22

After my tryst with Kyreagan, I don't return to my bedroom immediately. The chance to wander the palace without guards or servants is too good an opportunity to miss. So I take less-traveled paths down to the first floor, on the west side of the palace, and I follow the corridor that leads to the conservatory.

About halfway down that hall is a pair of enameled double doors leading to the music room. They're never locked, so I slip inside, into cool gray gloom that smells faintly of rosin and horsehair and paper. The floor is a glossy chessboard of marble tiles, and gray statues stand between the cabinets that house the palace's finest instruments.

My mother didn't care much about music unless it was glorifying her or stirring up Elekstan's soldiers into a victorious frenzy. This collection of instruments began with her father, my grandfather—a man I never met. I added a few pieces here and there, like the case of Oxian flutes in the cabinet across the room.

Though I can pick out simple tunes on most instruments, I'm an expert at none of them, except perhaps the piano. I can play any instrument flawlessly in my mind, though, and I can hear exactly how its unique sound would fit into a composition.

Slowly I pace from cabinets to shelves to drawers, experiencing a soft thrill every time I see an instrument lying unharmed in its usual resting place. Even the big leather cases at the far end of the room still contain their instruments. Nothing in this space has been damaged or moved, and the knowledge heals me a little inside.

A limited supply of sheet music resides on the shelves of the music room, but none of my own compositions are among them. I was always very private about my music. Didn't like sharing it. Maybe I was insecure—afraid of my mother's mockery. Maybe I was reluctant to draw more attention to myself. Or maybe I was simply terrified that none of my music was any good.

My fingers travel the brassy curve of a huge, bell-like tuba, and I press its keys gently before closing the case and latching it. My ears are hungry for music, and my fingers itch to play the piano in the center of the room, but I can't risk being overheard. So I open a shallow drawer and take a pipe from its velvet bed. This pipe is a whispernaught, with a soft, muted sound. Just the thing.

I tuck myself into the shadows behind a large cabinet and sit cross-legged on the floor. Fitting the pipe to my lips, I begin to play nothing in particular… any combination of notes that comes to mind.

It takes a few false starts, but then my brain unlocks and I slip into the creative flow I've missed so much. Notes trickle from the pipe like glittering water through a pebbled stream-bed, like translucent rays of yellow light lancing between green leaves, softening into a golden glow.

The song turns plaintive, because I miss Kyreagan and I'm worried about him. He's sitting somewhere in the palace right now, having a meeting with Rahzien. Don't say anything foolish, the pipe murmurs. Be careful, be careful, be careful.

I play for an hour, judging by the tall clock in the corner. It's a gorgeous timepiece, ornately carved, with a gilded pendulum. Someone has kept it wound and dusted despite all the upheaval in the palace. Probably Berthew, the palace timekeeper. He's a frail, hunched, gentle old man who creeps quietly through the halls and rooms, tending the clocks. I hope he's still alive.

Laying down the pipe, I go to the doors of the music room and poke my head into the hallway. If something had gone dreadfully wrong in Kyreagan's meeting, there would be roaring and screaming, not to mention gunfire and flames. But there's no yelling, no smell of smoke, no rumbling or crashing sounds. All is quiet.

Closing the door, I return to the pipe and use a thin rod and a soft rag to clean out the condensation caused by my breath. Once it's dry, I tuck it away reverently in its case.

Has Rahzien realized I'm gone yet? After the meeting with Kyreagan, did he go to my room, only to realize I'm not there?

I can't flee far from Rahzien, but perhaps I'll slip into the spy passages within the walls and hide from him. To do that, I'll have to find an entry point into the passage network, and the closest one I know of is two corridors over from where I am.

Cautiously I open the music room doors again and look down the hall.

Three guards are just rounding the corner. Fuck.

"There!" one of them shouts, and they sprint toward me.

My first instinct is to run. But they're between me and the nearest access point to the passages, so it's not as if I can really escape. I'm in enough trouble for slipping away from my escort; I don't need to make it worse by fleeing from the guards.

I stand calmly where I am until the guards reach me. They hustle me upstairs and back to my suite, where Rahzien is sitting in an overstuffed chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest. His face darkens when I'm dragged in and thrown at his feet.

"Leave us," he snaps at the guards, and they hurry into the hall, closing the door behind them.

"I told them you would be in one of three places," he says coolly. "The kennels, the gardens, or the music room. Accessing the kennels would require cooperation from the servants, and you wouldn't want to put any of them at risk by bringing them to my attention. The gardens, though beautiful and refreshing, would feel too exposed. So I suggested they check the music room first. Was I right?"

