Daindreth’s Assassin

by

Elisabeth Wheatley

Copyright 2021 by Elisabeth Wheatley

All Rights Reserved

Published by Avowed Publishing and Media, LLC

Table of Contents

Chapter One: The Assassin

Chapter Two: Kingdom’s Sacrifice

Chapter Three: The Archduke

Chapter Four: Smitten

Chapter Five: Bargain

Chapter Six: City of Emperors

Chapter Seven: The Empress

Chapter Eight: Darrigan

Chapter Nine: Caa Iss

Chapter Ten: Pageantry and Prizes

Chapter Eleven: The Witch

Chapter Twelve: Secrets and Schemes

Chapter Thirteen: Palace Intrigue

Chapter Fourteen: The Second Kadra’han

Chapter Fifteen: Warding

Chapter Sixteen: Dancing with Vipers

Chapter Seventeen: Cast Out

Chapter Eighteen: Killing the Curse

Chapter Nineteen: Power-Drunk

Chapter Twenty: Battle of Wills

Chapter Twenty-One: Flee

Epilogue

Daindreth’s Outlaw

About the Author

Chapter One

The Assassin

Amira couldn’t disobey her father even if she tried—and every god in the lower heavens knew she had tried.

Fonra kneaded the hem of her nightgown in her hands. “Do you have to go?” she fretted, though she knew the answer. “Maybe I could speak to Papa in the morning. I need you to help me with the arrangements for the betrothal celebrations. And then there’s the wedding—”

“No use,” Amira said, her words flat and unsympathetic. Their father had ordered her out tonight. She couldn’t refuse.

No one was supposed to know what Amira did on their father’s “errands,” but Fonra knew. They never discussed it, never spoke of Amira’s midnight escapades, but something passed between them unspoken, unknown, and at the same time undeniable.

Amira finished lacing her boot beside the single glazed window.

The two sisters were in Amira’s room—the bedchamber meant for a lady’s maid that adjoined Fonra’s suite. It was far better than some of the hovels where Amira had spent her nights during her occasional travels. Yet it was nothing compared to the gilt accents and lacquer motifs Fonra had on her side of the door.

In her grey dressing gown with the candle casting shadows on her face, Fonra seemed more ghost than girl. “Please, Amira,” Fonra whispered, voice shaking for the first time. “I can’t do this without you. I can’t—”

“Hush,” Amira snapped, pulling the cowl of her cloak to cover her head. “You’ll be fine.”

“But I—”

“Do you expect me to hold your hand through every moment?” Amira’s words turned sharp, toxic. She had nothing but poison and daggers in her tongue tonight. “Follow you down the aisle? To your bridal suite?”

Fonra flushed. “If I tell Papa I need you, he’ll—”

Amira cut her off. “He’ll ignore you and tell you to focus on your wedding.” Even if the wedding wouldn’t happen. Not if Amira succeeded in killing the bridegroom tonight. “Now go back to bed, Fonra. Before your maids notice you’re gone.”

Fonra was quiet for a moment. “When will you be back?”

Amira replied with a string of words she’d learned from a mule driver in Kelethian.

Fonra spun around so fast the candle’s glass case wobbled and she had to steady it with her hand. In a flurry of silk, Fonra disappeared back through the door and to her side of the apartment.

When she was sure her sister was gone, Amira checked her bandolier and the blades strapped across her chest and over one hip. Too many weapons would slow her down and there was rarely time or need to draw more than one, but their weight was comforting against her chest.

Amira opened her window, and hesitated as she placed one boot on the sill. “You are to protect your sister with your life,” was one of the earlier commands her father had given her all those years ago.

She couldn’t protect Fonra from where she was going, could she? No, she needed to stay here and—

A subtle tightness in her throat warned her that the curse was having none of it. Amira gritted her jaw and stepped up to the edge of sill with both feet.

She gripped the trellis to the left side of her window and swung to the outside of the wall. Almost immediately, the tightness vanished. So long as she obeyed her father, the curse was her friend. It made her stronger, faster, and more powerful, but only if she served well. Unfortunately, Amira’s tendency to hunt for loopholes and gaps in her father’s commands meant that the curse had done little for her in the decade and a half that she’d been subject to it.

Amira checked the surroundings below before dropping into the grass beneath her window.

The private garden of their family’s city estate was nothing compared to the herb gardens of Count Falen in the south or the fabled game park of the Erymayan palace, but it still took Amira several minutes to make her way out.

Most of the servants had been dismissed for the night and those who were out at this hour usually didn’t want to be seen any more than she did.

In the stables, she found Penrad, her father’s steward. He waited atop his dappled grey gelding. His dark green riding habit reminded Amira of pond scum by the light of the lone lantern. “There you are,” he snapped the moment Amira came into view. Here in the palace, he liked to pretend she was a page or squire.

She kept her head down, avoiding the gaze of a yawning groomsman. She took the reins of a second horse beside Penrad’s and swung aboard the mare without a word.

Penrad tilted his head to one side. “What? No apology for being late? Lazy, worthless, good-for-nothing, sack of—”

The dark and her hood shadowed her face, but her voice would give her away to the servants. And her father had commanded her not to tell anyone who she was—what she was. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—make so much as a squeak in her own defense. That didn’t stop her leveling a glare at the steward. If she ever got free of this curse...

“His lordship should have you whipped for your insolence,” Penrad added.

Amira jabbed her heels into her horse’s sides. The animal bolted for the gate toward the city. Steering the animal around a tight corner, she rode out under the low arch that separated the Hyle palace from the rest of Lashera, their capital.

Penrad stopped cursing once they made it to the main roads. Amira slowed her horse to a trot to avoid attention and Penrad slowed his animal to a trot beside her.

The city was drowsy, but a place like this was rarely ever fully asleep. Even in the dead of winter when snowstorms blanketed every eave and cobble in ice, a few intrepid Lasherans could still be seen scuttling through the streets.

Penrad let her lead the way to the side gate of the city—the one reserved for messengers and those on official business from the Hyle family. Four guards outside, another ten inside the guardhouse. Without looking up, Amira could see the ka wafting from them with every exhale. There was something small and alive in there with them, perhaps a cat or a rodent, but it was too small to be a dog.

Some scholars believed that ka was magic. Others claimed it was raw life force that bound magic. Whatever it was, it came from living things and only those who could channel it could detect it. Amira could sense ka on a spectrum somewhere between sight and touch. It had always been warm and golden to her—ribbons of aurelian energy.

Penrad flashed the bracelet around his wrist and the guards let them pass. In a fiefdom as large as Hylendale, there was always some urgent errand or message that needed to be couriered from the capital.

Amira let the steward lead the way out the gates, down the narrow courier’s road toward the pine forests that cloaked the hills. Forests were always heavy with ka, just thick enough to be distracting, but rarely strong enough to be useful.

They rode on in silence for a good ten miles. The horses’ hooves squelched in a thick layer of mud, mingling with the hundreds of tracks already on the road.

They left the main road and ventured another six miles into the dark before they stopped. Amira dismounted, pulling a single satchel from her horse before passing the reins to the steward.

“You know what to do,” Penrad said. In the dark, Amira couldn’t quite read his face, but his voice trembled slightly. Gone was the bravado and derision from the stables.

They were out here to commit high treason.

Amira gulped, forcing herself to breathe evenly. “I’m not powerful enough,” she said. “The king overestimates me.”

Penrad jerked his chin toward the woods. “Get on with it.”

It was no use. Even if she could convince Penrad of the truth, only her liege lord could rescind his own order—and that was her father.

As a child, swearing to obey and serve her father had seemed such an innocent thing, a right thing. If she’d only known the truth then.

Marching alone into the woods, Amira slung her satchel over her shoulders. There was food and water for one day along with the strings, hooks, and nails needed to make snares.

Her father wasn’t intentionally trying to get her killed—that much she believed. He’d invested and profited too much from her to throw her away needlessly.

So, he was either arrogant or desperate. It was always hard to tell with him.

If he was ordering her to strike against the empire’s heir, it must be desperation.

Amira had been young, but she remembered enough of the Conquest to remember the smell of the empire’s wrath—burning flesh and smoking pitch. What she was about to do would be enough to bring all of that and more crashing down on all of Hylendale.

She stopped to rest a few times before continuing her trek. Her father’s scouts had confirmed the caravan was only a day or so away. On foot, she could cut through the forests and catch them well before they reached Lashera.

These imperial soldiers rarely moved with haste in peace time. Nor did they move with stealth. It wasn’t hard to find them and she did it in a matter of hours.

Amira prowled the edge of the camp, hidden in the shadow of trees. They’d stopped in a clearing off the main road, pitching their tents in a neat grid. No one else had been spotted traveling into the fief and this many people together wouldn’t have been able to hide from King Hyle’s scouts. It could only be the archduke’s personal convoy.

Some two hundred guards, if she had to guess. Not to mention the cooks, pot boys, porters, footmen, laundresses, hawk keepers, dog boys, scribes, and everything else that traveled with an imperial caravan. She guessed there must be some five hundred people all told.

Five hundred people and she was supposed to find one?

Amira pushed aside the impossibility of her task. Yesterday, she had burned candles to Eponine, the goddess of sorceresses. Seeking the goddess’s favor produced mixed results in her experience, but Amira had been desperate enough to give it another try.

Kneeling a few hundred paces off, Amira chewed her lip, studying the camp. She needed to get to the center of the circle of tents. That was where her mark would most likely be.

She climbed a tree and hung her satchel among the topmost branches. It was unlikely she would be able to retrieve it, even if she survived, but she liked to hope for the best.

Slinking down to the ground, Amira took her time, lingering until the tightness in her throat returned and her curse threatened to strangle her if she didn’t stop stalling.

The curse had endless patience for planning. Once, she had spent three weeks stalking a mark and it had never prodded her. Yet it always seemed to know when she was stalling for time and punished her accordingly.

Once she was on the ground, Amira picked up the pace in the direction of the imperial camp. She inhaled the crisp night air, steadying herself before she moved on.

Tonight, she would kill an archduke and end a dynasty.

Reaching the outskirts of the camp, she found guards stationed about one hundred paces from where the tents began. Circling carefully, she hesitated, studying the camp. There was nothing unusual about it as far as a nobleman’s caravan. Fairly straightforward.

Amira would have expected more guards on duty for an archduke, but she supposed His Imperial Highness didn’t expect much resistance in Hylendale.

Her father’s kingdom had never been one for resistance.

Amira walked back into the trees. She cocked her head to the side, half listening and half searching for the faint wisps of ka that flowed from all living things. The pines around her created a soft haze that made it like wading through fog, but she still only had to search a few hundred paces before a soft pulse of ka caught her attention.

Sliding one of her knives from her bandolier, she squinted, measuring the distance to be sure she had a straight shot. With one flick of her wrist, there was a squeak and a faint shuffling.

The rabbit kicked and thrashed with her knife pinning it to the tree at its back.

Amira swept in and yanked the knife free, slitting its throat while its claws scratched at her armored forearms. She grimaced, holding the animal away from her as it kept kicking. Blood thick with ka flowed over her hands. Gripping the dying rabbit by the scruff of its neck, she poured the blood over the runes etched in her bracers, her breastplate. Lastly, she painted two stripes down her cheeks and smeared three vertical lines across her forehead.

She focused, turning her mind inward. Amira pulled her own ka from within her chest, where her life force pooled around her heart. Ka accumulated in the skull as well, but the heart was easier to channel out the hands.

Amira waited until the blood stopped dripping, tracing over her runes again and again even after she could feel them burning with ka. Amira laid the rabbit’s limp body on the ground. She was glad for the dark so she couldn’t see it.

She took a moment to steady herself, pushing away fear, anxiety, dread, and all her other useless emotions. She couldn’t turn back. Her curse wouldn’t allow it.

Returning to the edge of the clearing, Amira crouched low and made her way toward the camp. The nearest guards stirred as she came closer. The grass rippled around her, but to them it would appear as just a disturbance from the wind. Two of them at stations fifty paces apart glanced in her direction.

Amira froze. This spell didn’t make her invisible, only unnoticeable. It was a simple bit of magic, one of the few pieces she’d managed to teach herself. When she used this spell, most people blinked and looked away. These men were no different. The guards’ eyes passed over and around her, but never landed.

Amira stayed low to the ground, waiting until they went back to watching the woods. Guard duty was the dullest task imaginable, especially when one was in a vassal fiefdom in peace time.

Hylendale had its brigands and robbers like anywhere else, but few were brazen enough to attack an armed caravan. Even fewer were brazen enough to come this close to Lashera.

Amira had been sent to practice on outlaws as a child. She’d brought back at least a dozen heads to her father to be staked on the city gates. Rumors had spread that King Hyle’s sheriff must be dabbling in sorcery. Criminals had begun fleeing the fief, yet their heads had still found their way to the city gates just the same. Amira had moved on to bigger tasks now, but the rumors remained strong. No one meddled with the lawmen of Hylendale.

A mastiff tethered outside one of the tents let off a chuffing growl. The big dog stood, tail erect and ears perked. It half-whined, half barked in her direction, blinking in confusion.

Amira slunk away from the dog. Animals were often more resistant to dreadsight spells. Perhaps the dog could scent the rabbit’s blood.

Slipping deeper into the camp, Amira walked quietly, not drawing attention to herself. To those who saw her, she would be a nondescript shadow, a faceless figure moving past in the firelight.

Four soldiers gathered around a dice table stopped laughing, hunkering a little closer to the swords that lay at their sides. She slipped past them and they never even looked up.

Amira crossed paths with a middle-aged woman in a linen dress, fur cloak about her shoulders—probably an officer’s wife. The woman frowned and glanced in Amira’s direction, but her eyes never quite landed on the assassin, sliding over and around just like the guards’ had.

The woman pulled her cloak tighter about her and retreated in the opposite direction. Amira continued on.

The archduke’s tent wasn’t difficult to find. It was predictably at the center with the full banner of the imperial stag, a white raven perched in its antlers.

She angled toward the tent, then stopped a few paces off. The tent had no guards, but that wasn’t surprising. Outside the entrance slumped a page and what she guessed was a footman in their respective sleeping rolls beside a dying cooking fire.

Squinting, she noted the light of a lamp from inside. Was the archduke still awake? She grimaced. If he was awake, would he be alone? If he was drinking with a companion or attended by a courtesan, that would make her task much more difficult. He might be betrothed to her sister, but fidelity was not a prized virtue among men of the nobility. Either way, the tent was secured to the ground with massive iron stakes and cutting her way through the canvas would draw too much attention.

Amira checked to make sure there were no dogs nearby and edged toward the tent. So long as she was quiet and didn’t do anything to draw attention to herself, the dreadsight spell allowed her to do as she pleased.

She slipped inside and paused beside the tent entrance, surveying the lone figure crouched over a folding desk. The single lamp silhouetted a man with a slim fencer’s build, his sandy blond head bowed over parchment.

The cot in the corner was unmade and empty.

Slipping through the entrance, Amira circled to the far end of the tent opposite the figure before her.

The only sound was the scratch of the stranger’s quill. He paused, studied the page, scratched something out and dipped his quill in ink again.

The assassin peered over his shoulder, confirming the imperial seal stamped at the top of the parchment. By law, only members of the imperial household and those acting with their authority could use the seal. This had to be Daindreth Fanduillion—archduke of Erymaya, son of Empress Vesha and the late Emperor Drystan, and heir to the Erymayan Empire.

A few of the words under the figure’s quill caught Amira’s eye. Short sentences, breaking off down the page. Words had been scratched out and rewritten at least a dozen times over, but there appeared to be a final draft at the lower right corner.

Cut me and I bleed poison

Wound me to your own pain

These bruises have crushed giants

This nightmare maddens the sane

The young man kept writing, crossing out words, then rewriting, oblivious to her presence.

Amira recalled hearing from Fonra—when Fonra had still been besotted with the idea of him—that the archduke was said to be quite the accomplished poet.

Accomplished was not the word Amira would have used. Those words made something shudder along her spine. It was like hearing footsteps when she was supposed to be alone.

Amira could feel the curse tightening around her throat, a warning. If she put it off much longer, she’d be on the floor gasping. She drew the short blade from her hip, using her opposite hand to steady the sheath.

Nausea worked its way up the back of her throat. She’d never quite gotten a taste for killing. Most of the people her father sent her after weren’t bad people. At least, Amira thought they were no worse than her or her father. Then again, both King Hyle and Amira’s deaths would likely make the world a better place.

She closed the distance between herself and the archduke. A single jab to the base of the skull and it would be over.

Amira coiled to strike—

The archduke spun around and locked eyes on her. Amira jerked back and almost screamed.

Red eyes burned like coals with thin, black slits. For one instant, she could have sworn wisps of flame licked at his eyelashes.

His ka changed—it blustered and smoked like a furnace, hot, ashy, and putrid. Ka didn’t change and yet—

He snarled and grabbed her wrist with the knife. Amira aimed her knee for his face, and he twisted out of his chair, dropping into a crouch. He grabbed her opposite ankle and yanked.

In a flash, he tackled her to the carpet. His fist smashed into her ribs. Amira grunted from the impact and stars flashed across her vision.

The archduke snapped his jaw at her, eyes burning crimson. He curled his lip like he was used to a different mouth, one with sharper teeth.

Amira snatched a knife from her belt with her left hand and slashed across his face. He brought his arm up and blocked. Her knife left a bloody gash in his sleeve.

He pinned her right arm to the floor. Amira curled in on herself, wedging her knees and shins between them.

She bucked, trying to throw him off. She kicked a coat rack and it fell in a clatter.

“My lord?” came a voice from outside.

Shit.

Amira dropped her knife and grabbed the back of the archduke’s loose shirt. With a deft motion, she twisted it up and to the side, tightening the collar around his throat.

The archduke snarled again, spitting as he did. Amira yanked him to the side and managed to flip him off her. She kicked his ribs the moment she got clear, yanking her knife hand free as she did.

The archduke sprang back to his feet, eyes glowing like molten steel.

Outside, his servants had roused, but he didn’t call for them. He just stood there, studying her.

Amira drew a third knife. If the servants came, they would call the guards and she would be dead, but she had to at least kill him first. She had to.

It made sense now. Her father must have known. This thing couldn’t reach Lashera no matter what happened. Fonra couldn’t marry this creature. It couldn’t live. It—

The archduke lunged.

One instant he was three steps away and the next he was slamming her into the center brace of the tent.

The whole tent shook, the impact knocking the air from her lungs.

She’d never been caught before. A caught assassin was a dead assassin.

Dead, dead, dead. That word echoed through her skull.

The archduke—or whatever the creature was that kept her pinned against the brace—studied her like one might study a slice of roasted swan seasoned with an unfamiliar spice.

“Who are you?” His voice was like an avalanche of stones and the roar of a bonfire at once. “Have the Istovari witches gone back on their bargain?”

A shadow darkened the doorway of the tent—the shape of a young boy, probably the page.

Amira twisted sideways for leverage and kicked the archduke in the hip to knock him back. She’d sent men sprawling from that kick before, but he only stumbled a couple of steps.

Amira brought up her knife and the archduke lunged to attack again. He ducked when the knife came up, but she sliced it across her own hand. She could only hope she would bleed enough.

She slammed her bloody palm into the archduke’s face. He must have been expecting an attack from the knife in her other hand. He didn’t block in time and her bloody hand made contact.

