hears it, but he doesn't comment. I haven't had anything to eat since lunch yesterday. He likes to keep me hungry and weak, less able to think clearly or fight him.

We head out of the palace into the main courtyard, where a contingent of Vohrainian guards is training, performing smooth, synchronized movements under the early morning sun. Together they take one step forward, draw the large, cumbersome guns from the holsters on their backs, aim as if to fire, then reseat the weapon and retreat a step. A commander stalks through the rows of soldiers, hands folded behind him as he calls out each maneuver and scrutinizes the troops.

Rahzien marches toward his soldiers and throws the unfortunate guard to the ground. He drags the man's helmet off, revealing a pale, terrified man with a shock of brown hair and a brass ring through his septum.

Rahzien steps behind him and kicks him in the back. The guard doubles over, wheezing.

The soldiers halt their maneuvers. Scores of skeletal silver helmets angle toward the King of Vohrain.

"This man withheld a report from me," Rahzien bellows. "He kept crucial information to himself for hours rather than telling me that a fucking dragon had been sighted near the palace. I'd given orders that any such sightings were to be reported to me at once. But this man thought he knew better."

The guard bows down, his face to the paving stones. He's sobbing; I can see his shoulders shaking.

"Perhaps I have not made it clear enough," Rahzien continues. "The dragons should all be dead by now. But if one or two of them survived, and they come within range of your weapons, you have my royal command to shoot them down, immediately. Am I understood?"

The soldiers stamp and strike a salute.

"And to ensure you do not forget, witness the fate of this one who has disappointed me so deeply." He clutches the man's hair, tugging his head back, and draws a short, wide blade from a sheath at his belt.

Then he glances back at me. I can see the idea dawning in his eyes, the cruel smile tugging at his mouth.

Oh, no. Fuck no.

"You've been yearning to spill Vohrainian blood, haven't you, Spider?" he says. "Now's your chance."

I shake my head, taking a step back.

Rahzien's expression freezes into something ice-cold and dreadful. "What are you, Spider?"

"I am your pet."

"That's right. Obey me, and kill this disobedient worm."

Last night, I would have let Zevin fuck me to spare Parma from death. But this is a line I cannot cross. And Rahzien intends to push me over it. I can see the determined fury in his eyes, the gleeful resolution to crush another part of my spirit.

He flips the dagger around, holds the hilt out to me. "Do it. Or suffer."

My eyes flick across the gleaming helmets, each with its own rictus grin. In the distance, across the courtyard, a few stable-hands and servants hurry about their chores. None of them look toward me.

Hinarax is probably nearing Ouroskelle by now. Kyreagan is hiding somewhere in dragon form, lying in wait until he can be human for a couple of hours. I have no idea where Meridian is, and even if he knew what was happening, he couldn't stop it.

No one can save me from the consequences of the choice I'm about to make .

Rahzien frowns at me, a keen awareness waking in his eyes. "You've changed since last night. Fuck, we were so close, Spider, so close to perfect submission, and now we must start all over again. I won't be as gentle this time, because I need you to learn your place. Kill this man, or you'll suffer worse than five lashes."

I draw a deep breath in. "I won't kill for you."

"You won't kill for me?" He chuckles, incredulous, and waves his hand toward the silent rows of soldiers. "Every man and woman in this group would kill for me, and so would countless other Vohrainians spread out across this city, this kingdom. They know their place, and their duty. Unflinching obedience to their king."

"I used to be afraid of defying a ruler," I reply, raising my voice so it carries across the courtyard. "I was afraid of my own mother, the Queen. She made terrible choices, and I did nothing to stop her. She made me complicit in her careless cruelty, and I stained my own hands with blood through my inaction. I promised myself I wouldn't stand by and witness the death of more innocent people. I'll be your pet, your whipping girl, your consort, but I won't be your executioner."

The Vohrainian soldiers are listening. I can sense that I've captured their interest by refusing to kill the guard.

Perhaps Rahzien senses their attention, as well. Perhaps that's why he turns to the disgraced guard and says, "Punish my consort for me, and I'll forgive you for your foolishness."

The guard looks up at me, his eyes swollen, his face crumpled, tear-streaked and drooling. He sniffs, scrubs the back of his wrist across his mouth and chin, and climbs to his feet, a panicked frenzy in his eyes.

I fully expect him to spare me, because I refused to kill him. So the punch comes as a shock—his fist crashing into my face. I stagger, and he hits me again, in the stomach this time. Then the face again, with greater force. The blow sends me reeling, and I collapse at the feet of a motionless Vohrainian soldier.

Sickened and dizzy, I lift myself and spit blood onto stone. A few of my teeth feel loose.

The disgraced guard stumbles toward me, and I barely have time to curl in on myself and shield my face with my arms before he's kicking me, over and over, his cries of effort and desperation ringing in my head. Pain explodes wherever he strikes, until my brain is a blur of oozing scarlet agony.