He's so perceptive. It makes him more dangerous, not only to me, but to Kyreagan.

I remain on my knees, my eyes fixed on the rug. "Yes, Master. I was in the music room. Forgive me—I love music."

"I know," he says quietly, cupping my chin and lifting my face. "That's why I had my soldiers destroy your study. To relieve you of distractions and to help you focus on what's important. Anything I take from you is for your own good, Spider. To help you accept your future. Clinging to the past only harms you."

"So I can't have music? Or my notebooks?"

He pats my cheek and leans back with a sigh. "Eventually, perhaps. But such things are only a complication your mind doesn't need. They confuse your true purpose."

"Being a whipping girl?"

"For now. But when I put a baby in you, everything will change And that needs to happen soon. Once my position in Elekstan is stable, I'll be able to secure the allies and resources I need for my next endeavor."

"Isn't the Prince of Zairos your ally?" I say softly, innocently.

"I'm not sure." He rubs a hand over his short red beard. "He's an odd fellow, that one, and he's hiding something. I think his father sent him to spy on me, not to bargain in good faith. Either that, or he's not who he claims to be. The arrangement he proposed today was a ridiculous one, and included the mines of Arnat, which I happen to know are now empty. So either Gildas is trying to cheat me, or he doesn't know about the mine's true condition, which would mean he's no prince of Zairos."

"Maybe he's simply not very good at diplomacy," I venture.

"Oh, he is. King Garjun's seventh son is well-known for his diplomatic skill. Yet during this visit he has behaved like an arrogant ass, a volatile drunkard, and a buffoon." He leans forward again, lowering his voice to a confiding tone. "I've decided I'll have him assassinated tonight."

Alarm flames through my whole body, setting my nerves afire. I clear my throat and try to appear calm. "Won't that cause a war with Zairos?"

"Not if I blame the assassination on the Elekstan rebels. I think we have a couple of the little weasels in the city as we speak, so when I unearth them, I can hang them publicly as the murderers of Prince Gildas. If the man really is the prince, enacting justice on his assassins will mollify his father. And if King Garjun won't be pacified by justice, so be it. I'm already craving another war." He rubs both of his broad hands together, his thick rings clinking.

I stare at the floor again, afraid that if I meet Rahzien's eyes, my gaze will betray the tumult in my mind. Rahzien doesn't know Ky is a dragon, which is a good thing—but he's planning to have Ky assassinated anyway. This is such a mess. How do I fix it? How do I warn Ky?

Rahzien chuckles. "You look so downcast, Spider. Perhaps you fear that I'll punish you for going to the music room?"

"Yes, Master," I murmur.

"Look at me, Spider."

After taking a second to compose myself, I lift my head. It's easy to let tears spill over and roll down my cheeks .

Rahzien watches me with the cold gray eyes of a shark, but this time there's a quiver of warmth in his gaze.

"I do love it when a pretty woman cries," he murmurs. "There's nothing quite so arousing in all the world."

You're sick, I snarl inwardly, but I keep my eyes sorrowful, and I let my lips tremble.

"I can be merciful," Rahzien says quietly. "But only to a point. You'll remain in this room for the rest of the day. You'll repeat your lessons to me five times, right now. And you will never go anywhere in the palace again without my permission. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Master."

He shifts his position, spreading his legs. He wants me to see the shape of his solid cock, thick and hard under his pants. He wants me to know what he could do to me, anytime he likes.

"Repeat your lessons," he orders. "Five times each."

I begin the recitation, nervously eyeing Rahzien's hand, which is on his thigh, perilously close to that obvious hardness. "I am your pet…" He's getting noticeably harder as I kneel there, as I voice each demeaning phrase about myself. And when I say, "no one wants me," for the fifth time, his cock jerks beneath the material, and his fingers twitch as if he's aching to touch it.

But he doesn't say a word, not until I've finished speaking. Then he gets up stiffly, adjusts his pants, and walks to the door that leads out into the hallway. "I'm going to lunch, then for a ride. I'll take care of the prince later this afternoon. This evening, you'll join me for a private dinner, after which we can discuss when you might feel ready to come to my bed."

Incredulous and furious, I get to my feet. "Wait."

Fuck, I said that too sharply.

Rahzien turns around with predatory slowness, his face a stony mask .

I clench my hands, my voice unsteady. "It's just that—you gave Lord Harlowe permission to rape me, and you ordered that guard to beat me… but you won't rape or beat me yourself. It's as if you think you're a better man for not performing those despicable acts with your own hands. But you're not. You might be worse."