She forced ka down her arm and into the blood. Even when he stumbled back and broke their contact, the blood was hers, so she didn’t need to be touching him to make it work.

Her bloody handprint glowed copper. The archduke fell to the ground with a scream and the stench of burning flesh filled the tent.

“Your Highness!” cried the boy in the doorway. The page rushed to the screaming archduke and three shadows moved outside the tent—guards.

Cursing, Amira raced for the back of the tent. Her boot caught on one of the carpets. She hit the ground with a thud muffled by the archduke’s screaming. Her breath came in shallow gasps and her head spun.

Idiot. Idiot.

She’d panicked and poured too much of her own ka into that spell. The amount of power now burning the archduke’s face was enough to cast a dreadsight spell fifty times over.

No, no, no.

“Your Highness! Is it another episode? Are you alright?”

The archduke’s cry in response was more of a roar, primal and enraged. Outside, horses whinnied and dogs barked. Something in Amira curdled and shrank at the sound of it.

Attendants flocked around the archduke. The guards hovered at the entrance.

“What’s happening?” they demanded.

Amira laid on the floor, heart pounding. They can’t see me. They aren’t expecting to see me.

It seemed the dreadsight spell was still in place. But if it was, how had the archduke—or whatever that creature was—been able to see her?

“Fetch Sir Thadred,” said one of the servants. “And Taylan.”

“Dain?” a male voice shouted from outside. “Dain, are you alright? Is he angry?”

These people acted wrong. Their archduke was rolling on the floor with fire spreading over his face and no one was searching the tent. No one seemed to expect a threat.

A young man with a dark tousle of hair and a half-buttoned shirt shoved past the guards. He leaned heavily on a blackthorn cane, his stride punctuated by a limp.

The newcomer caught the archduke’s flailing arm only to catch an elbow in the face. He stumbled back with a curse, rubbing his jaw. “Daindreth!”

No one seemed more than slightly concerned. It was like—

They stood back while Daindreth flailed, looking to one another and to the darker young man, Sir Thadred.

“What should we do, my lord?” asked the page.

“This is new,” said Thadred, shifting his grip on his cane. “He hasn’t had an episode like this before.”

Amira blinked at Thadred from her prone position on the floor. What did the man mean by that?

Amira pushed herself onto her elbows, shaking. The entrance to the tent was flooded with servants and retainers. She could cut her way out the back, but someone would notice if she started tearing canvas and she couldn’t risk breaking the spell. Thankfully, for now, the archduke’s writhing kept their attention.

The archduke shuddered and curled into a ball on the floor. He trembled and slowly his ka changed again. It turned lighter, more golden. More like the ka of the others in the tent.

Amira swallowed. Nothing about this was natural.

“Dain?” Thadred knelt beside the archduke. “Can you hear me?”

The paler young man panted, hands clutched to his face. “I...I’m not...” Daindreth’s voice was different. Lighter, not reverberating so much.

Everything about this was wrong. She needed to escape. Fonra was betrothed to a monster and no matter what happened or the cost, Hylendale needed to break off the engagement.

The command that she protect her sister with her life rang in her ears. If she couldn’t kill the archduke, she had to save Fonra. Her sister couldn’t marry this—if he wasn’t a man, what was he?

Daindreth looked up and Amira would have jumped back if she’d been standing. Daindreth’s face didn’t have a mark on it.

He should have had a splattered burn mark, but no.

She still smelled his burning flesh. She hadn’t imagined that, had she?

“The girl,” Daindreth panted in a distinctly human voice, a rich, almost melodic voice. “Where did she go?”

Thadred smirked. “So that was you dreaming of a girl, was it?”

Why didn’t he seem concerned? Even the servants had begun to back out of the tent. The guards were no longer at the entrance.

Never had she been so alarmed by a lack of alarm. Something instinctive and primal within her told her to run, to flee, to get as far away from the archduke and his servants as possible.

“No, she was here.” Daindreth spun around and his gaze slid over Amira.

She stayed still and didn’t draw attention to herself. It seemed the dreadsight spell was working again. The archduke’s eyes were dark now, no longer burning with hellfire.

Thadred frowned, keeping a breadth of space between himself and the archduke, like he expected the other man might go back to flailing at any second.

Amira pushed up onto her hands and knees. Sweat dripped into her eyes. She hadn’t drained herself like that in years, but in the moment, she’d panicked.

Carefully, she backed toward the edge of the tent. If she could hide in a corner, she might be able to wait until the archduke went to bed or left.

“There!” Daindreth leapt off the ground and dove for her, grabbing her wrist.

Instantly, Amira felt the dreadsight spell burst like a soap bubble. Thadred jumped with a curse—to him, it would have appeared as if a girl with blood smears on her face popped into existence.

“Who are you?” Daindreth demanded. “How did you do that?”

Amira twisted her wrist inward, snapping out of his grip. She moved a little slow, but still managed to yank herself free.

She reached for another knife at her thigh and slashed for Daindreth’s chest. He leaned back. Her blade ripped through linen, but she didn’t see blood.

“Dain! Guards!” Thadred shouted. He staggered back, leaning heavily on his cane.

The archduke reached for her again and Amira’s blade slashed across the back of his forearm a second time and he hissed in pain, red dripping from his cut sleeve.

“My lord!”

Guards flooded the tent this time. They closed the distance between the entrance and Amira in a heartbeat, or perhaps she was slow from losing so much ka. The first spear jabbed for her side and she stumbled back.

“No! I want her alive!” the archduke shouted.

Amira had no intentions of being taken alive.

She flicked her wrist and a knife plunked into the shoulder of the nearest guard. He flinched but didn’t fall back. Amira retreated only to hit taut canvas.

She dodged the second strike, diving for the tent entrance. The servants scattered and Thadred dragged back the archduke while the guards swarmed after her.

Amira dodged the first two strikes, but a third spear thrust and she wasn’t fast enough. Her body jerked and she heard her armor tear, but it wasn’t until she stumbled past the fire that she realized blood soaked her side and hip.

Shouts and screams rose over the camp as the alarm was raised. Amira ducked and stumbled to the picket lines, where she had seen the horses.

Survive. That was one of her father’s earlier commands. She kept it at the forefront of her mind, burning and echoing through her skull in case the curse decided she was being disobedient.

The horse boys scrambled out of their blankets barefoot in nothing but their trousers, rushing to secure the horses. In the dark, Amira stumbled to the center of the picket line, beating the boys there.

She passed over several pack mules and docile-looking cart horses. A large head yanked up and whinnied, jerking back on its lead rope.

The head belonged to a destrier, perhaps seventeen hands high or more. The towering horse’s halter lashed him between two whickering mules. The animals stomped anxiously but didn’t bray.

Amira snatched a bridle from the rows of tack and ducked under the picket line. The stallion’s nostrils flared at the scent of blood, but he was a warhorse. He should be trained to tolerate it. The horse snorted and stomped, either in fear or excitement, she couldn’t tell.

Even the mules shied from the scent of her blood while the horse boys came running to move up and down the line, trying to quiet the animals.

“Hey!” One of them spotted Amira.

She finished pulling the bridle over the destrier’s ears and buckling the throat latch. She took a fistful of the big horse’s mane and swung aboard. Her side twinged. In the dark, it was hard to know the extent of her injury, but some distant part of her mind could tell that it was bad—very bad.

Amira turned the destrier’s head in the direction of the trees and slammed her heels into his sides. The stallion bolted and she clung to his mane to stay on.

The big horse charged toward the dark lines of trees, hooves eating up the distance in heartbeats.

At their backs, soldiers called out. Arrows whipped past, striking the trees and the dirt around them. Amira doubled over the horse’s neck, every stride sending a jolt of pain to her ribs.

The destrier stumbled in the dark and Amira slammed forward onto his neck with enough force to drive the wind out of her, but she held on, gasping, as he skittered sideways to regain his footing.

Doubled over with her cheek pressed to his black mane, she angled him toward the north star and pulled on the reins. The destrier snorted, slowing into a canter.

After a few miles, she eased the destrier to a walk. It was unlikely the imperials would chase her in the dark. There was too much risk of an ambush for them.

Amira squinted upwards, making out the faint light of stars between the trees. Once she could make an educated guess of the right direction, she turned her stolen horse toward Lashera.

Chapter Two

Kingdom’s Sacrifice

Amira hated to let Fonra see her cry. It was why Amira told the surgeon not to let her sister in the room when they began their work.

Still, Fonra came running as soon as she heard.

Penrad had found Amira covered in her own blood and about to fall off her stolen destrier. He hadn’t asked her if she’d succeeded. It had probably seemed obvious. For once, he hadn’t nagged her as he’d shuffled her back to the palace and sent her straight to the surgeon.

How had Fonra heard Amira was back? The assassin didn’t bother to ask. Regardless, the princess pounded on the door to Amira’s room until the surgeon caved and let her in.

Fonra knelt beside the bed, letting Amira grip her hand so hard the older girl feared she might crush it. The surgeon’s analgesics could only do so much. Wavering in and out of lucidity, Amira pressed her cheek into her pillow while tears mixed with mud, sweat, and blood on the blankets.

Amira had endured worse, but after giving up so much ka, her body’s natural healing process had stunted. The wound wasn’t scabbing properly and kept bleeding. Unlike Fonra, King Hyle didn’t come to see Amira. He sent a messenger ordering the surgeon to fix the girl or face the consequences.

In her stupor of pain and narcotics, Amira wondered if her mother would have come, if she’d known her daughter was hurt. The Istovari sorceresses were allegedly masters of healing, but Amira doubted they would waste their talents on her.

It didn’t matter anyway. No one had heard from Amira’s mother or her people in almost twenty years.

Once the surgeons left, Fonra vehemently ordered the lingering servants out of the apartment. Amira watched, propped on a pillow, brows raised. She could count on one hand the number of times Fonra had raised her voice.

When she was done, Fonra cradled Amira’s hand in both of hers and wept. “How could His Majesty let this happen to you?” she sniffled, her tears staining the bed’s coverlet. “You nearly died. You—”

“Fonra!” Queen Hyle’s voice was like the screech of a crow from the other side of the wall. “Girl, get out here!”

The door burst open and Queen Hyle filled the doorway in an explosion of lace and organza. She hadn’t even allowed the servants to open the door ahead of her. A rare breach of protocol.

Her Majesty wore her face paints, jewels, and precious fabrics, but any natural beauty she might have had was quashed by a perpetual glower, especially whenever she saw Amira.

Amira bristled and attempted to rise. She preferred to stand in the presence of her enemies, but her stitches gave a sharp throb. Wincing, she managed to prop herself up on one elbow.

“Fonra,” Queen Hyle snapped, leaving off her daughter’s title. Two breaches of protocol in as many seconds? She must be truly livid.

Queen Hyle folded her hands in front of her like a knight slamming down the visor of his helmet—battle ready. “Fonra, His Imperial Highness’s retinue was spotted not an hour ago. Your father wants you ready to receive your bridegroom when he reaches the courtyard.”

The archduke was here? Amira’s thoughts whirred. How many hours had she lost to the surgeon’s potions?

“I’ll come in a moment,” Fonra said quietly.

“You will come now.” Queen Hyle’s command was short, clipped. The queen consort’s only real power was over her servants and the personal household of the king, but she wielded that like a blacksmith’s hammer.

Fonra snapped her chin up in a rare show of defiance. “Your future empress will come when she is done here. Thank you, Mother.”

Amira watched the queen redden, the vein in her forehead bulge like a fat worm as she and her daughter faced off.

Surprisingly, the queen was first to break. Whirling in a storm of skirts, she clipped a short order to her servants and marched into Fonra’s boudoir. Her ladies and pages scurried after her.

Fonra’s chief lady stayed in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her in the “repose” posture like a proper subservient gentlewoman. “Princess Fonra, we do need to get you ready.”

“He won’t even be meeting me proper tonight,” Fonra clipped back. “I’ll be with Mother and the rest of the household on the balcony. The feasts start tomorrow.”

The chief lady inclined her head in agreement. “Yes, Your Highness. But you know the way of it.”

Fonra huffed, just a slight rise and fall of her shoulders and a tightening of her hands. “Go wait with my mother.”

The chief lady’s jaw clenched, but she gave no other signs of her frustration. With a curt nod, she floated after Queen Hyle, hands still clasped before her.

“I’ll send one of my girls to tend you.” Fonra brushed a sweaty strand of hair from Amira’s temple. “King Hyle wanted us to dance tomorrow night.” Her lips pressed together. “The bride’s dance. I was hoping you’d be dancing with us.”

Amira closed her eyes. “He’ll sacrifice you, if not me.”

“What’s that?”

Amira winced at the slight tug at her throat. Her father had ordered her to secrecy in her latest assassination attempt, as he did with every assignment. She was pushing into a grey area of disobedience and needed to be careful.

“Fonra, listen to me.” Amira gripped her sister’s arm. “This is very important. You can’t marry the archduke.”

Fonra looked up, blinking. “The king has—”

“I know.” Amira winced. Two commands warred for control of the curse—protect Fonra clashed with speak no word of this to anyone. A fluttering sensation in her collarbone warned her to tread lightly. “But you can’t. The archduke, he’s—he’s not right. There’s—” The curse yanked tight across Amira’s throat like an invisible cord. Gasping, she focused on the window across the room, something that didn’t defy her father’s orders.

The curse loosened its hold bit by bit while Amira’s eyes watered.

“Amira, shush. Don’t hurt yourself.” Fonra never asked about the curse, but she had seen plenty to know what happened to Amira if she disobeyed their father. “I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.” She smiled, but there was something resigned and more than a little sad behind it. “I wouldn’t be the first woman in our family to marry a man I didn’t love.”

Amira believed that everyone married for love—just not usually love of the person they married. Yeomen tended to marry for love of grazing land and sturdy roofs. Merchants married for love of money and trade routes. Kings and archdukes married for love of power.

But that thing that lived behind Daindreth’s eyes? What did it want? What did a demon love?

“This isn’t about love,” Amira’s hand tightened on her sister. “He’s a monster, Fonra. I can’t explain it. Just...please.”

“What happened last night, Amira?” Fonra whispered softly. “Where did you go?” She touched the side of Amira’s face, her delicate brows furrowing, then rising. “What did you see?”

Amira shook her head. She couldn’t tell. No matter how much she wanted to. “Father has brought doom on us all. You and I, at the very least.”

Fonra’s lips parted as she studied Amira. “What can we do?”

The assassin looked away. “I failed.”

“Let me help,” Fonra said. “For once, let me do something.”

Amira turned back to look at her sister again. “Find a way to break off the engagement. I don’t care what you have to do.”

“But the insult to the empire—”

“I don’t care,” Amira repeated, voice dropping to a hiss. “That thing...” She trailed off at a twinge in her throat.

Queen Hyle’s voice called from the other room again, insistent and angry.

Fonra exhaled a long breath. “I will try.”

Amira’s heart sank. “Please.”

Fonra nodded. “I’ll do what I can. Rest well. I’ll send a girl to look after you.”

Her sister left and closed the door, shielding the assassin from Queen Hyle in the next room. Her Majesty had been born Adelaide Boless of Highcrest, daughter of a house with an impressive pedigree, a long history of loyalty to the imperial house, and not much else.

Amira vaguely recalled Queen Hyle—belly stretched and swollen with Fonra—screaming to the king at the supper table that he would have sons now, sons of the Empire’s stock. Did he have to keep that redheaded brat? That witch’s daughter?

Queen Hyle had bragged that she would be the one to give King Hyle sons. When Fonra had been a girl, that had dampened the queen’s boasts for only a few months before she again had a full belly and a full ego.

First there was one stillborn son, then another miscarriage, then at last the much-longed-for male heir arrived.

As a child, Amira had hated and loved Fonra in equal measure. Yet when Fonra had been pushed aside in favor of the new baby brother, Amira had found herself looking after Fonra more and more. Amira had been the one to teach Fonra to plait her hair. The one Fonra had run to when she’d had her first bleeding.

In turn, Fonra was the one who had massaged Amira’s shoulders when she’d come back sore from training. The one who had quietly mended the slashes and tears in Amira’s clothes and never questioned why her sister kept swordsman’s shirts and leather jodhpurs in the bottom of her wardrobe.

When Amira turned sixteen, she was sent to spend the summer “studying abroad.” When she had returned, with new scars under her tunic and more blood on her hands than she would ever wash off, Amira’s half-brother had already fallen ill and died a month before his seventh birthday.

No one spoke of the boy now. Camden had been his name, after Adelaide’s father. But his death had changed the household and the kingdom forever.

Queen Hyle lost all hope of producing another son and poured almost a decade’s worth of withheld motherly attention into Fonra within the span of a year. Ever since, Fonra had been like a jewel at her mother’s breast—clutched tightly, ruthlessly polished, and flaunted at every opportunity. A jewel that the queen was unknowingly damned and determined to pawn off on a monster.

Amira hoisted herself upright. She didn’t know what she would do, but she had to do something. Stiff, aching, and groaning in pain, Amira forced herself into a linen chemise and stiff surcoat.

She couldn’t quite reach to straighten the back laces of her surcoat, so she tossed a fur mantle over her shoulders to hide the crooked strings.

She winced at the loud swishing sound her dress made with every step down the hallway. One hand on the wall for balance, she ventured into the main palace.

“My lady, are you well?” It was Corman, one of her father’s footmen. Though he was barely a year her senior, his mother had been a scullery maid in the steward’s household and he was one of the few servants who remembered when Amira’s mother had been queen. That had been before the sorceresses’ rebellion, the annulment, and the scandal that had followed.

Corman hovered close but didn’t dare touch her. She was still a king’s daughter—even after being bastardized.

Amira waved him away. “I’m going to see His Majesty.”

Corman hesitated, his hand half raised between them. Concern lined his face. It was a nice face, soft and kind beneath a close-trimmed beard. He hadn’t had that beard when she’d kissed him outside the silver cupboard three summers ago. “My lady, forgive me, but you hardly look—”

The assassin peered past Corman to the dark hallway at his back. “Is the king holding court?”

“No, my lady. He’s in his dressing chamber now.”

“Then I needn’t concern myself with my appearance.” Amira pulled away from the timid man.

Corman’s mother—who now oversaw the cleaning and tending of the castle’s bed linens—had caught them that evening, and it was just as well. Amira had been too drunk to think about what might have happened to him if he’d accepted her offer to come to her rooms.

Amira approached her father’s personal chamber, a few halls away from Fonra’s. Head spinning, she thanked Eponine it wasn’t far.

The queen’s chambers were beside the king’s, the bedrooms adjoined by a door to give conjugal visits some privacy. They now belonged to Queen Hyle but had once belonged to Queen Cyne.

Amira had the vaguest memory of sitting in the queen’s suite back when it had been her mother’s. It had been painted white and trimmed in the thinnest layer of gold leaf. She remembered tumbling into her mother’s skirts, pulling an avalanche of chiffon on top of her head. It had been like playing in a golden cloud. Her mother had scooped her up and kissed either of her cheeks and that was where the memory ended.

Cyne of the Istovari—the banished queen of Hylendale.

In truth, Amira could have dreamt it. The woman in that memory was all light and smiles and golden softness. Surely that couldn’t have been the same woman who had left her only child alone to die in a crumbling tower. While her mother’s abandonment meant Amira was the only Istovari who had not been banished from the empire, it was still not something she planned to forgive.