"Enough," says Rahzien.

Thank fuck, the worst is over. I suck in a breath that tastes like blood and relax my body.

The guard sees an opening. Rams his boot into my belly with such force I can't breathe.

I've never felt such horrific pain. As if something in my stomach burst and released a flood of nauseating agony.

I'm barely conscious. Dimly I hear Rahzien's roar of fury as he holds the disgraced guard above me, snarls, "You are forgiven," and slashes with the knife, drenching me with the lifeblood of the man I wouldn't kill.

Rahzien drags me upright, clasping me against his chest like he's comforting a lover. He murmurs into my ear, beneath my bloodied hair, "I told you I don't like this kind of violence. But you made it necessary."

He picks me up, and I can't help a weak cry. I think I'm dying. I think I'm broken, deep inside.

"I'll take you to the healer," Rahzien tells me. "But I need to make a stop first."

My eyes are swollen nearly shut as he carries me past the stables, into the garden, to the aerie where we kept my mother's hawks.

Rahzien sets me down on the straw-covered floor, and I lie motionless, suffering through each breath. I'm grateful Kyreagan isn't here. If he saw me like this, he might bite Rahzien's head clean off, and then—well, I'd be dead too.

"Your mother kept beautiful hawks here," Rahzien says. Through the blurred cracks of my swollen eyelids, I see him opening a cage, reaching for a bird with glowing red eyes. I think it's the same one that found me in the alley, after I tried to escape. He holds the bird gently, stroking its feathers with one thick-fingered, ring-laden hand. "When she saw she had lost the war, she could have set them free. Instead I found them dead. She broke their necks, one by one, rather than let me have them. I have to admit… I respected her for that."

He lifts the bird and speaks softly to it. "Open the mind, free the voice, understand the purpose. Fly to Ouroskelle, Isle of Dragons, and tell me if any of the dragons still live. I'm especially interested in the fate of the dragon princes, Kyreagan and Varex. Secure the mind, preserve the voice, retain the purpose."

The bird bobs its head and flies from his hand, circling upward and darting out through one of the skylights of the aerie.

"Activation and closure phrases," says Rahzien, turning back to me. "The sorcerer who created these talking birds for me died some time ago, but as long as I say the correct phrases to trigger the spellwork at the beginning and confirm my intent at the end, I can still use the birds."

He crouches and picks me up again. He's broader than Kyreagan, barrel-chested and packed with hard muscle. He smells all wrong to me—heavy cologne and leather. I cringe inwardly at the feeling of his arms around me, but another wave of pain washes over me and I nearly lose myself.

"Stay awake," Rahzien orders. "Eyes open, Spider."

The last lucid part of my mind understands that in this instance, he's right. I'm wobbling on the very brink of death, and if I want to survive this I need to stay conscious until we reach the healer .

My mind registers the steady beat of Rahzien's boots. Long hallways, gray ceilings. Then a change in temperature. A dry, dusty smell, like old books, and the crackle of a fire.

"Not here," says a woman's voice, low with caution and concern. "The room down the hall."

More booted footsteps, and then the hiss of water running into a tub. "I'm going to strip her and wash her first. I need to be able to see the damage before I heal her."

"I thought you could see inside the body," protests Rahzien.

"In a manner of speaking, but actual sight helps with the process. Stop fussing and hold her still."

My brows pull together, a faint effort at a frown, and I protest weakly, but Rahzien is already propping me upright while the healer cuts off the blood-soaked dress.

"Fuck," Rahzien mutters as it falls away and I'm left semi-conscious and naked in his arms.

I'm lowered into the tub and rinsed off quickly. At one point my lungs begin to rattle, and blood dribbles from the corner of my mouth. The healer makes an alarmed sound and directs Rahzien to pick me up again. His arms are huge and smooth against my slick wet skin.

My mind is a swirling blur, submerged beneath pain, and I can't seem to see anything, no matter how much I struggle to open my eyes. Are they open? I can't tell. I can barely breathe.

I'm draped on sheets… a bed. Rahzien's hands slip away, and my body relaxes a little, relieved at the absence of his touch.

"Look at these eyes of yours, all plump and pink and purple," croons the healer. "Like fat plums, eh, lovey? We'll take care of those in a moment. The worst of it's inside you, isn't it, dove? Something burst and bleeding, I can sense it." She clucks her tongue. "We'll have you healthy in no time, sweet thing."

Her fingers move across my stomach, and I moan.

"Oh, yes, I know it hurts, I know," she murmurs .

She keeps pressing, and the pain spikes in every place her fingers touch. I can't help a sharp cry at each poke.

"You can cry, dove. Go on—cry all you like, I don't mind," says the healer soothingly. "That's a good girl."

"Enough, Cathrain," says Rahzien in a tone of warning.