"A better man," he says, with an easy calm that terrifies me. "There is no such thing. No morals, no right or wrong. Only the weak claim such principles, because they fear the strong."

"And you believe I'm weak."

He laughs softly. "You are… pliable. Instead of breaking when I crush you, you bend, like a reed, and you spring up straight again once I remove the pressure. I thought you might have the prideful stubbornness of your mother, but you have something more interesting—an unexpected resilience."

"Don't talk about my mother," I seethe.

The corner of his mouth curves. "You were so meek and submissive a moment ago. And now, this defiance. You know you'll have to pay for it. Must I put you back in that cell at the Harlowes' mansion? I'm sure Zevin wouldn't mind having you as a guest. He sent me a message today, begging for another chance with you. Says he can't remember what happened last night. Perhaps I should let him try again, after all."

Fear crawls up my throat, twisting together with the anger until I feel sick. "Please… not him."

"Don't worry, Spider. I've already sent someone to deal with him. He delivered his holdings and possessions to me, and that's all I wanted from him. He was a dead man from the moment he signed that pledge. Do you really think I could let him live once he'd had you?"

I stare, disbelieving, trying to make sense of the fact that Zevin is dead, or soon will be. Hard as I try, I can't bring myself to be sorry .

"I warned him," Rahzien continues. "I told him that if he wasn't careful with you, he'd regret it. Rest assured that when you join me in bed, I'll make sure you come until you can't manage another orgasm."

I retreat farther from him, and he shakes his head with a short laugh. "You'll agree eventually."

"I won't agree. Never."

A spark of jealous irritation flickers in his eyes. "Is it the dragon? Kyreagan? How does he have such a hold on you? If he wasn't already dead, I'd ask him."

"You don't know for sure the dragons are dead," I counter recklessly. "That's why you sent the bird. To see if the poison worked."

"It worked." His voice is harsher now, like he's steeling himself against doubt. "Her poisons never fail."

Her poisons.

So the poisoner is a woman.

A memory flashes through my mind… Parma taking strands of hair from my brush.

If curative spells require samples from the target, perhaps magical poisons do as well.

It's unthinkable, and yet… Parma was so quiet when she came into my service. So reserved. Seemingly shy. Maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe she was hiding secrets.

No… that can't be right. I know her. She cares about me. She would never—

Would she?

Rahzien is flushed, still aroused and possibly angry at himself for hinting at the poisoner's identity. "Forget the private dinner," he says. "You don't deserve it. No meals for you today." He turns on his heel and marches out of my suite.

No food, again. And I'm starving.

I drop into a chair, my strength sapped by the moment of defiance. Somehow I have to escape this room and warn Kyreagan that Rahzien plans to kill him. I don't know if I can physically summon the energy. If only I had something in my stomach…

Irritated conversation from beyond the door attracts my attention. I don't hear Rahzien's voice, but someone is arguing outside my room. I venture to the door and open it.

Vela, a servant from the kitchens, stands in the hall with a tray, her face flushed as she confronts the two Vohrainian guards flanking the entrance to my room. "Begging your pardon, but I have my orders," she says.

Neither guard is helmeted today. It feels strange, seeing the bare faces of the conquerors. They look so… normal. One of them leans forward, his nose wrinkled as he peers at the tray. "The King said the Conquered Consort isn't allowed any meals."

Vela looks from the guard to me. Perhaps she sees the hunger in my eyes, because she says, "Respectfully, milord, this isn't a meal. It's tea. And it was ordered by Prince Gildas of Zairos, as a courtesy to the Conquered Consort, a thanks for the dance they shared last night. None of us want to be responsible for a diplomatic incident, nor should we disturb the King with such a small matter. Please allow me to make the delivery."

Kyreagan sent me tea. Delighted warmth spreads through my chest as I imagine him ordering it. Fuck, I love him.

The guard looks at his companion, who shrugs. "His Majesty said no lunch or dinner. Never said she couldn't have tea."

"Oh, very well. Proceed."

Vela enters and sets the tray on the table. "A selection of our finest teas, with the Prince's compliments." In an undertone she adds, "And some things from the cook, to accompany the tea."

She nods toward a small covered dish, then backs out of the sitting room and closes the door .

Snatching the lid from the dish, I discover a toothsome selection of tiny cakes and frosted cookies. Greedily I stuff my mouth with them, devouring each crumb as fast as I can, lest the guards think better of their decision and try to take the food away.

Once the sweets are safely in my stomach, I lift one of the tiny teapots and inhale the fragrant steam from its spout. "Fennel and apple," I murmur. The second miniature teapot is black tea with bergamot orange—I recognize its sharp, bitter smell. That one's good for restoring energy, so I pour the contents of the fat-bellied little pot into a cup, blow on it to cool the surface, and drink it down.