Amira reached her father’s doorway and the two guards outside let her pass, though neither opened the door nor announced her. Like all her father’s guards, they were Boless men, recruited by Adelaide’s uncle and brother in the west.

The assassin waited in the foyer, finding that some shred of her still valued protocol. Even the antechamber was gilt all in gold now. The empire cared for its vassals if nothing else.

“My lady!” cried a footman who apparently recognized her better than she did him. He strode straight for her with a scandalized flutter of his hands. “My lady, His Majesty is dressing. It’s not proper for you to be here.”

“I need to speak to His Majesty.”

“My lady, your royal father is preoccupied with preparations to receive the Grand Archduke. Their caravan was spotted not two hours ago and—”

The king emerged, pulling on a pair of doeskin gloves with attendants billowing about him. She had never seen her father alone. Always, he was with advisors, footmen, valets, or other nobles.

“Your Majesty!” Amira scrambled past the footman to reach the king and gripped his forearm.

“My lady!” one of the servants gasped.

Amira knew better than to lay a hand on the king, but she was desperate. Two servants stepped forward to pull her away, but the king waved them off.

The king shot a glance over her, head to foot. His brows rose. “Lady Amira. You look ill.”

He wouldn’t speak of her assignment last night, not in front of so many servants.

At his back hovered Cromwell, her father’s legal advisor. Amira’s neck prickled at the sight of him. She never quite knew where she stood with Cromwell. To her face, he had always been kind. He was the one person in the palace who had never failed to bring her gifts—birthdays, feast days, holidays, even when he simply visited another city. On the other hand, he was the reason she was no longer a princess.

“My liege.” She squeezed her father’s arm, though she doubted he could even feel it through the layers of padding in his sleeve, fashioned after the imperial style. “I wanted to see you before the archduke’s arrival. What happened last night—” The curse tightened in her throat. She wasn’t permitted to speak of that assignment in front of anyone who didn’t already know.

“Leave us,” King Hyle said to his retainers. “This will be brief.”

Several of the servants watched Amira hesitantly, but Cromwell nodded, and the room emptied.

Men like Cromwell were not the sort to conquer kingdoms, but they were the sort to keep them. It had been Cromwell who had helped King Hyle navigate the tenuous days when the Empire had come lusting after their pine forests and deep-water harbors on the coast. It had been his suggestion that Queen Cyne be banished.

Amira hated the man for years, but her father was still king, none of Hylendale’s cities had been razed, and now the future emperor was set to marry Hyle’s daughter. To an outside observer, one might say Cromwell had saved the kingdom.

When the door closed, Cromwell remained with his back to it, clasping a thick ledger in his hands. He wore black same as he had when Amira was little—the only difference was then it had been humble linen and now it was plush velvet.

Amira cleared her throat as the curse loosened, looking up to her father. “When I faced the archduke, he changed into something else. He saw through my spells as no man could and he fought like nothing I’ve ever seen. His ka was different, somehow. Wrong,” she whispered. “What is he?”

King Hyle flicked his gaze over her from head to foot. “You failed.”

Amira stifled a cry of frustration. “You can’t give him Fonra.”

“That’s why I sent you,” King Hyle snapped. “Whatever it is that...” He shot a glance to Cromwell. “There’s nothing to be done for it now. If anything happens to him within our walls, it will be war. But I can’t break off the engagement. No one refuses the empire.”

“He’s not human!”

King Hyle grabbed her by her upper arms. “You listen to me.”

It would have taken but a twist and yank for her to free herself from his hold and then drive her elbow into his mouth, but she didn’t dare. She couldn’t harm him. He’d already given her that command.

“You had your chance to save your sister,” the king said. “Now we can only hope to save Hylendale from another war.”

Amira shook her head. “If you knew what I saw—”

“I can’t know,” the king said in a low voice. She might have imagined it, but she thought he sounded pleading. “Don’t you see? I didn’t know anything of it. A rogue attacked the imperial retinue. An enemy of the empire. Someone hired by a foreign dignitary who fears a stronger tie with Hylendale. Nothing else, do you understand me? If anything happens to him within our walls, it will be war.”

“But you did know,” Amira whispered, realization washing over her in a cold shiver. The pain in her side throbbed and her head spun. She needed to rest, but Fonra’s life and more could be at stake. “You must have. Why else would you have sent me?” She looked to Cromwell, but the lawyer was as unreadable as ever. “Papa,” Amira looked back to the king, “what have you done?”

King Hyle released her. “It isn’t your concern.”

“I’ll finish it.” Amira limped after him as he moved for the exit. Cromwell waited stiff and stoic as a headsman in front of the door. “I’ll find a way. You can’t let him have Fonra. You can’t.”

“But I can.” King Hyle spun on her. “If she is the price.”

“Nothing is worth her life!” Amira cried.

“No?” King Hyle’s nostrils flared. “What about the three hundred and eighty-two thousand people in our kingdom, according to the last census? What are their lives worth, Amira?”

The assassin had no answer.

“I sent you to prevent this. But you failed. And now we must all live with the consequences.”

His words hit her like a sucker punch. “Your Majesty, I beg you. Let me try again.” Amira had never thought she would beg to kill. Yet if it would protect her sister, if it would keep Fonra out of the clutches of that thing, she’d kill a thousand archdukes.

“No! You are to keep silent on this. What you saw, what you did. And you will not lift a finger against the archduke nor anyone in his retinue while he is here, do you understand me?”

Amira felt the command strike her in the hollow of her throat. She almost gasped with the force of the order. “Father.” She hadn’t called him that in years. “Father, please. If he needs a Hylendale bride, give me to him instead.”

King Hyle’s hands closed into fists, but he looked away from her.

“Please. He’ll tear her apart. He’ll kill her if she’s lucky. I’m begging you.” The implication hung unspoken between them that he’d do the same to Amira.

King Hyle exhaled.

Cromwell watched their exchange, the carved lines of his face deepening in thought. No doubt, he was thinking of all the legal reasons the bastardized daughter of a king—without a dowry—was unsuitable as an archduke’s bride.

“Return to your rooms and rest until you regain your strength, Amira.” The king turned his back, but his voice softened enough that she noticed the change in tone. “I know you did the best you could.”

The curse would have allowed nothing less.

“You have sacrificed much for this kingdom.” King Hyle raised his chin, back still to her. “You will sacrifice much more, I’m afraid.”

Amira forced down the lump in her throat.

“Perhaps, this once, we should let your sister sacrifice instead.”

Amira wanted to wail, to scream, to strike her father, beat him and Cromwell so bloody that their own mothers wouldn’t recognize them. But she didn’t. The curse wouldn’t allow it and she was too battered for the effort anyway.

She followed her father out of his apartments and limped back to her own room. She eased into her bed, staring at the flowers Fonra had painted on the wood paneling for Amira’s fourteenth birthday.

Rabbits, sparrows, and fawns played here and there, leaping and flitting over knots in the wood. Amira’s gut clenched a little at the memory of the rabbit she had killed for her spell last night.

Amira fell asleep to the sound of Queen Hyle primping and prodding Fonra in the next room, trussing her up in silk and pearls like a partridge for a feast.

When the assassin dreamed, it was of red eyes and hands that sprouted claws.

Chapter Three

The Archduke

The feast to welcome Daindreth was delayed by three days thanks to a late shipment of spices and wine. Amira spent most of her time hidden in her room, watching from her bower window as servants bustled to and from. On the handful of times she ventured into the palace, retainers in the livery of the archduke scurried from every nook and corner like an infestation of white-clad locusts.

Amira tried to speak to the king, but it made no difference. No matter how much she begged, pleaded, and petitioned him, he wouldn’t be moved.

He seemed to consider her request that she be sent with Fonra as a servant, but didn’t relent. King Hyle’s daughters were both weapons in their own way. Fonra’s marriage would protect their kingdom for as long as the Fanduillion dynasty lasted—provided she gave Daindreth sons to carry it on—and Amira had already proven herself well worth the price paid to make her what she was.

The night of the Archduke’s welcome feast drew near. As she was expected to attend, Amira prepared knowing weapons were useless. Even if she stood a chance of finishing off the archduke, her father had commanded her not to harm him.

Instead, Amira set to work weaponizing her appearance. With the help of only one servant—all that Queen Hyle had allowed Fonra to spare—she lined her eyes with kohl and painted her lips with bright red cosmetics that put blood to shame.

The servant, Chesna, didn’t even blink when she saw the stitches along Amira’s ribs. She helped Amira loop bandages around her waist to protect the wound and then select a dress that flowed loose at the sides.

Amira’s breath caught when she saw the gown that Chesna held up. It was a black velvet dress cut in the latest Erymayan fashion. The snug collar rose halfway up Amira’s throat and from the front fell in soft folds, but the back—the back.

The plunging back left Amira essentially naked from neck to hip with only knotted strands of silver chain draped across. Though the dress was supposedly the style in the imperial city of Mynadra, Queen Hyle wouldn’t hear of anything so scandalous coming near her daughter.

The dress had been a gift from Cromwell after one of his trips to the port cities. As with all his gifts, there had been no explanation or even a note. It simply appeared one day in the hands of one of Cromwell’s apprentices delivered “with compliments of Master Cromwell.”

“That will do.” Amira waved over Chesna and the other woman hung the dress from the bedpost as she set to styling Amira’s hair into a coronet of braids with a few loose strands dangling about her neck.

Fonra always chatted with her servants, no matter their station. How Amira wished she had her sister’s easy charm. But no, Amira sat straight faced and straight backed, watching in the mirror as Chesna transformed her into a creature of beauty, grace, and courtly elegance.

Beyond the door, she could hear Queen Hyle fussing over Fonra and her sister’s attendants. Not just Fonra, but every one of her ladies must be in pristine condition to meet the archduke and his retainers.

Chesna helped Amira style a corded veil over her eyes—a fringe of knotted black and silver strands. A sorceress’s veil.

For generations, Amira’s foremothers had worn them at public gatherings and formal occasions. It was rude to look a sorceress directly in the eye and had started out as a way to remind nobles of the fact. Now, it seemed more like a warning, like a bell on a bull.

Amira was just grateful for something to hide her face. Despite having been raised in this palace with many of the people who now attended her father’s court, Amira preferred the illusion of anonymity.

She didn’t think for a second that anyone from the archduke’s party would recognize her. Fonra would be the center of attention. Amira looked completely different tonight and would be sticking to the edges of the room per her father’s orders.

She needed to protect Fonra for as long as possible.

All the same, it was only by a miracle that her father had agreed to let her attend tonight at all. Amira wondered which of the half-dead votive candles on her windowsill was to thank for this small mercy. Had it been Eponine who had heard her prayers or Dyani, the patroness of young girls? Perhaps it had been Teshner, the godling of etiquette and schemes. As a minor god, Teshner was supposed to be more attentive even if he was less powerful.

Amira arrived at the feast hall before her sister. The room was bathed in the gold of candlelight. A large brazier dominated one side, a roasting boar turning over it. Already, several of her father’s knights gathered around the edges of the fire, their tunics and tabards emblazoned with the white swan of Hylendale.

The white swan coat of arms had been a gift from Emperor Drystan. When Hyle had bent the knee before the invading emperor, he had been given a new liege lord, a new coat of arms, and a new bride.

Emperor Drystan had been generous, sending gifts of men, horses, and hunting hounds. Not to mention ten thousand sheep formerly from the flocks of King Espasian to the east.

Espasian had not bent the knee. His legs had been cut off at the knees in punishment as had those of all the men in his household.

That was the way of the Fanduillions—submit or die bloody.

Daindreth’s father had not founded the empire, but he had been the heir born with ambition burning in his eyes. They said the last emperor’s gaze scorched everything he saw, branding it as his own even before he set foot on those distant places on the map. Drystan the Conqueror had died before his fortieth year, but with no less than a thousand vassal kings, each commanding their own kingdom in the name of the emperor and his co-ruler, Empress Vesha.

Emperor Drystan had died in an accident not long after the conquering of Hylendale. Vesha had taken over as regent and had ruled ever since. Many had expected her to step aside once Daindreth came of age, but it had yet to happen.

The hall was done out in the finest array. The floors had been swept and fresh pine boughs hung from every corner. Candles had been crammed into every possible sconce and crevice. A spruce finch fluttered near one of the upper windows, bristling green wings beating against the glass. Poor thing must have flown in while the servants were airing out the hall.

The finch’s body and the edges of its wings bristled with pine needles sprouting from its feathers. Just another aberration from another time, when sorceresses had lived free in Hylendale.

Many had devoted entire lifetimes to braiding together bits and pieces from plants and animals like village goodwives weaving their daughters’ bridal rugs. Most of their mutants had died shortly after creation or been sterile, but a few—like the spruce finches—had escaped the laboratoriums to live, breed, and thrive in the surrounding woods.

“Lady Amira.”

The assassin stiffened at that voice, back straight and hands folded in front of her in the position suitable for a lady standing idle.

“Lord Cromwell.” He wasn’t a lord or even a noble by birth, but Amira, like most the court, wasn’t sure what else to call him. “I almost didn’t see you there.”

The lawyer was clad in black velvet that Amira now noticed was disturbingly like her own, even if it did lack the silver embroidery. He studied the room like an old wolf studying an auroch herd, hoping for a stray calf. “I’m glad you’re recovered.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Behind Cromwell stood his two apprentices. She’d seen them before but didn’t recall their names. One was broad-shouldered and would probably be starting his own law practice soon. The other was slight and slim and probably no more than fourteen. Both boys wore rapiers at their hips—decorative, of course.

“I have heard that His Imperial Highness is in good health as well. Not a sign of the past month’s travel on him.”

Amira inhaled a long breath. Cromwell was saying there was no sign Daindreth had even been in a fight at all.

Impossible.

She had seen with her own eyes that his face instantly recovered, but...impossible.

The imperial family had no magic. And to mend flesh that badly burned would have taken more power than Amira herself could channel at a time, not to mention the skills of a master surgeon to knit the flesh back correctly.

A quick round of trumpet blasts signaled the king’s arrival. Amira’s father entered with his wife on one arm and Fonra trailing behind. The whole family was decked in their finest silks and jewels, clad all in white after the imperial custom.

King Hyle greeted loyal courtiers with a smile and the customary clasping of the forearms after the way of old friends. As he embraced Baron Alderman, a minor noble who had tried cheating King Hyle out of ten thousand goldshares last spring, Amira noticed her father glance to her. It was uncanny, how that king could find her no matter where she was.

Sometimes she wondered about the bond that stretched between them. She’d never had the courage to ask what he experienced through their link. Kadra’han were not supposed to question their liege lords.

Queen Hyle smiled, her teeth flashing like pearls above the string of rubies dripping from her neck. She accepted compliments and courtesies from the men and women in the room, her gloved hands sparking with rings.

Fonra was complimented indirectly through her parents. Supplicants praised her beauty while addressing the king and queen. According to custom, the bride-to-be must not be addressed until her father presented her to the bridegroom.

The princess kept her head down at a demure angle, as was expected for an unmarried girl in her parents’ charge.

Fonra wore a white dress brocaded with beads in the shapes of ravens, swans, and stags. A thick strand of pearls roped her neck several times like a noose. The ivy woven into her hair reminded Amira of the brambles that bound sheep for the spring equinox.

Fonra was pristine, pure, and spotless, as all sacrificial lambs were supposed to be. For so long, Amira had been sure that Fonra’s innocence would protect her. Now here she was, about to be traded off in the name of preventing another war. Amira’s heart sank as she studied her sister—prepared like an offering to the gods. One step closer to bleeding out on the altar of peace.

“Keep your eyes open.” Cromwell straightened as the royal family drew closer. “The night may hold surprises yet.”

Amira cast him a sideways glance. The rest of the room was watching the king, queen, and the little bride-to-be. “What do you know, Cromwell? About him?”

It was plain enough who she meant.

“I expect you know more than I.” That was probably a lie or at least a half-truth. Cromwell had been present when her father ordered her to kill the archduke. He had to know something. “The king has asked me to make inquiries.”

“All the things you do for my father.” Amira flashed a smile from beneath her veil. “Sometimes it seems you even do his thinking for him.”

“I would be a poor lawyer if I did not, my lady.” Cromwell took her right hand and kissed her fingers in the courtly manner, not waiting for her to offer it. With Amira, he constantly scintillated between overly formal and overly familiar. “I must take my leave. But as I said, keep your eyes open.” Cromwell left, his two wards at his heels like wolf pups.

Clenching and unclenching her hand, Amira watched him go, aware that a few of the nearer courtiers had watched their exchange. Rumors often placed her and Cromwell together. It was easy to imagine the court’s two enigma’s as allies or even lovers—despite the decades of age difference—but that had not been their relationship at all.

Amira no more trusted him than she would trust a starving kelpie. At the same time, she had often felt that he was the only one she could trust besides Fonra.

People stirred at the banquet hall’s entrance. “His Imperial Majesty, Grand Archduke Daindreth Fanduillion of Erymaya, High Prince of Galais, and Lord Castellan of Mynadra.”

The herald’s booming voice sent a jolt down Amira’s spine and immediately came the hot sense of urgency to fight, draw her weapons, defend herself, protect Fonra.

The assassin did none of those things. Instead, she lowered herself into the deepest curtsy she could manage with her throbbing side, copying the rest of the court.

“Rise, King Renner,” came Daindreth’s voice, addressed to King Hyle, using the man’s given name instead of his title. “Queen Adelaide. Rise. I am glad to be graced with the countenances of your royal persons with my own eyes.” The archduke slid easily into the courtly speech, shifting his words like a carriage horse shifting its gait.

The pleasantries continued and Daindreth bade the party to continue. Just like that, the conversation resumed as people flocked to pay their respects to their future emperor.

It had been almost twenty years since the last Fanduillion had visited the kingdom of Hylendale. The last one had come to banish Amira’s mother and enslave her country. This one came to steal her sister and gods knew what else.

The archduke allowed King Hyle to lead him to the top of a raised dais. Fonra took up a place at Daindreth’s left and a little behind him. The two of them stood with a step or so of space between them, not touching.

As much as Amira ached to rush across the room and drag her sister away from the monster in a man’s disguise, at least they weren’t touching.

The servants began to set the table, their starched blue and white liveries bright even in the dim firelight. There were no chairs as it was a faux pas to sit in the presence of the archduke. Food would be eaten standing until the archduke finished receiving pledges of allegiance and sat to enjoy the night’s entertainment.

Her father had hired the best musicians, fire eaters, and tumblers that could be found in the kingdom. But the dancing would be done by the ladies of the court, led by Fonra. In Hylendale, the role of dancer was the honored place of the lady of the house or the eldest daughter. The assassin couldn’t help but wonder if Queen Hyle would take up dancing again once her daughter was in Mynadra. It was unlikely she would allow Amira to hold the office.

Amira circled the room, never staying in one place long enough to grow suspicious. Daindreth paid his courtesies or rather allowed others to pay their homage to him. He stood at the top of the dais with the royal family arranged around him as a line of courtiers formed in front of him. There was bowing, scraping, kissing, and flattery all performed with the airy ease and practiced choreography of a Maying Day promenade.

Without warning, the archduke’s gaze shot across the room and she could have sworn his gaze locked on her. There was no sign of the hellfire that had spewed from his sockets before, but it was enough to make her turn.

When she peered back out from behind the thick hanging, the archduke was speaking to the young man at his left. The second young man followed the archduke’s gaze for the briefest moment before nodding and stepping off the dais.