The healer chuckles, then a slow, seeping warmth suffuses my belly, and the pain begins to fade. Within moments, I can breathe more easily.

"I have a meeting with the fucking Prince of Zairos soon," says Rahzien. "Fix her. I'll send someone with a dress and underthings, and they can take her to her room when you're finished here."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Rahzien bends down, brushes his lips against my forehead, and strides out of the room.

The Prince of Zairos? So Kyreagan has a meeting with Rahzien today. His pretense of tenderness angers me, but I'm distracted by the realization that Ky and Rahzien will be in the same room, conversing and bargaining.

As the healer does her work and my pain level decreases, my anxiety spikes. What if Kyreagan says or does something to make Rahzien suspicious? With the party and our tryst, the night was a short one—what if Ky didn't spend enough hours as a dragon to be able to hold his human form for the duration of the meeting?

While we were sequestered in his cave during the Mordvorren, we discovered that his sixteen hours as a dragon and eight as a human don't have to be sequential. Once he has spent two hours as a dragon, he can spend one as a human. Or four hours as a dragon, two hours as a human. But if Ky didn't parcel out his time correctly, he'll be compelled to transform before the meeting is over, and his ruse will be discovered.

"How fast can you fix me?" I ask. The words sound thick and strange through my puffy lips, and I taste blood when I talk .

"Patience, lovey," hums the woman. "I'm going as quick as I can. Takes energy, you see."

I want to tell her that I'm familiar with healers, though I may not understand all the facets of their magic. We had two healers in the palace. Their capabilities and energy levels differed, but they did good work. If Cathrain is Rahzien's favorite healer, she must be the best in Vohrain.

"Will you be alright?" I manage through my swollen mouth.

"Oh, sweet thing! No need to worry about me. I know my limits. These wounds are not difficult to manage, not at all." She prods my forearm. "Such colorful bruises here! Almost a pity to erase them. Green and yellow, purple and blue." Her voice has a mellow lilt, like a mother singing a child to sleep in the nursery. Not that my mother ever rocked me—I had the palace nurses for that. But I've watched Huli sing my little protégé Taren to sleep. In fact, I rocked him to sleep myself, many times. I miss the smell of his warm, wispy head, the faint lavender of his eyelids when he was truly exhausted, and the rosy, milky scent of him. Sweet baby. Parma said he and his family left the city. I hope they're safe.

I hope my own little ones are safe, too. Guilt swirls like black ink in my soul because I keep forgetting about them—too deeply invested in my relationship with Kyreagan, too preoccupied with his safety and mine. But I swear, if Kyreagan and I make it out of this, if we can disentangle my life from Rahzien's and break his hold on the people of Elekstan—then I will focus on my hatchlings, my babies. No matter what form they're in, I will love them with all my heart.

"Do you have children?" I ask impulsively.

"I had two." The healer's tone is warm, cheerful. "They didn't make it, poor things. But His Majesty, King Rahzien—he's like my son. I've been with him a long time, since he was a tiny tot. Got a keen mind, that one. People think he's just a big bear of a warrior, but he's clever beyond what most understand. "

"He's cruel," I murmur.

"Only when he has to be. Some folk cause pain for the joy of it, but he always has a purpose." She touches one of my eyelids, and the puffiness gradually subsides. "It's a conviction we share. No death or pain without a greater purpose, dove."

"So you think he was justified in having one of his guards beat me until I nearly died?" I ask.

"I don't question his methods, just as he doesn't question mine," she replies. "He must have had a reason."

"But you're not like him." I try to catch her eye, but she's acting nervous again, avoiding my gaze. "You help people. You're kind. I think you could help me, if you wanted to. Tell me who the King's poisoner is. Please, Cathrain." I reach up and lightly grasp the wrist of the hand she's using to heal my left eye. "Please."

Anxiety flushes her round face. She's struggling, on the verge of yielding to my plea. Her embroidered shawl lies nearby—she must have removed it to avoid it being stained with my blood. She picks it up, wraps it around her shoulders, and ties a knot with fingers that tremble slightly. It's almost as if she's putting on a layer of armor. I wonder if the shawl's bright, embroidered flowers give her courage and cheer amid all the suffering she encounters in Rahzien's service.

"You don't agree with everything he's doing," I murmur. "I can see it. Sometimes people do the wrong thing, even though we love them… and then we have to take a stand. Apathy and inaction only lead to tragedy and guilt. I'm living proof of that. Don't stand by and let him hurt me like this, over and over. I can't take it, Cathrain."

"Hush, now. Let me heal this poor pretty mouth." She touches my swollen lips, pity welling in her eyes. Then she leans in and lowers her voice until it's barely a breath. "I'll tell you one thing. The King brought some nobles from Vohrain with him. "

"You're saying the poisoner is one of them?"

"Look for the one who doesn't fit," she whispers. "Look for the one with the viper's eye."