I'm on my third cup of tea—chamomile and honeybush—when a plan forms in my mind. A way that I can leave my suite and locate Kyreagan, so I can warn him about the King.

The study door and the sitting room door are both guarded, and the secret passage in my closet has been bricked up. But all I have to do is get the guards to leave—and Kyreagan unknowingly handed me the perfect strategy.

First I go through my study to the secondary exit from my chambers. When I open the door, the guard who's standing there startles violently and chokes on some liquid that he was drinking from a small flask. He wheezes so horribly that I pat him firmly on the back, as if I'm trying to help.

"I'm sorry I surprised you," I say. "God, are you alright? I was only going to ask if you could go quietly to one of the maids and ask for some supplies for me. My bleeding cycle just started. Oh, and see if the healer has a tonic for the cramps. It's not something she can heal, of course, but I need some relief." I press one hand to my lower belly. "I know you're not a servant, but they've cut all the bells to my room, so I can't ring for one. I won't tell His Majesty about the drinking if you'll just do this for me. Please."

Still wheezing, he nods and hurries away down the hall .

For once, a man's discomfort with the topic of monthly bleeding has worked in my favor.

I could slip out this door, but the sightlines from this spot and the main doors of the suite intersect at the corridor I need to take, the only route the wing where diplomats and foreign dignitaries are usually housed. When I saw Kyreagan earlier, he was coming from that direction. Which means I have to get rid of not only this guard, but the other two as well.

Ducking back into my suite, I cut through my bedroom to the sitting room. Then I push over the table holding the tray. I wince a bit as the tea things clatter and tumble to the rug, spilling the rest of the tea. With a sharp scream, I crumple to the floor, holding my belly.

One of the guards opens the door and leans in.

"Help me," I gasp. "Oh god… I think Prince Gildas has poisoned me. I need someone—anyone—please, you have to do something!"

The first guard rushes in and drops to one knee beside me, but he seems unsure what to do next.

"I'll fetch the healer," shouts the second guard, and races away.

"Idiot!" the first guard exclaims. "Healers can't counteract poison!"

"You're right, they can't," I gasp. "But we have a palace physician—not a healer, but someone who made tonics. If he's still around, he might know what to do. And if he's gone, at least he might have some antidotes in his medicine cabinets. Oh fuck… fuck, this hurts. I think I'm dying!" My voice rises to a shriek. "The King needs me to give him an heir! You have to save me!"

"Right," gasps the guard. "I'll be back as fast as I can." He leaps up and charges out the door.

All the commotion might have attracted the attention of more servants and soldiers, so I only wait a few seconds before slipping out the unguarded door in the hallway. I take the corridor toward the diplomatic wing.

Cautiously I peer around the next corner and spot two Vohrainians headed my way. Shit. My mind races, recalling all the hiding spots from my childhood, all the hidden passages and spy holes. I retreat partway down the hall and duck into a large linen closet.

As well as shelves stocked with fresh sheets, there are two laundry chutes in this closet. One is real and leads to the laundry room. The other is fake—a secret entrance to the passages between the walls. If I remember correctly, the right-hand chute is the fake.

Fumbling in the darkness, finding my way purely by touch and memory, I lift the cover of the left chute and lean in as far as I dare. There's a faint warmth wafting up, along with the acrid tang of body odor. Definitely the real laundry chute. Closing that one, I carefully ease myself into the other chute, and after a short slide down, my bare feet land on dry, dusty boards.

There's an odd sense of glee and security that comes with being in the walls again, knowing secret paths of which the invaders are completely ignorant. The escape route leading from my closet was self-contained, so even though he discovered it, Rahzien can't know about the rest of the secret passages. And even if his men found the hole I used during my first escape attempt, there's no way they could have thoroughly explored all the hidden corridors and nooks in this huge old building. They'll have no idea where to look for me.

I take a moment to recall the layout of the passages and plot a circuitous route to my destination. From this point, I should head straight for a dozen or so paces. There will be a ladder, and then I'll have to wiggle through a crawlspace above a hallway, after which I'll end up in the network of spy-holes and passages dedicated to the diplomatic wing. My mother's spies were always very busy in that area, and the servants stayed busy as well, ensuring that the hinges of secret entrances were well-oiled and silent, and that the floors were padded and reinforced so they wouldn't squeak and betray the presence of a listener.

I have to hurry. Rahzien said he would carry out the assassination later today, but he might decide to do it earlier. I've got to get to Ky before he does.