With a clenching in her gut, she recognized the young man with a cane at his opposite elbow as Sir Thadred.

Cromwell had told her last night that Sir Thadred was the king’s bastard cousin—the result of an indiscretion by the empress’s sister. He and the archduke were reportedly very close, having been raised together with the same nurses and tutors.

Thadred walked with a limp due to a hunting accident. His courser had fallen on a sharp incline and rolled over him twice. His hip had been shattered and the horse had to be put down, but the lucky whoreson had somehow survived.

Thadred had gotten a good look at her in the tent that night, but it had been dark then and it was dark now. Not to mention the cosmetics and half veil flapping over her face. He wouldn’t recognize her, though the fear hovered in the back of her mind.

Thadred slipped into the crowd, his imperial blues blending with the rest of the throng. Courtiers exchanged pleasantries and competed at insulting one another while shaping their words like compliments.

Amira stepped up to Lord Marshall Bardarau and his wife, exchanging a few muted pleasantries with the couple. As his name implied, he too had Istovari blood. Even if he was one of the Untouched—not a trace of magic in him.

Amira disliked him as she disliked most her father’s inner circle, but his wife, Istra, was bearable enough. A plump, smiling woman with wavy gold hair, she always seemed to glow. She had a kind of golden softness to her that made Amira think of a hearth goddess.

A motion out of the corner of Amira’s eye, pressed closer. She looked up. Thadred, making his way through the crowd toward her with little effort at discretion. What was she supposed to do? Flee?

Her thoughts whirred. Perhaps it had nothing to do with the assassination attempt. Perhaps it was something else.

But no.

She assumed the worst, always. And she was usually right.

Thadred came closer, his hitching step and cane clicking against the stones. She tensed, but pretended to be unaware as he came up behind her, probably intending to be stealthy.

The Lord Marshall frowned and Istra dropped off mid-sentence as Amira felt a presence at her back.

“Where is my horse?” Thadred growled.

Amira remained perfectly still for one heartbeat. How had they known?

“Pardon me.” Amira turned to face the newcomer, pasting a smile beneath her beaded veil. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Thadred shot a glance to the Lord Marshall and his wife before bowing. “Sir Thadred Myrani, at your service.”

As the man, the Lord Marshall introduced himself. “A pleasure, Sir Knight. I am His Majesty’s Lord Marshall, and this is my lady wife, Istra.”

Thadred bowed to them both in turn. “And you, lady?” he said to Amira. All menace was gone from his voice and face. He was playing the game, at least for now.

Amira dropped into a curtsy. “Lady Amira Brindonu, your lordship.”

“The second princess?” Thadred’s brow furrowed.

Amira smiled past a tightness in her throat that had nothing to do with her curse. “My royal father is the king, but I am no princess.”

Not anymore. Not when her mother was a traitor who had refused to swear the vows of allegiance to the emperor.

Thadred blinked, not responding to that part. He looked her from head to foot, appraisingly, experienced.

Amira had been appraised by men many times in her life—either as a predator or as prey. From the way he had shifted slightly sideways yet took time to linger on the dress’s flattering lines, Thadred seemed to consider her a bit of both.

“Will you dance with me, my lady?” the knight asked, offering his arm.

Amira cleared her throat politely, canting her head as a proper lady should. “The dancing shall be later, my lord.”

She caught Cromwell’s eye across the room. Help, she thought to him silently. Help me.

Amira cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me, your lordship. I believe my father is beckoning for me.”

“He’s not.” Thadred caught her arm in one hand.

Amira jumped, fighting the urge to smack him off.

Thadred pulled her close. “You didn’t answer me. What happened to my horse?”

Amira cast her face in confusion. She didn’t have to feign discomfort as several nearby courtiers took notice of his hand wrapped around her arm. “Your horse, sir?”

“Yes. The one you took.” He gestured his cane at her. “Right after you tried to kill my cousin, as you’ll recall.”

Amira cocked her head to the side. “My lord, I’m quite confused.”

Thadred saw through her lie like gossamer.

A ring on Thadred’s left hand, the one gripping the cane, caught her attention. It was a signet, bearing the imperial seal, or a similar variation. Amira could feel the ka from Thadred’s body coursing down and collecting in the ring. It wasn’t hurting him, just capturing the excess so a sorceress couldn’t use it.

Amira swallowed. He’d come prepared. Even if her father hadn’t commanded her not to harm anyone in the archduke’s retinue, even if she’d known spells to fight him, her spells would be useless against him.

Thadred nodded in satisfaction when he noticed her attention on his ring. “Yes. Your magic is useless on me. And I doubt you’ll be fighting in that dress.”

How like a man to assume he was safe because she wore skirts.

“I would rather not scream,” Amira said. Her assassin’s tools were out of reach, but she was still a king’s daughter, a lady. And a lady had her own tricks. “But if you plan to assault my virtue, I have no qualms about causing a scene to scandalize the empire one end to the other.” She straightened as she had seen Queen Hyle do so many times. “Do you proposition the sister of your future empress on the night of her betrothal?”

Thadred smirked. It was a lopsided, careless expression that said he had done this before. “The archduke has said not to let you get away.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Come. He wants to meet you.” Thadred took her by the arm, the two guards flanking them.

Amira watched Thadred’s limping gait and the rhythmic tapping of his cane. She could have kicked out his cane from under him and driven her knee into his face before he could counter her attack. Even with a dress.

But not now. Not here.

In front of these many witnesses and with the protection of the imperial seal, Thadred was safe and knew it. Not to mention King Hyle’s command still holding her back.

Thadred dragged her to the edge of the banquet hall as the servants brought out cushioned chairs for the king, queen, Fonra, and the archduke.

The archduke faced the tight press of well-wishers and sycophants and Amira could have sworn that he kept glancing in her direction. Not Thadred’s—hers.

The assassin who had burned his face, wrecked his tent, and stolen one of his horses. Well, his cousin’s horse, apparently.

“People will start to notice,” Amira said, trying to tug her arm free of Thadred’s. He didn’t budge.

“They’ve already noticed,” came his flat reply.

Indeed, a couple of courtiers, after having their fill of stares at their future emperor, now stared at his doubleted cousin with the king’s Istovari spawn in the corner.

“Do you plan to keep me here all night?” Amira demanded.

“Daindreth wants to meet you.”

Daindreth—just Daindreth. No title, no honorific. He called his cousin by his first name as if they were nothing but logmen or silverdust sellers.

“Why me?”

“He fancies women who shun him,” Thadred said flippantly.

“He is betrothed to my sister,” Amira countered, letting a hint of outrage color her tone.

“My mother was betrothed to a Kelethian count but that didn’t stop her.”

Amira smacked Thadred’s arm. It was a perfectly ladylike response to his vulgarity, but her curse didn’t see it that way.

Her throat constricted and she couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded in her ears and her face stretched tight. She doubled over, going down behind a row of skirts and polished boots and nearly taking Thadred with her.

Thadred released her and stepped back, cane between them like a weapon.

Amira braced her hands on the polished stone, buffed to a light shine. Her throat released over several heartbeats and she took a moment to catch her breath.

Several heads turned in her direction. Amira schooled her expression into one of cool annoyance, as if she had merely stumbled. She clenched her jaw and stood again, arms locked rigidly into repose. Lucky for her, the guests were too preoccupied with the archduke to concern themselves with her. Thadred didn’t reach down to help her, probably suspecting some trick. It was wise of him.

She found her father’s back in the crowd through the cords of beads over her eyes and glared, wishing that she could spout hellfire out her eyes as Daindreth did. Hatred welled up inside her—hot and viscous as molten basalt.

She felt eyes on her. Her episode and the knight’s interest tonight would make her the talk of the palace gossips for a week.

“What was that?” Thadred studied her out the corner of his eye.

Amira knew he suspected something, but couldn’t guess what. He knew she was a sorceress, so he might reasonably assume it had to do with magic. But he probably wouldn’t recognize her as a Kadra’han, would he? Rumor had it that the imperial family had a number of Kadra’han, but there would be no reason to suspect King Hyle had one.

In a slightly less hostile tone, he asked, “Are you well?”

“Delightful,” Amira snapped. “I choke to death all the time.”

A little twinge in her throat warned her not to get too cheeky. Her father had commanded her not to reveal the details of her curse and she needed to be careful.

“Do you now?”

“Never mind.” The assassin straightened her chin, noticing the servants had finished setting the table across the chamber and the lowest ranking nobles were being served first.

In Hylendale, as in all the empire, guests were served with the lowest ranking being fed first and the highest ranking served last. The crowd around Daindreth thinned as the minor nobles rushed to fetch their plates. The archduke and his men couldn’t be served until they had, and it would be unseemly to make them wait.

“Come.” Thadred hooked his arm through hers again, locking her right arm against his ribs.

Amira had no choice but to let him lead her straight past the fawning nobles, retainers, and the shocked face of Queen Hyle to stand in front of the archduke. Amira didn’t meet the gaze of King Hyle.

Neither king nor queen at Daindreth’s side spoke, breaking etiquette in shock or fury, Amira wasn’t sure. When neither of them made to introduce the red-headed stepchild, Thadred took the initiative.

Thadred bowed and Amira dropped into a curtsy. “Dear cousin,” the knight said. “May I introduce Lady Amira, your future sister in law.”

Daindreth stepped down from the dais to stand in front of the assassin. She kept her eyes down, hooded by her veil.

“My lord.” There was a warning in Thadred’s voice, and he tugged Amira back ever so slightly. He didn’t want to risk her attempting another assassination.

“Lady Amira.” Daindreth caught her free hand, her other locked securely under Thadred’s arm, the archduke’s guards within easy reach. She dared look up to find him studying her. “There you are.” He bowed over her hand and his lips brushed her knuckles.

It was a harmless gesture, a formality. Amira’s hands had been kissed by more men than she could remember, but this one sent heat tingling through her arm and up her shoulder. He never once broke eye contact, studying her every second.

A coldness gripped her gut as she remembered a voice so different from the one that spoke now, those eyes blazing with hell and hatred.

This man had a steady, inviting voice made for rallying armies and placating vassals. Deep brown eyes that beckoned for trust. He moved, spoke, and even breathed like a creature sculpted for a throne. Amira would have never suspected what lay beneath the well-bred exterior.

“Your Imperial Highness.”

Daindreth stared at her like she was some new specimen in a laboratorium, like the spruce finches and stilt foxes. “I...” He cleared his throat. This man who had greeted no less than two hundred courtiers without barely pausing for breath seemed speechless.

The archduke and his would-be assassin faced one another down, the hunter and the quarry. As to which was which, Amira couldn’t have said. He knew it was her, she realized. Somehow, he knew.

She didn’t dare look to her father. She expected him to issue a command at any moment, but he didn’t even move.

“I’m pleased to see you in good health, my lord,” she said. How had he recognized her across the room? That was what she wanted to know.

“And you,” Daindreth said. Was that him keeping with courtly etiquette or did she sense sincerity in the words?

“I hope you will find your stay in Lashera pleasant.”

“It’s had its surprises,” Daindreth said. “But I am most pleased thus far.” He swept his gaze up and down the length of her. He hadn’t looked at Fonra like that. Amira hadn’t seen him look at any of the other women like that. “You’re very beautiful, Lady Amira.”

Queen Hyle squawked faintly from the dais and even Thadred shot his cousin a quizzical look.

Amira almost choked. Her heart beat faster and heat crept up her cheeks. “Thank you, Your Highness,” she stammered. She couldn’t return the compliment, not when she knew he wasn’t entirely human. Not when she knew his princely beauty masked a beast.

He still didn’t release her hand. Her fingers went clammy and he still held onto her.

Behind them the queue of nobles had thinned, but several dozen still waited their turn to court the empire’s favor. Their manicured faces watched the archduke and Amira with both scowls and wide eyes—impatience warring with morbid fascination.

“I don’t wish to take up too much of your time, my lord.”

Daindreth studied her still, as if he dreaded letting her go, but wasn’t sure how to make her stay. “Will you be joining us to watch the bride’s dance?”

By us, Amira presumed he meant himself, his retainers, and the royal couple.

King Hyle cleared his throat, sparing Amira the need to answer. “Amira is among our most accomplished dancers, but she was recently ill and still recovering. In truth, I believe you should retire soon, my dear. You look pale.”

Daindreth’s hand tightened on hers, almost in a death grip, but then loosened in an instant. It was as if she’d imagined it.

“I hope you won’t go far, my lady.”

Amira resisted the urge to shudder. “The palace is large, but not so large as to become lost,” she replied, making a flippant attempt at humor.

“Even if you did become lost,” Daindreth said, voice soft and pensive, “I think I could find you anywhere.”

“That sounds like a threat, Your Highness.”

“Not a threat,” Daindreth interjected. “Let there be no threats between us, Lady Amira.” He inclined his head slightly, placating.

Amira didn’t know how to reply. A part of her, some shameful part deep in her core, was intrigued. He fascinated her, this monster in a man’s skin. Perhaps because, in her own way, she was a monster, too.

He was her enemy. She was sure of that. But he played at peace very well.

“You do look pale, my dear,” the king said, stepping up between the archduke and the assassin, gaze flitting between them nervously. “Return to your chambers and rest now.”

A command.

“Pardon me, Your Highness.” Amira extricated herself from the archduke and his cousin as carefully as she could, backing away. A sense of leaving something behind struck her instantly. She hated abandoning Fonra with that, but Daindreth fascinated her. She had more questions now than ever.

But her father’s commands couldn’t be ignored.

Heart racing, she turned, forgetting to bow, and headed in the direction of her chambers. She expected Daindreth or Thadred to order his guards to stop her, but he let her go.

Amira left the feast, but she felt the archduke’s gaze follow her. She glanced back once, half-expecting to see the demon’s flaming red eyes. But instead she saw only the archduke, watching her like a man bewitched as she slipped out of the room.

.

Chapter Four

Smitten

Amira thought she would be sick. It was like seeing a hawk rip a dove out of the air. She was helpless to do anything but watch.

After more than a week, it was finally time to sign the contract that would ensure Hylendale’s future and Fonra’s doom. Everyone who was anyone in the fiefdom or in the archduke’s retinue was clustered in the large gallery.

With her eyes veiled by a strand of gold beads, Amira stood to the back of the room dressed in black silk that had also been gifted from Cromwell.

She knew the faces of most the people in the room, if not their names. There were the king and queen, her stepmother’s retainers, Cromwell, Lord Marshall Bardarau, and at least fifty minor nobles who belonged to the king’s personal staff.

Fonra stood beside her mother. She wore a blue dress today, one that brought out her eyes. Her pale hair fell in ringlets around her neck that seemed so delicate. Amira kept imagining how easily her sister’s neck would snap.

She’d tried to tell her sister to do anything to avoid this—run away, if necessary. But Fonra was determined not to jeopardize the kingdom’s standing within the empire. She was willing to suffer to protect their homeland, but Amira doubted any of them knew just how much that demon’s bride would suffer.

At what point did it go too far? At what point was a sacrifice too costly?

The goddess Eponine had a sister, Moreyne, the goddess of pacts and bargains, the Goddess of the Second Moon. It was said that a bargain with Moreyne would always give you what you wanted, but at the highest price possible. In the legends, many had tried to outwit and fool Moreyne into taking the lesser portion of a deal, but none had ever succeeded.

This reminded Amira of that. King Hyle was trading everything in exchange for the slimmest hope of security. It was a bad bargain if ever there was one.

Daindreth and her father sat across from one another at the head of a long table, flanked by retainers. Two guards and Thadred waited on either side of Daindreth.

Three attendants Amira took to be Daindreth’s lawyers finished examining a scrolled document as long as Amira’s leg. By law, all documents bearing the imperial seal must be one continuous scroll to discourage post-script revisions.

The lawyers laid the document out before the archduke with a nod. The chatter in the room lessened as the archduke and the king both looked it over one last time.

Fonra was to take with her fifty thousand gold ducats, one hundred pureblooded Astergold horses, one thousand pine saplings for the imperial forests, and no less than fifty-six spellbooks and eighteen trunks of Istovari relics, baubles, and sorcerous paraphernalia.

The Istovari effects had been left behind by Amira’s mother and her mother’s people when they had been forced to flee. The items were Amira’s by all rights, but that hardly mattered to the state. King Hyle would give the empire whatever they wanted whether it was his to give or not.

It wasn’t as if they would do her any good anyway. After Amira had mastered the dreadspell, her father had gotten nervous and locked the books away. He wanted her powerful and effective, but not too powerful or effective, lest he find an early grave. The books were as much out of her reach here as they would be in Mynadra or anywhere else.

King Hyle looked to Cromwell, who inclined his head. At the lawyer’s approval, the king scrawled his signature to the lower right side of the document. A page brought him a wax seal and a candle, melting enough of the wax onto the parchment for the king to stamp his signet ring into the red goop.

The king laid the document before the archduke. The younger man took it, eyes scanning the ink that spelled out the contract. There were trade agreements and dowry payment details, but it all amounted to one thing in the end. The king was signing away his daughter to a monster.

Amira hated her father in that moment. Was the greater good so good that it was worth dooming an innocent girl?

Daindreth took the quill and ink offered by his own page. He kept reading the document. He looked to his lawyers.

The head lawyer, an austere woman with kohl-lined eyes, inclined her head once. Daindreth exhaled and set down his quill, leaving the document unsigned.

Fonra looked to her mother. Several people stirred around the room, but didn’t speak.

“Does everything appear in order, Your Highness?” King Hyle asked.

Daindreth took a deep breath. “You have shown me great hospitality, Your Majesty.” He smiled to his host. “I am truly touched by all that you have done to make my retinue and I feel welcome here.”

King Hyle bowed in turn. “It is a privilege, Your Highness. An honor, even.”

“You have given us all that we could ask as guests, as friends, even as family.”

Several surreptitious glances shot around the room. But still no one dared speak or interrupt him.

Amira held the repose posture, eyes darting beneath her beaded half veil. What trick was this? What ploy? Even Cromwell studied the archduke like the young man might call down hellfire at any moment.

“I look forward to being your family, Highness,” King Hyle said. He sounded sincere.

Daindreth smiled that polished smile that was as much armor as a knight’s cuirass. “As do I, Majesty. Yet...” The archduke exhaled. He looked to his lawyers once more.

The head lawyer nodded again.

Cromwell watched the exchange. There was a slight shift in his posture, a slight tilt to his head like a swordsman adjusting his grip. He’d been a soldier once and for just a moment, it showed.

“My lord.” Daindreth rose and the king rose with him. “Please.” Daindreth held up a hand.

Half the room gasped as Daindreth knelt before the king. Amira’s eyes bugged out, not believing what she was seeing.

King Hyle for once was at a loss and made to kneel as well, but the younger man raised his hand higher to stop him.

“You have already shown me more courtesy and generosity than I could have asked. But my heart compels me to beg still more of you.”

The king cleared his throat. “Anything, Your Highness.”

“I hesitate to ask in light of the great loyalty your house has shown my father and now me.” Daindreth stayed kneeling while the whole room gaped in stunned shock.

Fonra looked to Amira, but Amira had no answers. She had no more idea what was happening than her sister.

Only Daindreth’s lawyers and Thadred showed no surprise. Even his guards looked to one another as if someone else might have an explanation.

“Truly, Your Highness. I will give you anything you ask,” King Hyle assured him. “Please, tell me, my lord.” King Hyle looked to Cromwell, but the lawyer only shook his head once.

Even Cromwell was being caught unawares? That was a first.

The archduke kept his head down, letting off a slow breath. “You are too kind, Your Majesty. If you knew my request, I fear you would not be so eager to grant it.”

Amira clenched her jaw. The bastard was already getting her sister. What more did he want? Did he have to embarrass them all while he was at it?

“Tell me, please. And rise, Your Highness.”

Daindreth sighed. “I would ask for your lady daughter.”

The room sparked with barely muted whispers and sideways glances. Daindreth had already been promised Hyle’s daughter, what was he talking about?

“I am confused, Your Highness. Princess Fonra is yours with a motion of your pen,” said King Hyle.

It made no sense. There was no rationality to the request, but Amira understood. With a blinding, sickening clarity one instant before Daindreth’s next words, Amira knew what he would say.

Daindreth didn’t move, head still bowed. “It is your firstborn I would ask of you, my lord.”

Amira thought her knees might give out. The room spun and she was distantly aware of the shocked whispers and exclamations from every corner of the room before her father silenced them with a wave of his hand.

“My lord...” King Hyle cleared his throat. “My dear archduke, I do not understand.”

“I have been smitten with the Lady Amira since the moment our eyes met,” Daindreth said, voice rolling with a poet’s passionate timbre. “I cannot wed her sister while my heart belongs to her ladyship. My lawyers assure me there are no legal barriers. Our alliance and contract may proceed as intended. Only please allow me to wed your lady daughter.”

Amira’s cheeks burned with humiliation and rage. To not only seek his revenge on her, but to drag it in front of the whole court like the song of some third-rate, tavern minstrel?

Her fists clenched tighter. She kept her head slanted and the string of beads safely over her eyes.

The king didn’t refuse. Even if Daindreth had asked with a jerk of his wrist and a “I prefer that one,” he couldn’t have refused. With the archduke’s flowery words, bowing, and pageantry, King Hyle couldn’t deny Daindreth without fear of losing his head and having both daughters ripped from him for spite.

The empire wouldn’t even have to do it themselves. Ambitious nobles seeking favor with the imperial courts would gladly do as much without being asked.

“Lady Amira.” King Hyle held out his hand to where Amira stood across the room. “Come here.”

Amira moved toward her father without thinking, chest wound so tight it felt as if it might burst open at any second. Ka swirled around her and licked at her skin in invisible tendrils, ready and poised to fuel her spells. But she had no spell that could stop this, no incantation to save her now.

“My lord.” Amira curtsied before her king, slipping her hand into his. She was aware of Daindreth staring at her from the corner of her eye, lifting his head to take her in.

“Your Imperial Highness.” King Hyle knelt, far less easily than Daindreth had. His knees cracked and he had to shift some of his weight to Amira to make it to the ground, but he knelt on the floor before the archduke and Amira took the cue, sliding to her knees with her head bowed. Her black skirts spread around her like a pool of ink.

“There is no greater source of joy for me than to grant my sovereign the desire of his heart.” King Hyle raised Amira’s hand to the archduke.

The young man almost snatched her hand. Amira had to call on every ounce of discipline to keep from flinching.

King Hyle covered their joined hands with his own. “I gladly give her to you with my whole heart and sincerest blessing.”

Something yanked in that place at the hollow of her throat where her curse lived. Amira felt it snap and tighten, jerking her toward Daindreth like the cracking of a whip.

The archduke shot a glance to her, sharp as a hawk’s. He felt it, too.

Queen Hyle made a wheezing sound not unlike the early stages of asphyxiation. A vein throbbed in her pale forehead and one of her retainers touched her arm in concern. Rage flared the queen’s nostrils and she looked ready to claw out Amira’s eyes.

Fonra looked on, her face almost white and her eyes wide in fear. Only she seemed to realize that Amira was in trouble—terrible, terrible trouble.

“She is yours, my dear liege. And soon to be my dear son.” King Hyle released their hands and an attendant helped him to stand.

Daindreth clenched Amira’s hand, staring at her so intently she thought his eyes might burn right through her.

King Hyle was speaking again. “Amira, you shall love, serve, and honor your lord husband as you have loved, served, and honored me as your father.”

Amira frowned behind her beaded veil. The words were wrong. Something was off in her father’s voice or perhaps his tone. His words rang hollow, distant.

“Come, my love,” Daindreth said. “Let us put ink to our happiness.”

Daindreth rose. Amira waited for him to stand before letting him help her up from her knees, as courtesy demanded. He didn’t loosen his grip for a second. Did he fear she might escape? Her father had guaranteed there would be no escape.

The document that sealed the contract between Hylendale and the empire splayed across the table. There were a hundred clauses and at least a dozen subsections, cramped and writhing together like so many black worms.

Amira thought she might vomit as her name was etched in the space beside Daindreth’s, to the right of her father’s. The archduke flicked his signature across the page. The king’s servant dripped hot wax beside the archduke’s mark and Daindreth affixed his seal.

The whole time, his grip on her hand never loosened.

Grateful—she should be grateful. Fonra was safe, but...what did Daindreth want with her? He knew Amira had been the assassin from that night. Why go through this?

If he knew King Hyle had been plotting against him, he could leave, have the army deal with the Hyles, and be done with it.

“Sign, Amira,” King’s Hyle’s voice hardened.

She blinked, realizing he had spoken more than once. She’d ignored his command, disobeyed him, and nothing had happened.

No. No, it couldn’t be...

Stupid man. Stupid, stupid man. Didn’t he know the power of words?

“Here.” Daindreth passed her his quill, freeing her right hand and shifting to let her better access to the parchment. “Sign it, my lady.” His tone was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it hit her like a punch to the throat.

She signed Amira Brindonu with a shaking hand. Her mother’s surname, Amira’s Istovari name, sprawled beside Daindreth’s.

As the ink dried, Daindreth studied his bride-to-be from head to foot as one would inspect a new set of wine goblets fresh from the silversmiths.

Thadred nodded to him and the trio of lawyers seemed to breathe a little easier.

Queen Hyle whispered so fiercely in King Hyle’s ear that she might have been spitting.

Courtiers looked to one another in shock, all of them gaping at Amira.

She hated them all for it.

♦♦♦

Amira could see the storm brewing in Queen Hyle’s face and braced herself for the barrage. She didn’t have to wait long. After the meeting was dismissed and Amira, Fonra, and Queen Hyle were cloistered back in Fonra’s rooms, the queen barely waited for the door to be shut before she was whirling on her stepdaughter with the fury of a monsoon.

“You bitch!” Queen Hyle shrieked. “You whore!”

Amira stood with her back straight and head angled down, not moving.

“You charmed him into choosing you, didn’t you?”

Amira shot a glance to Fonra from the corner of her eye. Her sister wrung an embroidered kerchief in her lily-white hands, looking between Queen Hyle and Amira like she might burst into tears at any moment.

“My Lady Mother, I—”

“Silence!” The word was addressed to Fonra, but Queen Hyle never took her attention off Amira. “Did you cast a spell on him?”

Amira smothered the snort of laughter that formed in her throat.

There was no spell, enchantment, potion, or curse that could force someone to think or feel something that didn’t originate in their own soul. Even Amira’s curse didn’t control her mind, strictly speaking, it just imposed a physical consequence.

Fonra’s handmaidens and ladies in waiting scuttled around them, folding linens, packing dresses, and arranging box after box of jewelry on the floor. It had all been Fonra’s trousseau, but King Hyle now had them scrambling to find a wardrobe for Amira.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You placed a spell on him. Remove it! Remove it right now and return the archduke to his senses!” Queen Hyle marched straight for Amira and stood flush against her, but Amira didn’t retreat.

The assassin kept her head down but indulged in a snort of laughter. “Try not to be an idiot.”

Queen Hyle’s left hand swung, her ring slicing across Amira’s cheek and knocking her head back. It was a pitiful blow compared to some she had taken, but enough to make her vision wash black. The beads of her veil flapped from the impact.

Her cheek stung, something hot slid down her jaw, and Amira realized the queen had drawn blood.

“Fix this!” Queen Hyle shrieked. “Fix this, you scheming bitch, or I will see to it that your whore of a mother never sees another spring.”

Amira looked up between the strands of her veil. It was an empty threat. No one had been able to get through the Cursewood in years. The Istovari sorceresses might not even be alive by now. No one had heard from them since they’d lost the Battle of the Tower.

“You’re using whatever wiles your mother used to ensnare the king. You have to be!” Queen Hyle fumed. She grabbed the edge of Amira’s veil and ripped it off.

It tore painfully free of its pins in her hair. Amira’s eyes watered, but she still didn’t move.

“Are you that greedy? Are you that set on usurping Fonra?” Queen Hyle demanded. “It’s no surprise, I suppose. I hear your mother was quite the whore, so it’s no surprise you take after her.”

Amira shook. If only this stupid, selfish woman knew the truth.

Misinterpreting Amira’s trembling, Queen Hyle pressed closer. “But don’t think for a second you can get away with this. If you think I will let you snatch away my daughter’s future—”

Queen Hyle reached for Amira’s hair with a clawed hand. Nearly twenty years of curses, insults, beatings, and cold nights spent locked in the wine cellar came bursting out in an instant.

Amira grabbed the queen’s wrist and snapped it back. She felt the queen’s bones break and it was the most satisfying sensation Amira had experienced in a long time.

She grabbed the back of the queen’s hair. Yanking the queen forward, she jerked her knee up to meet the queen’s face. A crack rang through the room and someone screamed.

One handmaiden grabbed Amira’s shoulder to pull Amira off, but the assassin snapped her elbow into the girl’s nose.

“I’ll kill you!” Amira roared, snatching up a stool from in front of Fonra’s vanity. “I’ll kill you, you bitch!”

Amira brought the stool down on Queen Hyle and the woman hit the floor. The queen doubled over her broken wrist, crying and blubbering.

The stitches on Amira’s own ribs throbbed, and her blows weren’t as hard or fast as they might have been, but there was enough wrath in her to make the stool a weapon. She brought it down again and again, smacking the queen’s back, sides, head, anything she could get at. Blood spattered the carpet and one of the stool’s legs snapped off.

“Amira, stop! Please!” Fonra’s voice sliced through Amira’s torrent of rage. “Stop, Amira. Please, please, please.” Fonra grabbed Amira’s arm, tugging her back.

Amira almost punched her sister, too, but stopped herself.

“Just let her go. Please let her go.” Fonra was crying, pressing her face into Amira’s shoulder. “She deserves it, but let her go. Please. Please.”

The assassin dropped the stool and her younger sister embraced her, sobs wracking Fonra’s slim frame.

Guards spilled into the room on the heels of a panicked lady’s maid. The servant must have run off to fetch them the moment Amira snapped. The armored men surveyed the scene, Queen Hyle broken and bleeding on the floor.

“He’s going to kill me, Fonra,” Amira whispered, not returning her sister’s embrace. “If I’m lucky, it will be quick.”

“Father won’t kill you,” Fonra said, shaking her head through her tears.

“Not the king,” Amira said as the guards stepped forward with their spears clenched tight, barking at her to come with them. “The archduke.”

Fonra blinked at her through a fog of tears. “What do you mean?”

Amira shook her head. “When I—”

“Step away from the princess, your ladyship.” The guard’s command was stern, calm.

Amira didn’t move.

“Take her into custody!” Queen Hyle spat blood on the floor, her ladies crowded around her like cooing mother hens. “Lock her up at once.”

Fonra stepped in front of Amira. “No!”

Amira rallied herself, straightening and donning that same air of self-righteous arrogance that had served her stepmother so well. “I am betrothed to your future emperor. You lay a hand on me at your own—”

Amira sensed the swirl of ka charging down the hallway and stiffened. Never mind. Too late.

The doors to the apartment burst open and the king filled the doorway with his servants, retainers, guards, and the ever-present Cromwell at his side.

King Hyle took in the scene with surprising composure. His wife huddled to one side, beaten bloody and doubled over with her wrist twisted at a grotesque angle. Amira’s face bled freely and Fonra stood between her mother and sister like a lost child.

“She attacked me!” Queen Hyle shrieked, blood dripping down her jaw to stain her mauve gown. “She said she was going to kill me!”

A chorus of voices chattered around the room in agreement while Fonra tried in vain to say it was all a misunderstanding. Stupid girl. Still trying to protect everyone without taking sides.

Neutrality was a coward’s defense. For the first time in a long time, Amira wanted to strike her sister, too.

“Amira, get away from the queen,” King Hyle ordered.

He would find out soon, but she needed to pretend he still commanded her curse for as long as possible. Amira took a step back as the guards closed in. She could fight them, break free. She might be able to make it to her father before any of them could stop her and then...

Then what?

Amira didn’t think she actually wanted to kill him, just...

The guards didn’t touch her, but they herded her back, safely away from her stepmother. The king marched to stand in front of Amira.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Amira blinked straight at him. “Speak to your wife.”

“She attacked me, I told you!”

“Impossible,” King Hyle said, flatly confidently. A cold feeling settled in the pit of Amira’s stomach. “Amira, what happened? Tell me.”

The assassin raised her chin. What could he do to her? She was betrothed to the archduke. He wouldn’t risk damaging the goods Daindreth had so eloquently requested.

“Nothing, Your Majesty.” Amira didn’t quite smile, but her tone was light. “Disagreement, is all.”

“She said she was going to kill me. She tried to kill me.”

“Impossible,” King Hyle clipped back. He’d ordered Amira against it years ago, a command that had slipped into the cracks of her mind, but would still have prevented her from attacking her stepmother. At least, it should have. “Amira, you will—”

The assassin tensed at the sound of fast-approaching bootsteps careening down the hallway. She looked to the door a heartbeat before it burst open. Daindreth stumbled into the room, his hair sticking out at odd ends. His doublet was missing two buttons and his sleeve was torn.

What had happened to the composed man from a few hours ago? The genteel prince who had knelt before her father? Imperial guards scrambled to get in front of the disheveled archduke and Thadred’s voice shouted from somewhere in the distance, unable to keep up with that limp.

“Lady Amira.” Daindreth stumbled to a stop. “What happened? Are you alright?”

The assassin stiffened as he crossed the threshold. His eyes were bloodshot, but very much human as he surveyed the cut on her cheek, her torn dress, the shattered vase, the broken stool, and her battered stepmother.

The archduke seemed oblivious to the Hyle guards as he reached for her.

King Hyle took a step back, bowing to the archduke. “Forgive our domestic dispute, Your Imperial Highness,” he said. “My family and I regret to have disturbed you. We shall—”

“Quiet,” Daindreth said, distracted. He took Amira’s chin in his hand, tilting her head back. He grimaced, then looked to Queen Hyle. He faced Amira again and his face turned hard. “Who struck first?”

Amira didn’t answer, averting her eyes.

Of all the people in the room, it was Fonra—toxically neutral Fonra—who spoke. “My queen mother lost her temper, my lord.” Fonra dropped into the lowest, most graceful curtsy Amira had ever seen, almost melting to the floor in a puddle of skirts. “She is not herself. She did not mean to attack your bride and my dear sister.”

Daindreth glanced at Queen Hyle, spitting blood into a kerchief behind several maids. “You know how to defend yourself, Lady Amira.”

Again, the king tried to take control of the situation. “My lord, we apologize for disturbing your rest. I shall see to it—”

“Lady Amira is coming with me.” Daindreth still touched her chin. He frowned at something on the far wall, looking past her. “I want her moved to the guest quarters beside mine.”

King Hyle looked to someone behind the archduke Amira couldn’t see, but it was probably Cromwell. “My lord, Lady Amira is still my responsibility. It shames me to have her removed from my care prematurely.”

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” Daindreth said. The words were almost a threat. His grip tightened on her chin and she stared straight ahead. “She will be under watch by my soldiers from now on.”

The archduke’s hand caught hers. Even with blood dripping down her cheek and a bruise throbbing along her jaw, she held her head high. She hadn’t bowed for her stepmother and she wouldn’t grovel for this man whether he was an archduke or an archdemon.

Amira wondered if she was being taken to her execution as Daindreth led her out of the apartments she’d lived in her whole life and to his own quarters.

Chapter Five

Bargain

Daindreth was quiet on the walk back to his assigned apartments. He kept his grip on Amira’s arm and kept staring straight ahead. They met Thadred halfway to the guest quarters, the knight leaning on his cane with a scowl one should never aim at an archduke.

At the sight of Amira’s bloody face, Thadred’s brows rose. “Got into a spat, did she?”

The assassin kept her expression blank.

“She’ll be taking your room,” Daindreth said.

Thadred bristled. “You just decided that, did you?”

“You can share mine,” Daindreth said. “The servants can move your things.”

“Perhaps—”

“Now, Thadred.” At the command in the archduke’s voice, Thadred turned with a huff to find the servants.

The archduke shuffled Amira through the double doors to what she recognized as the finest guest quarters the palace had to offer. Gilded edges and white lacquer panels framed the entrance, opening into a spacious foyer and receiving room. Amira doubted it was up to the standards of Mynadra’s palace, but it was the best one could hope to find in the north.

They continued into the private sitting room off the foyer, plush carpets and embroidered couches filling the space between the walls, hung with tapestries depicting hunt scenes and stories of Istovar’s defeats.

Amira studied the tapestry nearest the window that spanned one side of the room. The embroidered scene showed the Istovari sorceresses kneeling in pools of blood as the armies of Hylendale joined those of the empire to drive them back.

The assassin clenched her jaw. Queen Hyle had most likely chosen that to decorate the archduke’s room. The woman would have wanted no doubt as to where the kingdom’s loyalties laid.

“Sit.” Daindreth showed her to one of the couches and she obeyed, not waiting to see if her curse would force it.

She held herself as upright as she could, her ribs throbbing. Her last dose of willowbark tincture had been three hours ago and the pain would return soon.

“Gods, I need a drink.” The archduke called to a page and the boy came scurrying to open the cupboard near the door at the far end of the room.

Through the open door, Amira glimpsed a sprawling four-poster bed with a velvet coverlet. She gulped heavily without meaning to, a sick sensation settling deep in her gut.

“Bran, shut the bedroom door,” the archduke said.

The boy obeyed before bringing a carafe of some golden liquid and two crystal tumblers. He set them down on the low table before the archduke, pouring a knuckle’s measure into either glass.

Daindreth settled himself on the couch across from Amira, tumbler in hand. “I will make a bargain with you.”

The assassin tilted her head to one side. “A bargain?”

“Answer for an answer.”

Amira studied him. He wanted something. The trick would be finding out what.

Without waiting for her to respond, he continued. “Who struck first? You or the queen?”

Amira was a little surprised he chose that to start. She inhaled. “I did.”

Daindreth glanced to the cut on her cheek and the welt forming on her temple. “If you’d struck first, your stepmother would never have had the chance to strike back.”

Amira looked away, turning her bruised cheek away from him.

“You’re too good for that.”

The assassin inhaled slowly, hands remaining neatly folded in her lap.

“Taylan.” Daindreth called to a servant from the next room. “Bring me one of your salves.” He gestured to Amira.

A flutter of movement and the patter of steps announced the servant leaving to obey.

Men marched into the apartment and out, carrying boxes and trunks. Thadred cursed from the hallway. Apparently, Daindreth’s order was already being obeyed. Amira would be taking the adjoining room.

“Your turn,” Daindreth said.

It took Amira a moment to realize he was giving her the opportunity to ask a question. “Why did you want me?”

“Your family situation seemed to be out of hand.”

“You know what I meant. Why did you...” She shifted. “Why did you want me instead of Fonra?”

Daindreth was quiet for a long moment. A frown settled between his brows. “You are a shield,” he said at last.

“A shield?” A dagger seemed more accurate. “A shield from what?”

“My turn.” Daindreth crossed his legs, one ankle resting on his opposite knee.

The servant, Taylan, returned with a jar of thick white, minty ointment. He removed the large cork and offered it to the archduke, but the archduke gestured to Amira.

The assassin took the jar, realizing the old man was the same one who had been in the archduke’s tent that night. At the archduke’s prompting, she applied a thin smear of the pungent mixture to her cheek and temple.

“Why did you try to kill me?” Daindreth asked.

“What do you mean?” Amira parried his question.

“That night last week.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“It was you.” Daindreth showed no trace of the anger she had expected. “You came into my tent. We fought.” He tipped his head and raised his drink toward her. “You fought well. Where did you train?”

The assassin dug her nails into the grooves along the ointment jar’s rim, not replying.

“You’re mistaken,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t lie to me, Amira,” the archduke said.

Amira closed her eyes as the command settled on her like a net on a bird. She hadn’t been sure, but now there was no denying it. Her father had given away control of his most prized possession. By accident, it seemed.

“I know it was you,” Daindreth insisted.

The assassin thought back to the night of the feast, how his eyes had found her in the dark across a crowded room. “What do you want from me?” she asked softly. He had ordered her not to lie, but he hadn’t ordered her to answer.

“I want to know what you did to me that night. With your blood.”

King Hyle had ordered Amira to assassinate the archduke—the highest form of treason imaginable. If she confessed to that, not only would she be dead, but her father and possibly Fonra and Queen Hyle would go to the headsman, too.

While Amira didn’t particularly care for Queen Hyle, Fonra was the only innocent member of their family. Even Amira’s mother had more than enough blood on her hands to deserve death.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Amira,” Daindreth said. As if reading her thoughts, he added, “If I can help it, I won’t harm your family, either.”

If he could help it?

The assassin shook her head. “I don’t know what you want. Or even what you are. But if I’m about to die, my last act won’t be selling out my family.”

“Protecting them?” Daindreth arched one eyebrow as his gaze drifted to the cuts on her face. “They don’t seem too concerned with protecting you.”

Amira raised her chin and didn’t answer.

Daindreth took a swig from his tumbler, watching as the servants brought in another box with lace cravats falling out the side. Thadred had more taste for fine clothes than his imperial cousin, it seemed.

The archduke pressed again. “What did you do to me that night?”

Amira set the jar of ointment on the table between. He knew it was her. At any moment he might order her to tell him and that might reveal her secret. She wanted to keep it hidden for as long as possible. “I panicked. I used my blood as a medium to channel ka in an offensive attack. I burned you.”

Daindreth’s breathing changed ever so slightly—excitement. “Can you make it permanent?”

The assassin wasn’t sure she heard that correctly. “What?”

“Can you make the effect last?”

Amira shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“You bound him. I want to know how.”

Amira shuddered at the memory. “That...thing?”

“Yes,” Daindreth said softly. “That thing.” He frowned a little as he studied her. “How did you do it?”

Amira swallowed. She rarely failed to mask her feelings, but she squirmed in her seat now. The thing that had shown itself through Daindreth was the manifestation of nightmares and ghost stories she’d have preferred to leave in her childhood.

Amira tugged at her sleeves, pulling them down over her wrists. She stalled, mind racing.

The archduke wasn’t acting like she’d expected. He knew she’d tried to kill him, but he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he’d made a huge show of asking to marry her and then intervened to protect her from her stepmother.

It made no sense and yet...

“What is that thing?” Amira asked quietly, not looking up from her lap. “What are you?”

Daindreth inhaled a slow breath. “Answer my question.” His tone was calm, but his hand shifted on his tumbler.

Amira asked her own question before the curse could prompt her. “Which one?”

“Can you bind him permanently?”

She had to answer honestly then. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I did.”

Daindreth stared at her as if he were debating whether to despair or rage. “Did you know about my curse?”

“No,” Amira answered. For once, she didn’t mind telling him the truth.

“Then why did you try to kill me?”

Amira locked her jaw. She tried to force out a story, a farce. She tried to say that she’d been taking revenge for the Istovari, that she had been working with a nationalist insurrection, but her jaw wouldn’t move.

“Answer me, Amira.” The command was firm, but soft. Yet it didn’t matter.

A command was a command as far as her curse was concerned.

“I had no choice!” Amira shouted her answer as the curse squeezed it out of her.

“Why not?”

Terror seized her. Not this. Please not this. She was freefalling toward revealing every secret that she had so carefully guarded her whole life and there was no way to stop it.

“You have nothing to lose,” Daindreth said. “I already know you’re guilty of treason. You might have been able to move against me without consequences in the forest, but the whole of the empire will come crashing down on your kingdom if anything happens to me in your father’s palace.”

Amira knew that well enough. It was just as her father had said.

“There have been no more attempts on my life since arriving in this palace, so I assume you or someone else doesn’t want that to happen.” The archduke shifted on the couch, leaning toward her just a bit. “I don’t care about that. You might not believe it, but I don’t want war and I don’t want revenge. I just want your help. And your honesty.”

Amira wanted to believe him. She did. He had a gentle voice and easy manner that lulled her into a sense of safety and a kind face she wanted to trust. But she couldn’t.

He was the imperial archduke. He knew she was guilty of treason. And he could have all of Hylendale wiped out with a single word to the Erymayan army.

“Tell me,” Daindreth insisted. Again, the words were soft, but they hit her like a hammer to the chest.

No, no, no—

Amira’s mouth was moving before she could stop herself. “I’m a Kadra’han and I was bound to my father and he ordered me to kill you.” The words ripped out of her in a single breath.

Daindreth blinked.

The guards behind her stirred, but the archduke held up a hand to keep them back.

“King Hyle? Why?”

“He knows,” Amira said, the words worming out her lips. “About...your condition. Whatever it is.”

Daindreth studied her like he might study a rabid dog. “Why are you telling me this? You didn’t want to talk a moment ago. If it’s true, you’re betraying your liege lord.”

“I’m bound to you now.” Amira wanted to weep at the words, but she forced back tears. “My father passed my leash to you with the betrothal vows, I think by accident. I have to obey you.”

Amira couldn’t fight back the single tear on her cheek at that. She hated herself and Daindreth and her father and the curse and the whole world in that moment.

“Prove it,” Daindreth said, a frown creasing his brow. “Tell me something you would never tell me unless you had no choice.”

“I was relieved.” Amira’s mouth was moving before she could even consider what was happening. “When I saw...it.”

“Relieved?”

She nodded. “Because I saw those red eyes and I thought that, finally, I’d been sent after someone I didn’t have to feel bad about killing.”

Daindreth’s nostrils flared, but if he was offended, he gave no other sign. “Tell me honestly—do you know what my curse is?”

“No.”

Daindreth grimaced. “What do you know?”

Amira wasn’t sure what she was going to say until she said it. “You’re like me.”

Daindreth studied her curiously. “Like you?”

Amira swallowed. Her damnable curse had her saying things she hadn’t even known were in her head. “They can dress you up,” Amira said, her voice feather-light. “Parade you around a ballroom. But you’re still a monster.”

Daindreth studied her closely, a shallow furrow at the center of his brow. “You think you are a monster, my lady?”

“I am what my curse made me,” Amira shot back.

“Then I suppose we are alike.” Daindreth studied her over the rim of his tumbler as he took another sip. “I believe you,” the archduke said softly. “It does answer many of my questions.”

And now that he knew the power he held over her, there was nothing he couldn’t make her do.

Amira fisted her hands in her skirts. “Don’t hurt her,” she found herself saying. “Fonra didn’t have any part in this.” The silence dragged on for a humiliating and torturous moment as she fought back tears. She’d given up hope for herself the moment Daindreth had said he wanted her, but Fonra...she might be soft and a coward in many ways, but she didn’t deserve the empire’s wrath.

“I have no intention of harming your sister,” Daindreth finally said. “But you are going to tell me everything you know about what your father is planning.”

Amira’s head sank lower.

“Is he still planning an assassination? Answer me honestly.”

“Not that I know of,” Amira answered. “He told me not to try again once you were here.”

“You wanted me dead?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want you to have Fonra.” Amira cursed. “What does it matter why?”

Daindreth studied the assassin closely, head to foot. After a moment, he said, “Lars, Corbin, take her to the adjoining guest room and keep her guarded. No one comes in or out.” The archduke looked to Amira. “You will stay in that room until Thadred or I come to fetch you. You will not attack me or anyone in my retinue and you will inform us at once if you sense we are in danger from any source. Are we clear?”

Amira glared up through her tears as his commands settled over her. The archduke must be accustomed to dealing with Kadra’han. Not even she could find a hole in his commands.

“Yes, Highness,” she hissed.

Thadred came in the morning to fetch her. His large ring was in place on his hand, safely guarding his ka from her use. Amira was sure she saw disappointment when he found her already waiting for him.

Amira might not have control over where they went or what they did, but if she could do anything on her own terms, she would. A handful of women from Daindreth’s retinue had helped her pack her belongings from her personal room. They’d been under guard the whole time, watched by Daindreth’s men. There had been very little to pack. Just a few dresses and sets of clothes. Amira didn’t have the vast wardrobe of a proper princess.

Amira bade a tearful farewell to her sister with most of the tears coming from Fonra. Thadred had looked away at the girl’s crying

The knight supervised her, waiting for Daindreth along with the rest of their many party members. Amira had no servants, but two of the women in Daindreth’s entourage—both wives of his officers—had been assigned as her servants. Or jailers. Either term seemed equally suitable.

By appearances, Taylan—who had turned out to be Daindreth’s valet—was no happier than Thadred. The old man now sat beside her on a towering grey gelding that paid a fine compliment to the man’s dour wardrobe.

On her other side, Thadred was aboard a sturdy dappled rouncey. For the most part, he refused to look at her and when he did, his mouth quirked as if he were about to make some snide remark.

The archduke emerged from the palace beside King Hyle. When Daindreth spotted her across the courtyard astride a small dun mare, she could have sworn his shoulders rounded, like he had let out a breath. He then turned and finished exchanging pleasantries with her father.

This departure was sudden, no matter how one looked at it. The archduke had originally been slated to stay three weeks to hold court and celebrate the engagement. From Fonra, Amira had learned that rumors claimed the archduke was either eager to finalize the nuptials and consummate his marriage or under the spell of an Istovari enchantment or both.

Amira watched him approach through the tight press of packhorses. His traveling cloak, high boots, and leather jerkin were a far cry from his courtly attire, yet he still wore them like an emperor. His servants and guards trailed after him like armored shadows.

Daindreth avoided looking at her directly, swinging up on board a white stallion decked out with the imperial colors. The horse pawed and snorted, eager to be off.

Around them men, women, horses, and mules were stomping, shifting, readying. Crowds of servants and nobles alike packed the edges of the courtyard and leaned out the windows overlooking the stables. A number of Hylendale guards served as a perimeter around the archduke’s people, keeping back the sightseers.

Amira was likely going to her death, but all the same, she didn’t feel sadness at the prospect of leaving. Though Amira had grown up with many of the faces that now gawked in her direction, she couldn’t imagine missing them. Only Fonra—sweet, soft, weeping Fonra—made Amira feel anything other than cold resignation.

Her sister stood beside Queen Hyle now, weeping. It probably looked like Fonra was crying for her own lost chance to be empress. Maybe she was. Fonra rarely talked about her dreams and ambitions. Perhaps the empire’s White Throne had been one of them.

Amira ignored Daindreth as he settled into his horse’s saddle. Her chances for escape would be best on the road. But even if she escaped, where would she go? Her mother’s people had left her to her curse a long time ago. For an imperial bride to disappear would be the worst shame the Fanduillion house could suffer. They would never allow her to go free, never. They would hunt her to the ends of the earth. Even if she hadn’t been guilty of treason and discovered Daindreth’s worst secret.

The palace gates opened, and the imperial procession moved out at a steady trot. A contingent of soldiers encircled the archduke and Amira beside him, their snorting horses eager to be off.

They rode out the castle gates, clomped across the drawbridge and made it onto the flat plain surrounding the castle.

She took stock of their numbers, noting a few faces of the knights and how heavily armed they were. Thadred cast her a dark look, noticing her observation. She faced the front again and stared past the helms of the knights riding before them.

They rode all morning, leaving Lashera to cheers and well wishes. Regardless of the stir caused by the archduke’s unexplained change of brides and his sudden departure, no one dared show anything less than love and loyalty.

Chapter Six

City of Emperors

Empress Vesha Fanduillion was loved across the empire for her generosity, wisdom, kindness, and beauty. People had a way of forgetting the heads that had rolled and the cities that had been burned when she rose to power after her husband’s death. No woman—and a foreigner at that—who held together her husband’s empire, and managed to keep control long after her son came of age, did so without a bit of iron in her bones and ice in her veins. Yet people seemed to overlook what the armies did in Vesha’s name so long as it kept the peace and maintained their prosperity.

Vesha was technically a usurper. She’d held onto the throne though Daindreth was years into manhood, but people were willing to overlook that, too, so long as she kept them fat and rich.

Since learning of Daindreth’s condition, Amira now had a better idea of why Vesha had chosen to keep power. All the same, she felt a growing dread building within her the closer they came to the imperial capital of Mynadra.

Daindreth hadn’t spoken of his mother or his curse in the days that followed their departure from Lashera. The closest he came was telling Amira who had sent a carriage that joined them several days from the city. Apparently, it was to ensure that the newly betrothed couple approached the capital in the proper splendor.

The carriage rattled along at a steady pace, pulled by the team of dappled grey geldings that moved at a high stepping trot. Amira studied the landscape outside the small glass window, ignoring Daindreth’s stare.

Daindreth continued to stare, glance away for a time, and then end up staring again.

They hadn’t been alone together since the night she’d tried to assassinate him in his tent. Always there had been at least Thadred or Taylan and one of the retinue’s women nearby and the guards within easy call.

Still. It was easy to forget what she had seen in that dark tent more than a fortnight ago. Daindreth was always polite. He often scintillated between painfully formal and tentatively informal. He never asked about her mother or the sorceresses outright, but the curiosity was there. Nor did he ask her about what she’d done for her father or where she had been trained as an assassin. And since commanding her that first night on the road not to harm any of his servants, guards, or retainers, he hadn’t given her an outright order.

She’d been sure he meant to make an example of her once they reached the city. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Amira finally stopped dodging Daindreth’s stare and met his gaze. He looked away almost immediately. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was shy.

“Is there something on your mind, Your Highness?” Amira asked, breaking the silence.

Daindreth inhaled, looking out the window. “Call me Daindreth.”

Amira stiffened as the command reached her. “As you wish, Daindreth.”

The archduke shot her a look and realized his mistake. “No, that’s not what I meant. You can call me what you want.”

Amira felt a slight tug as the command was dismissed.

“But I would prefer for you to call me Daindreth,” he said. “At least when we’re in private.”

Amira knotted her hands in her lap. “I don’t know what to make of you, Your Highness.”

Daindreth ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Amira. I don’t know what we are, but I don’t want us to be enemies.”

Amira looked away. “We’ve barely spoken for the past week. Why the sudden urgency?”

“It’s just...we’re about to reach the palace and things will change. They’ll be more complicated.”

Amira blinked at him. “To be fair, they’re already quite complicated.”

Daindreth laughed awkwardly. “You have a point there.”

As he squirmed in his seat like a schoolboy talking to a debutante, Amira realized she didn’t fear the archduke. The thing inside him, yes, but not the man himself.

“Do you trust me, Amira?”

Amira considered that for a moment. “I trust you as much as I trust myself.”

She often felt as if he was trying to win her over. It was silly, really. He was the archduke. He didn’t have to win anyone, his father had already won him everything some twenty years ago. It didn’t matter, either way.

Amira had already made up her mind. If it was what he wanted, she’d marry Daindreth. Let him bed her. Give him heirs. She wouldn’t even try to fight it. What was the point? He could order her into submission anyway and resistance would only put her family—more specifically Fonra—at risk.

“Will your children be like you?” Amira asked. She couldn’t quite bring herself to say our. “With your curse?”

Outside the window, the carriage passed the outlying towns and villages dotting the countryside surrounding Mynadra. Life in the towns came to a halt as the imperial party passed through. Spectators gathered along the road or squinted through windows to catch a glimpse of His Highness.

“Yes.” Daindreth looked back to her and there was a sadness in his eyes, perhaps even guilt. “At least the firstborn son, I think. This curse passed to me some time after my father died.”

Amira shifted. “Your father was cursed, too?” This was the first she’d heard of it. They hadn’t discussed Daindreth’s secret at all during their travel. At least not openly.

“He was,” Daindreth said. “I think it’s my bloodline.”

Amira pulled her sleeves further over her wrists. She wasn’t sure how to respond.

“If you can help me with this curse,” Daindreth cleared his throat, “we might be able to change that.”

Amira shook her head. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

The archduke didn’t try to make her speak again. He wore a black doublet and trousers that looked more befitting for a funeral than a homecoming. The way he kept shifting his weight, checking his cuffs, and glancing around, one might have thought he was a page on the way to his first ball.

Amira’s dress was the color of alabaster, no doubt a tribute to the imperial coat of arms. Beaded with pearls around the cuffs, collar, waist, and hem, Amira wore enough wealth in that moment to feed a village for a week. One of the officers’ wives had somehow managed to procure it in the roadside town where they’d stayed three nights ago.

They continued on in silence save for the rattling of the carriage and the clop of horse hooves around them. Daindreth toyed with his signet ring, the imperial seal flashing gold on his right hand.

“Why don’t you wear a ring like Thadred’s?” Amira asked.

“I wear a ring,” Daindreth countered. Gesturing to the imperial signet.

“No. I mean one that absorbs spells.” Amira saw no point in hiding that she knew.

“So you can tell what it does?” Daindreth evasively responded.

“Obviously,” Amira quipped back.

“It doesn’t work for me,” was all Daindreth said. “None of the soldiers, either.”

The carriage stopped before Amira could ask why. A knight leveled his horse with the side window. “Your Highness, we’ve reached the city gates. We should be reaching the palace within an hour.”

A muscle in Daindreth’s cheek tensed, but he nodded and said, “Very good.”

They rattled under the shadow of the gates and into the city. Though the air held a certain mustiness that belied their closeness to the sea, the streets were swept clean as a stable on Maying Day.

Their surroundings teemed with ka. The air itself seemed ready to burst with life in every form—human bodies packed together along the streets; swallows and ravens flitting overhead; dogs, cats, rats, and other rodents scuffling on the ground.

As they drew closer to the heart of the city and the palace, they passed grand libraries, universities, and theatres. There were numerous shrines and temples dedicated to the All, the Creation God and the King of the Heavens. Here was the only place where shrines to him were legal. The only place that the higher-ranking cardinals and bishops offered prayers to him. Outside the capital, only the lesser gods could be worshipped.

Amira attempted not to gawp. She had before been to places with these kinds of establishments, but none so grand, so lavish, so ornate. The city seemed to be the product of a thousand master architects and engineers, each trying to outdo the others. Spires, columns, and arches competed for space, height, breadth, and ornamentation. Several of the libraries boasted outer carvings so detailed, the stone appeared to be lace.

Mynadra was everything it was fabled to be and more.

A number of people—mostly women—pointed conspicuously to Amira, sitting in plain sight across from the archduke. She wished she could blend into the background, but in her white dress seated on bright blue cushions, that was not an option.

She didn’t doubt that word had already reached the capital of Daindreth’s trade—the sorceress’s scion in place of the highborn broodmare.

As soon as their carriage drew to a halt before the massive entrance to the palace, his strained outlook of serenity began to crack. Amira couldn’t help but notice a subtle deepening to the lines in his forehead and around his mouth.

Amira squinted up at the sheer walls of towering marble that rose above them, mounds of stone so high they hid the sun. Legend said the royal palace was built by gods for Adrigos Fanduillion, Daindreth’s distant ancestor. Amira had always scoffed at that, but now, in the shadow of the White Palace, it seemed impossible that men could build such a colossus.

Spires and towers punctuated the palace’s outline and glazed windows shone from the upper levels. The heavily guarded battlements blended into the rest of the palace with an understated elegance that made them a thing of beauty.

The gates swung open as booming trumpets announced the return of the Grand Archduke. Daindreth grimaced as the carriage horses were goaded onwards into a large gravel courtyard.

Once inside, the carriage trundled on. Daindreth sagged in his seat. Here there were still many who stopped and waved, though the archduke no longer tried to return their greetings.

Daindreth noticed she was staring at him and Amira studied the palace to avoid his gaze. The carriage squeezed through an archway and under a second gate, into the main keep of the palace. They pulled to a stop before a large stone archway with broad steps sweeping upwards. An obliging liveryman opened the carriage door, but Daindreth just sat there.

Taylan and several of the others had dismounted and now stood waiting to escort them inside. A large troupe of pages, footmen, and chambermaids in starched white uniforms bustled out of the stone arch. The servants fell into rows behind the soldiers, standing at attention before their lord.

Clearing his throat, Daindreth stepped out of the carriage and reached back a hand for her. Amira would have preferred not to touch the archduke with bare skin, but she could hardly shun him. She reluctantly slipped her hand into his.

The archduke held her fingers carefully, politely. Her skin tingled hot where he touched. He touched her easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Amira stepped out after him, taking care not to trip on the hem of her dress. Daindreth rested her hand on the crook of his arm. That brought her closer to his side, and she was a little surprised at how easily she fit against him. As if she had been intended to stand here and hadn’t been a last-minute substitution for Fonra.

A round of measured, cultivated cheers rose from the servants and the soldiers gathered outside. It occurred to Amira that this courtyard of lackeys and guards were catching their first glimpse of their future empress. Assuming Daindreth actually planned to marry her and Vesha actually planned to step down at some point.

If the outside of the palace was impressive, the inside was awe-inspiring. The archway led up into a broad hall, white enamel and gold inlay complementing one another in intricate designs. Crystal chandeliers flickered from the high domed ceiling like stars. Amira stared up at the carved scenes of orchards and satyrs. She had never been anywhere more beautiful, more luxurious.

Their footsteps rang in the spacious hall. Many grand arches led off to their left and right, but Daindreth marched straight ahead, the servants following dutifully after him, Amira close at his side. Under her hand, the muscles in his arm constricted.

She glanced to him, his unease strong enough to rattle through their bond. They were in his home, where he should be safer than anywhere in the world. What could distress him here?

Their retinue reached a landing hung with thick tapestries woven in scarlet and white, as if they had been painted in blood. On the tapestries were scenes of hunts, forests, and the gods speaking with unnamed kings, knowable only by their crowns.

“Your Imperial Highness,” a matronly, round woman met them, flanked by a small battalion of butlers, chamber maids, valets, and assorted staff. A large ring of keys jangled at the matron’s waist as she bowed, identifying her as the archduke’s key-keeper and manager of his household. “We’re honored to have you home, my lord, and welcome you.”

Daindreth inclined his head to the woman, seeming to look past her. “Thank you, Mistress Galidge. It’s good to be home.” He stepped a little to the side, taking Amira’s hand again. Raising their clasped hands, he turned to face the assassin. “May I present Lady Amira Brindonu, daughter of King Hyle, and my betrothed.”

Daindreth introduced her with flourish, like she was something to be proud of—but she flinched at the sound of her Istovari surname. Here in the palace, the seat of Fanduillion power and legacy, the name seemed almost sacrilegious.

Word must have been sent ahead, because not one of the servants batted an eye. With a practiced choreography, the key-keeper and her legion of servants bowed as one.

“We welcome you, Your Grace.”

Amira had not been called that in a long time. Not since her mother had been banished. Odd how it still felt right, like a glove that had kept its fit.

Amira returned the bow. “I already feel welcome, thank you.”

“Your rooms have been prepared, my lord,” the key-keeper, Mistress Galidge, said to the archduke. “Yours and your lady bride’s.” The key-keeper smiled a little, though there was a tightness to the expression that Amira couldn’t quite interpret. “Your imperial mother has asked that you see her at once. She awaits you in her solarium.”

“Very good.” Daindreth watched what seemed to be the wall behind the key-keeper, not really seeing the woman. “I will see Lady Amira to her rooms first.”

Mistress Galidge bowed at the waist, impressively graceful for one of her girth. “North wing, my lord. I will have one of the hall boys take you.”

Daindreth inclined his head in a short, chopped gesture.

The hall boy stepped forward, bowed, and Daindreth leapt to follow the boy, jerking Amira after him.

Daindreth started, glancing back to her like he’d forgotten she was there. “Forgive me, I...” He cleared his throat. “Are you ready?”

The assassin swallowed. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Daindreth inclined his head in embarrassment or perhaps apology before following the hall boy again, slower this time. They trekked through the palace after the boy for perhaps ten minutes before reaching the residential portions of the palace.

Amira tried not to stare as they wound their way through the imperial halls. She had seen wealth before, opulence. Hylendale was by no means a poor kingdom. And yet...

Black and white checkered tiles dotted the floor in a symmetrical pattern. White marble walls and pillars suspended domed ceilings that looked like vaults of clouds.

Lamp sconces nestled in the walls every few paces, enough to bathe these hallways in light come dark. Feather motifs decorated the base of the floors and pillars, the edges of the windows as well as the brass door handles and window hinges.

Their retinue reached a large set of doors into the north wing of the palace. Life size ravens of white marble perched on either side, milky eyes staring into space.

The apartment assigned Amira was ten times more luxurious than anything she had ever seen before, much less lived in. Gaping up at the elaborate gilt work of the high ceiling, it was difficult not to be impressed.

The whole of the entryway was done in blue and white, in keeping with Vesha’s banner colors. In the parlor, the couch cushions were done in aquamarine velvet.

A marble hearth, swept spotlessly white, commanded the space before the sitting chairs. Portraits of long dead nobles and laughing children adorned the walls. Through the opened door of the bedroom, Amira glimpsed a periwinkle canopy spanning a massive bed draped in a sapphire coverlet. Tapestries done in varying shades of blue with decorative white runes hung the walls. Part of a body length mirror shone from near what appeared to be the boudoir, stuffed full of gowns and dresses.

“This is where you will be staying.” Daindreth’s attendants waited in the hall as he ushered her through the door.

Amira silently nodded, far more awestruck than she would like him to know.

The rustle of fabric brought Amira’s attention to a slim girl with large eyes and shallow cheekbones. Her white dress marked her as a servant in the higher tiers. She lowered herself into a butter-smooth curtsy. “My name is Shasni. I’ve been assigned to serve you, milady.”

Amira sized the girl up, not yet sure what to make of her. Two younger servants in the light blue of chambermaids flanked Shasni.

“You must be very tired, milady.” Shasni never allowed the sweet smile to leave her lips. It was the same brand of requisite courtesy Amira had seen from barmaids and street vendors.

Amira glanced to Daindreth, but he was already shrugging her hand off.

“Don’t cause any trouble,” he grumbled.

Amira frowned at him. Did he really think she would attack servants?

Then again, why wouldn’t he? She was as much a monster as he was.

Daindreth retreated into the hall and a hall boy shut the door after him, but not before she glimpsed the two guards posted outside.

“Welcome to Mynadra, my lady,” Shasni said. “Those of us in the archduke’s staff are all determined to do everything we can to make you feel at home.”

Flattery. Flowery lies. It had to be. No matter how genuine the girl sounded.

“Thank you,” Amira said. Her words were brittle, flickering close to fear.

“When we heard the archduke’s carriage had arrived, we prepared your bath. We’re sure you will want to prepare for this evening.”

“This evening?”

“Her Imperial Majesty would like you and the archduke to dine with her.” Shasni ushered Amira toward the bedroom.

Amira had to admit that the idea of a bath was appealing. They had been on the road for over a week and the closest she had come to washing was splashing water on her face at a wayside inn.

Amira let Shasni and the junior handmaidens lead her into the bedchamber. Inside, it was even more spectacular than Amira had seen from the parlor. Golden cherubs beamed down from the ceiling, dancing amid painted clouds. Crystal prisms dangled from the lamps and gold brocade adorned the drapes of the floor to ceiling windows.

Shasni herded Amira into a spacious bathing chamber connected to the bedroom. A wall of steam burst free the moment the door was opened. Tiled in the same pristine white marble as the fireplace, it boasted a soaking tub that could have fit an auroch bull.

There were two spigots poised above the steaming tub and their gold handles shone with polishing. Though Amira had heard of running and heated water, in Hylendale a hot bath meant dragging the water from the well and heating it in a cauldron for an hour.

A milky white substance filled the tub, fresh sprigs of herbs floating on the surface. The rich odor of lavender and sandalwood wrapped Amira like a robe. She didn’t realize she had been staring until Shasni spoke.

“Would you like me to help you undress, milady?”

“What? Yes.” Her stitches had been removed by now, but her side was still bandaged and Amira was still sore and had trouble reaching the laces at the back of her gown. The assassin hesitated, stiffening as Shasni undid the knotted cords at her lower back.

How was she going to explain the scar? If words spread that she had a spear wound in her side...

“There is an elixir in the bath from the archduke’s own physician,” Shasni said, helping Amira first tug off the right sleeve and then her left. “It will help with your wound.”

The assassin shot Shasni a glare, flinching away. The other girl didn’t react with more than a sweet smile.

“The archduke sent word, my lady.”

What stories would spread from these servants? By morning, how many would know that their archduke’s intended had a spear wound?

The women who had attended her on the road had helped change her bandages and fetch her willowbark tinctures, but never once asked how she’d come by her injuries. These girls didn’t either, but Amira knew servants well enough to know that word would spread somehow.

Amira allowed the girls to help her out of her dress. Like everyone else Daindreth had ordered to attend her, they were far gentler than anyone in her father’s employ had ever been. They handled here with care—kindness, even. The same way Daindreth did.

One of the girls let off a soft gasp as Amira’s bare skin was exposed. Scars decorated her body in haphazard white lines. The assassin pretended not to notice as Shasni muttered a scolding to the girl and they helped Amira to the bath.

None of the girls made any other acknowledgement of her past or present injuries. They helped Amira remove the bandage around her ribs—now only covering a line of pink skin.

Amira sank into the tub and barely managed to restrain a sigh of pleasure. The warm water engulfed her like a dream. The milky white substance soaked the seam of where her stitches had been, soothing the cracked edges of her wound.

Out of habit, she searched the room for anything that could be used for a weapon, but aside from the towels and the soap, everything else was bolted into the stone. Even the silver soap dish was melted into the polished rock.

It was perhaps...what? Three hours after noon? Most nobles dined close to the seventh hour this time of year, so Amira expected she had two or three hours.

Her mind wandered in circles for a few minutes as she let the warm, milky water seep into her pores and loosen the dirt of weeks’ travel.

Daindreth most likely didn’t want her dead. He was going through too much trouble. The marriage contract, the secrecy, even this room.

Amira was no catch as far as alliances went. She could bring nothing to a marriage that Fonra wouldn’t have, and much less as the bastard daughter. The assassin had overheard one of Daindreth’s lawyers say the empress would most likely need to legitimize Amira by imperial decree for any marriage to be legal.

There was only one logical reason for Daindreth to want her. In truth, he’d admitted as much. He wanted help with his curse and for some reason thought marrying her was the only way to get it.

Amira shifted in the water at the memory of that thing—that creature, demon, or whatever it was.

Was it an Istovari curse? Amira didn’t know much about her mother’s people. She’d been but a child when the sorceresses had cursed whole swaths of land and been driven into the northern mountains. They’d poisoned an entire forest, now called the Cursewood. It remained uninhabitable to this day and no one who entered it was ever seen again.

Daindreth’s condition was far different, but a curse on an imperial archduke, especially Drystan’s son, sounded like something Amira’s mother would have done. Her grandmother, too.

The handmaidens helped Amira scrub the dirt from her skin. They cleared the grime off her body and moved on to her hair, working with efficiency, but gentleness. The girls massaged honey and lemon into her hair, scrubbing down to her scalp.

Amira closed her eyes, letting herself enjoy it despite everything. How long had it been since she’d had such a thorough bath? Years, at least.

The girls combed her hair free of tangles and then rinsed away the honey. One of them scrubbed between her toes while the other clipped her nails and massaged her hands with sweet-smelling oil.

Outside the bathing room, Shasni bustled around, rustling silk and opening and closing doors. Amira could only guess what she was doing.

When the girls had finished and it was time for her to leave the water, Amira was more than a little reluctant. If she was going to be kept in a gilded cage, she might as well find some enjoyment. Her handmaids wrapped her in a massive terrycloth towel and ushered her into her bedchamber.

Amira’s bare feet left prints on the thick rug. The girls proffered silken smallclothes and a soft blue dressing gown. The dressing gown was of the softest damask, shimmering luxuriously. The undergarments were starched clean and comprised of much more lace than Amira would have liked.

Shasni materialized almost the moment Amira belted on the dressing gown. The lady’s maid stepped out of a sizable boudoir filled nearly to bursting with sparkling gowns, jewels, and all the trappings of an imperial woman. It seemed Daindreth had ordered them to compensate for Amira’s lack of a trousseau.

The maid cast her a warm smile. “I think there are several here that would fit you magnificently. What do you think?” The girl held aloft a trio of lavish gowns.

One was pure gold with black brocade stitched into the bodice. The second was long and flowing and dyed the deepest purple Amira had ever seen. The third was blue velvet with silver stitching.

“They’re all beautiful.” Amira blinked at the three dresses. “I don’t think I’ve ever—” She cleared her throat. This wasn’t real, she reminded herself. Daindreth was using her. “I’m not sure which I prefer.”

Shasni glanced to the junior maids. “If you’d like to rest, we can wait a few hours to start getting ready, milady.”

“I’d like that, thank you.”

The two younger girls exited first. Shasni left with a curtsy after hanging the dresses back up, saying something about what time she would come back and a bell rope by the bed.

Once she was alone, Amira explored the layout of her apartment as if she would be drawing a map. From the bedroom she found that there were four doors—one to the boudoir, one to the bathing chamber, and two leading into the parlor. The foyer took up a large space to one side of the parlor, a domed ceiling over the entryway gave the illusion of a separate room while a crystal chandelier hung overhead, already glimmering with candlelight.

She memorized the number of steps across the parlor and across her bedchamber. She prodded at the furniture to make sure there was nothing hidden inside. She searched the chimneys of the two hearths—one in the parlor, the other in her bedchamber—and flipped through the bookshelves lining the far side of the parlor.

From the bedroom, Amira had a view of the imperial gardens. The maze of lawns, flower beads, and trees sprawled over a vast expanse, as though a master artist had brought a great work to life. Rows of neatly trimmed trees and bushes grew in tended lines. Fountains spurted into the square basins, splashing among the water lilies and bright orange shapes Amira thought to be koi.

Not more than two hundred paces away rose a pillar that narrowed before abruptly cutting off into a sharp point. The pillar was carved of white quartz, glinting in the sun like a polished bone. Squinting, Amira glimpsed fresh heather and sage strewn at the base. Capping the pillar was a pair of silver crescents bound back-to-back—the Second Moon.

A jolt went through Amira at the sight of it. A shrine to Moreyne, in Mynadra of all places? The goddess of pacts and bargains was purposefully omitted in most clerical ministrations. Not only was she seen as too dangerous, too mercenary. Many superstitions said that a shrine to Moreyne invited the attention of her children, the cythraul—demons of the Dread Marches in the underworld.

Amira added the shrine to her list of mysteries surrounding the archduke and his mother.

In the end, Shasni suggested the gold brocade dress and Amira consented, sliding into the rich fabric as the sun caressed the distant ocean. Amira perched on a stool in the boudoir as Shasni and the other two girls worked her hair into plaits. They dusted her eyes with gold powder and lined them with kohl before lightly staining her lips and cheeks with some sort of crimson dye.

Staring in the mirror, Amira barely recognized herself. The girl looking back at her was wearing the dress of a princess and all the trappings of a lady. That reflection wasn’t a sorceress’s daughter or a Kadra’han assassin. Amira could almost believe that perhaps, in another life, she might have made a fine archduchess.

Amira straightened at a knock at the door.

“One moment!” Shasni shouted through a mouthful of jewel-tipped hairpins. She shoved several more into Amira’s hair and retreated to the entryway, rushing like a summoned puppy.

Amira listened intently to Shasni’s voice in the other room. The words were unclear, but she sounded respectful, deferential. The girl came scurrying back, face flushed with excitement. “Come, my lady. Just a few more touches...”

Shasni clipped orders for the two younger girls to finish pinning up Amira’s last few curls and braids. They finished and took a moment to admire their work before bustling her out.

On butter-soft slippers, Amira lifted her skirts to step out of the boudoir and into the parlor. The brocade of her skirts glittered in the firelight.

Daindreth waited in the foyer, bathed, shaven, and looking especially archdukely. His tailored black dinner jacket was snug enough to hint at the toned fencer’s build beneath. Silver brocade wound over the velvet in whorling patterns and black huntsman’s boots rose to his knees. He carried a blackthorn cane capped with silver to match the ensemble.

A picture of masculine beauty.

If Amira had been anyone else, if she hadn’t fought that thing from several weeks ago, if she had been ignorant of the truth of him—she might have thought herself lucky.

Daindreth caught sight of her and went completely still. For a long moment, he made no movement except his eyes, appraising her from head to foot.

Amira heated under his stare, flutters of warmth spreading up from the pit of her stomach. She liked the way he looked at her, she realized. It frightened her how much she liked it.

He shifted his weight from one foot or the other and cleared his throat.

Amira wondered why he would be coming for her personally instead of sending a footman or Thadred as would be expected. Then again, Daindreth’s odd conduct was nothing new.

“Do you approve, Your Highness?” Shasni’s cheery tone cut through the awkward silence.

“I do,” Daindreth said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and beckoned her to him with one hand. “Come, Lady Amira.”

Amira stepped forward, taking care not to trip on the low hem of her dress as Daindreth hooked her arm through his. He had a woodsy, golden cologne with hits of honey and cinnamon. The archduke pulled her closer against him as they slipped out into the hall.

Two guards bearing halberds followed close behind, little more than hulking shadows in the dim candlelight of the hall. Daindreth led her through the hallway, distracted. The guards never strayed more than one or two paces back, but they were completely silent, save for the clank and rattle of their armor.

At night, the palace was full of shadows cast by the numerous pillars and arches. Despite the many lamps, it would have been an assassin’s haven if not for the guards at every other doorway and the way the sound echoed.

“Did Shasni and her girls treat you well?” Daindreth asked.

“Yes,” Amira answered. She had no complaints.

“How is your side?” Daindreth had taken to asking after her injury often enough on the road. He still sounded as if he cared.

“Still sore, but manageable,” Amira said. The potions in the bath had helped.

“I’m glad to hear it. If you need anything, Shasni can send for one of the palace physicians. They’re the best in the empire.”

Amira glanced to the guards, the only witnesses. “No matter how good your surgeons, I’ll still probably have a scar,” she said flatly. “It will be joining a collection, actually.” Amira had one on her knee from a nasty fall from a horse in her teens. Another sliced a pale line across her thigh from a bandit’s dagger. Not to mention several pale lines on her inner elbows—those had been the first in the collection. “You didn’t know you were getting a battered veteran, did you?”

“Your body appeals to me just fine, Amira.” Daindreth said it factually, levelly.

Heat crept up the back of her neck at that. Her heart fluttered just a little and her mouth went dry. She licked her lips and tried to collect herself.

“But I’m sorry your father used you,” he murmured. “I’m sorry you’ve known so much pain.” There was a softness to his words that she wanted to trust, but couldn’t. Not quite.

“You’re using me, too,” Amira said, her words lacking the edge she’d intended.

“Yes,” Daindreth agreed, heaviness weighing his tone. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

Daindreth expertly navigated a maze of doors, hallways, and steps, walking as though in a trance. The servants and guards they encountered stopped and bowed. The archduke acknowledged them with mumbled greetings and vacant nods.

“If there is a way for me to free you from your curse, I will do it, I swear to you.” Daindreth stared straight ahead as he spoke. “Do you believe me?”

Amira studied him closely, emotions winding into knots in her chest. “I don’t know,” she said. “It doesn’t really matter, I suppose.”

Every curse could be broken, that was one of the rules of magic. But possible wasn’t the same thing as likely or easy.

Daindreth’s arm grew tense beneath her hand. In the flash of the lamplight, she noticed a muscle tighten in his cheek. “No one should have to live under a curse, Amira.”

“Maybe some of us deserve it,” Amira said softly.

“You think we deserve our curses?”

She’d told him as much to his face not so long ago, but she didn’t hurl her insults back at him this time. “Someone did,” Amira answered. “We’re both paying for sins, either our own or our father’s.”

Daindreth remained silent after that.

Chapter Seven

The Empress

They reached a sweeping set of doors decorated with ivory ravens. The uniformed footmen on either side bowed at the sight of Daindreth.

As the doors glided open, Amira tried not to stare. If Daindreth’s clenched jaw and clenched hands had not told her this was Vesha’s dining chamber, the craftsmanship would have.

Marble arched overhead. Prisms of the chandeliers filled the spacious chamber with fractured light. A mahogany table occupied a raised dais in the center of the room, set with silver utensils and spotless white dishes.

In the large carved chair at the head, seated beneath the prominent figure of a white raven, lounged a woman who could only be Vesha. Her svelte fingers played over the armrest as if she strummed an invisible instrument. Her silk gown fell against her body like water, flowing over mature curves. Her plunging neckline displayed her ample bosom and a heavy gold pendant of the Sister Moons dangled over her heart.

For so long, the empress had been little more than an idea in the young assassin’s mind, like an apathetic goddess. Something about seeing her in the flesh brought goosebumps to Amira’s skin and a clenching to her gut.

Yet there was none of the hardness and ferocity Amira had expected. Vesha was all beauty and gentility. Mirth danced behind her eyes and that full mouth seemed to be made for smiling.

The gossips had been right about her beauty, at least.

Amira forced memories of reality to the front of her mind. This was the woman who had executed entire families in the early days of her reign. Those who had tried to wrest power from the foreign widow and her young son had learned the hard way that she was not to be underestimated. In more recent years, the empire had torched entire cities in her name for the sake of keeping the empire intact.

There were at least a hundred examples of sackings, executions, and harsh edicts that flooded Amira’s mind at the sight of Vesha, but looking at this woman, it was hard to believe.

Vesha flashed a smile toward Daindreth. There was genuine affection in that smile, or an excellent mimicry of it.

“Daindreth, my son, how good of you to join us at last.”

Amira frowned. They weren’t late. Shasni had made sure Amira would be ready on time and Daindreth had come before then. The three of them were alone in the dining chamber, save for the guards.

The assassin’s eye caught a man lurking at the empress’s shoulder. His black uniform was studded with gold buckles and medals denoting him as a decorated officer. He fixed his gaze on Amira as if he hoped to stab into her skull with his eyeballs. She noted the raven emblazon on his shoulder that marked him as the captain of the guard.

Amira’s brow pinched at the familiar coil of ka around his neck. The energies pooled at the hollow of his throat and circled in a band.

She would know that spell anywhere. Her stomach flopped, her heart raced, and she had to struggle not to let her gaze linger too long or look away too quickly. As casually as she could, she surveyed the rest of the chamber. There were five guards posted around the room, anonymous behind their helmets and wearing a small armory in weapons.

Each one of them was bound by the same spell.

Kadra’han—a room full of Kadra’han. Amira could only imagine the cost associated with obtaining so many of them. Most of the sorcerous bloodlines had been hunted to extinction. Those bloodlines that remained within the empire had only survived on the male side, meaning that only the barest trace of power had passed into subsequent generations. But these men had magic—even if it was just enough to bind them under the Kadra’han’s curse.

The captain didn’t look away from Amira until the empress shot him a glance. He meant to unsettle her and, though she would never admit it, Amira was thoroughly unsettled.

Amira allowed the archduke to guide her to the table as Vesha sank back into her seat. Daindreth saw Amira in her chair before taking his place at her side. Under the table, one hand lay in his lap, fisted around his cane, knuckles showing white. Above the table, Amira wouldn’t have thought him uneasy had she not been close enough to see the subtle deepening of the lines in his forehead and the tightening of his mouth.

The hairs on Amira’s neck stood up. The archduke’s discomfort only heaped onto her own. He’d already spoken with Vesha since arriving home, he had been summoned to her solarium as soon as he’d arrived. What had they talked about?

“It is so good to have you home, Daindreth,” Vesha said. “We have missed you at court.” She looked past him. “And we’re all dying of curiosity to meet this creature you’ve brought us.”

Amira kept her head angled down. Years of Queen Hyle’s taunts had taught her to hold her tongue.

“Lady Amira Brindonu.” Empress Vesha swirled the name in her mouth like a fine wine. “Don’t be shy, my dear. Look at me.”

Amira dared not defy the empress. “Your Majesty?”

“For six years, the whole court has demanded that my son marry, and we finally settled on your sister.”

Amira didn’t answer. Even if her fiancé was cursed and she hadn’t come here willingly, it stung to be reminded she was second choice.

“Then mere days after meeting you, he’s dropping to his knees, begging your father to let him have you.” Vesha’s plump mouth thinned for a moment as she looked to Daindreth. “Do you have any idea how this has churned the rumor mill? Grand Archduke of the Erymayan Empire, declaring love to an Istovari bastard?”

“I can imagine,” Daindreth said.

The empress went back to surveying Amira silently. Hers was not so much the scornful appraisal of a court lady as the curiosity of a cat finding an injured bird. “Say something, Lady Amira. What do you make of all this?”

Ducking her head in what she hoped came across as a gesture of submission, Amira choked back the tightness in her throat. “I don’t know what to make of it, Your Majesty.”

“Is it true you tried to kill my son?” Vesha’s tone held just a hint of mischief, as if it were a joke.

Amira wondered for a split second if there was any point to lying, then decided no. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Daindreth shot her a sharp look and she wondered if she had answered wrong.

“Why?” Vesha pressed.

What could Amira say that wouldn’t damn her family or her home country? The assassin resisted the impulse to glance at the Kadra’han. “I know my fate is sealed for what I did.”

Vesha’s delicate brows rose as she returned her attention to Daindreth. “She’s right. An attempt on an imperial’s life is treason. It calls for death at the very least.”

“I will issue whatever pardons are necessary,” Daindreth ground out through a tightened jaw. “But I am keeping her.”

Amira shot a glance to Daindreth. She hadn’t heard that kind of hardness from him before, not even when he’d first interrogated her.

“You may be the heir to this empire, but I am still empress,” Vesha said. Her tone was flat. Unimpressed, but not angry.

“You wanted me to choose a wife. I’ve chosen Amira.” Daindreth stared down Vesha without blinking.

Vesha’s head tilted to one side, surveying him. “Why her? Was it actually love at first sight?”

Daindreth continued to hold the empress’s gaze, but said nothing.

Amira had the sense that the archduke rarely defied his mother, but the way he held Vesha’s stare unblinking and unintimidated told her that there was no stopping him when he did.

Vesha’s nostrils flared. “Did she know about your condition before she slapped her name on the marriage contract?”

“Ask her yourself,” Daindreth shot back. “She’s right here.”

“Well, Lady Amira?” Vesha looked pointedly to Amira.

Amira had kept her shoulders back, but now found herself tilting her chin up a little more. “Yes,” she said.

“But you still thought to worm your way ahead of Princess Fonra?” Vesha snapped. “You wanted a crown that badly?”

“I wanted to protect my sister, Your Majesty.” Amira’s tone dropped in pitch, almost to a growl.

“You love your sister very much.” The empress’s statement was not a question.

“There are precious few innocents in the world, Your Majesty, but my sister is one of them.”

Vesha turned back to Daindreth. “You still haven’t told me why.”

Amira glanced between the two of them. Daindreth had told Vesha of her assassination attempt and everything else that Amira knew of the story, but there was something he was holding back from them both. What could it be that he would lie to the empress? Amira doubted this exchange was a charade for her benefit.

Daindreth held the empress’s stare and didn’t relent.

Vesha made a low sound of irritation. “Fine. You may keep your secrets for now. We both know I’ll learn soon enough.”

The tall Kadra’han at her side reached for his blade, though it might have been nothing but habit. “Your Majesty, if you wish it, I—”

“I do not wish it. Stand down, Darrigan.” The empress waved away her captain of the guard. “Footmen?” The empress clapped and, like a machine set into motion, manservants appeared bearing silver trenchers and platters of baked pheasant, salmon, venison, stuffed mushrooms, roasted peppers, and several dishes Amira had never seen before.

The footmen began at the end of the table, with Amira, and gradually worked their way up. Soon the table was crowded with plates of roasted meats, julienned vegetables, and careful arrangements of delicacies Amira didn’t recognize.

Daindreth took sparing selections from the plethora of dishes. He seemed distracted, as if he were sorting through another conversation in the silence of his mind.

The empress took the first bite of caviar and Daindreth began to nibble at his food. Amira took a bite from her silver fork, focused on chewing slowly.

“Is Mynadra very different from your home, Lady Amira?” Vesha asked.

Amira hesitated, but if the empress wanted to play, she would play along. “It is, Your Majesty. Smaller. More rain. But more trees, too.”

“Do you miss the trees?”

Amira had traded small talk a thousand and more times in her father’s court, but now her mind struggled to form words. Something about the empress made her feel small and inadequate. “Yes, Your Majesty. I do like the trees.”

“Not all the trees, though, I presume. What of the Cursewood?”

Amira hesitated. Was Vesha trying to siphon information on the Istovari remnant? Unfortunately for her, Amira knew little that wasn’t common knowledge. “We keep on our side of the Cursewood, Your Majesty. The sorceresses stay on theirs.”

“Do you mean to tell me you no longer have contact with your mother’s people? Your mother herself, even?”

Amira had been hurt and angry about it as a child but had long ago decided it was for the best. She honestly answered, “Not for years, Your Majesty.”

“How convenient.” Vesha’s unamused tone sent an icy shiver down the assassin’s spine.

There was something in the empress’s controlled movements, her masterful composure, something hard and powerful. It was as if Vesha held unfathomable secrets and the answers to some great riddle.

Instead of replying, Amira popped a stuffed mushroom in her mouth, pleasantly surprised by the burst of flavor. To her left, she noted that the captain of the guard had a narrow dirk strapped to his belt along with an elegant sabre. Amira habitually ran through various scenarios in which she seized his weapons, but she already knew how it would end.

Not that she planned to fight anyway. There was no point.

“Maxle Fairfrain has promised me that the ballroom renovations shall be done by the end of the week, more than enough time for the wedding.” Vesha stroked the stem of her wine goblet, almost talking to herself. “It truly is genius, what he’s done with this place. It’s hardly recognizable.”

“I have noticed, Your Majesty.” If Daindreth felt one way or another about the renovations, he gave no sign. Amira found it hard to read anything past his rigid jaw.

“The Kodahnite ambassadors shall be arriving soon. They would like to meet you.”

“I shall do as it pleases you.”

The empress cocked her head to the side. “Dame Rebeku has asked to hold a small celebration in honor of your return.” Vesha scoffed, raising her goblet to her lips. “You should go to smooth things over with her. She was insulted when you picked Princess Fonra over her daughter. She’ll be more insulted since you took the Istovari instead.”

“I shall do as you wish.”

Silence descended. The empress’ nostrils flared. Whatever Vesha had wanted to hear, that had not been it. “You sit straight for a man without a spine.” The empress’s lip curled with disgust. “You’ll subvert me and the entire court by choosing her behind my back,” she gestured to Amira, “but not say a word to my face?”

Daindreth offered no rebuttal, not even a reply.

Was this how I looked all those years I let Queen Hyle criticize me for existing?

“You have ruled well, Your Majesty,” Amira said. “No one can deny that.” She couldn’t have said what drove her to speak, but suddenly her mouth was moving. “Yet it is Archduke Daindreth who carries the blood of emperors. If he makes a decision, even if it goes against the counsel of his advisors or yourself, then it is his right as granted by the gods.”

Daindreth shook his head at Amira ever so slightly, but it was too late. The words were out, and the die was cast.

There was a heartbeat of long, torturous silence while the empress studied Amira with renewed interest.

After allowing enough time to pass that Amira had begun to think she’d made a horrible mistake, Vesha’s mouth curved into a smile. “You are either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid to speak to me this way.”

Amira had the impulse to bow her head, but this empress was not King Hyle—not even close. Instead, the assassin took a gamble and raised her chin enough that it was noticeable. “I oftentimes see no difference between the two, Your Majesty.”

The empress sipped at her wine and her smile was gone when she set it down. “Well.” Vesha looked to Daindreth. “At least you picked a woman with a bit of spirit.”

Daindreth bolted to his feet as though his chair were on fire. “My empress, we beg your leave.”

Amira jumped, but didn’t rise.

Vesha cocked her head up at her son. “Why? In a hurry to retire?” She was silent for an unduly long pause. “If you’ve already taken her as a mistress, Daindreth, the least you can do is not be ashamed of her.”

Even in the lamplight, Daindreth’s blush was impossible to miss. “Again, my empress, I beg your leave.”

Vesha’s gaze narrowed. She let Daindreth sweat for several more moments, making some point. “Consider my leave granted,” she said finally.

Daindreth didn’t ask Amira if she was done eating—not that it was necessary—before he claimed her hand again. He reached out to help with her chair, but Amira had already stood.

The archduke rested her hand in the crook of his arm and headed back the way they had come. Servants hurried to open the doors before Daindreth ploughed into them.

Every one of the Kadra’han watched Amira leave.

As the archduke swept into the hall, the two guards from earlier materialized, emerging from the shadows. Amira fought the urge to face them. She hated being followed.

Daindreth jerked to a halt, whirling around like a wild animal. “That will be all, thank you,” he snapped to the armored men, uncharacteristically harsh.

The guards balked. “But my lord,” one protested, his face hidden beneath a thick visor, “Captain Darrigan said—”

“The captain of the guard gave you orders to protect me. I am telling you it is unnecessary. That will be all.” There was steel in the archduke’s voice and a bit of a challenge, daring them to try following.

Daindreth strode off again, tugging Amira after him. She should have been afraid, being alone with a man infected by a monster, but he wasn’t the only monster in this palace.

He had forgotten his cane. It was just as well. He looked too much like Thadred with it.

Once they were out of earshot of the dining hall and in the deserted corridors once more, Daindreth slowed. His breathing deepened as he tried to calm himself. Amira said nothing, puzzled more than ever.

Bringing a known assassin into a dark hallway alone—how prudent of him.

Daindreth had slowed to a stroll by the time they reached Amira’s apartment. The corridor was deserted save for the two guards already awaiting Amira’s return. Inside, light spilled from the fireplace. Shasni must have lit it earlier. The archduke ushered the assassin in and shut the door without a word, still distracted.

“Why are you afraid of her?” Amira wasn’t sure if she would get an answer, but she’d never know unless she tried.

“You of all people should know men have every reason to fear women,” Daindreth said dourly.

“You don’t fear me.” Amira’s hands fisted in frustration. “But you should.”

“Even if you could find a way around my commands, all you can do is kill me,” the archduke said.

“And you have worse things to fear, don’t you? Your Highness?” The assassin found herself swallowing rather hard.

Amira had seen warlords and hardened criminals weep for their lives, but this princeling spoke as if death would be no more than an inconvenience.

Daindreth hesitated, then shook his head. “The less you know the better.”

“Why did you choose me?” There were other, more strategic questions in mind, but a tightly coiled feeling in her chest wouldn’t let her ask anything else. “Why me instead of my sister? I know it has to do with your demon, but I don’t understand. Not fully.”

The archduke pursed his lips and stared absently past her shoulder, as if in a trance. “Your sister is a sweet girl. Gentle, caring, and demure. All the things the ideal bride should be.”

Amira bit the inside of her cheek as the odd feeling in her chest constricted.

“But...what’s inside me...” Daindreth trailed off. It was the first real acknowledgement of his condition since Hylendale.

“What’s inside you?” Amira was almost afraid to ask. As much as she hated not knowing, there was a kind of optimism in ignorance. As soon as she discovered the full truth, she’d have to face it.

Daindreth was quiet for a long time. He studied the fire, eyes going vacant again.

Amira stifled an oath. “You said it was a sorceress’s curse?”

Daindreth made eye contact. He had soft brown eyes like walnut wood, not the molten glow of the monster. “Something like that.”

“You said I counteracted it somehow, right? What did you mean?”

Frowning, Daindreth shook his head. “I can’t...I can’t tell you.”

Amira wanted to scream. “So, what do you plan to do with me?” Amira folded her arms across her chest. Annoyance made her remember decorum. “And why are you alone in my rooms at night? Do you expect me to undress? Is that the direction of your plans?”

If that was what he had in mind, Amira meant to stick a hairpin through his eye. But with a sick feeling, she remembered that whatever he ordered her to do, she would have to do it.

“No! That’s not what I meant. I would never do that—to you or anyone—please.” Pressing a fist between his eyes, he let off a long exhale. “All I want is your company. You can keep hating me, if you like, but that’s all I want, I swear.”

“Why?” She didn’t dare admit she couldn’t truly hate him.

“Please, I don’t want anything from you. I don’t even care why your father sent you after me. Just...please.”

The archduke clenched his eyes shut, shoulders rounded. In that moment, he had the look of a convict kneeling before the headsman. He was tired and it was the kind of weariness no sleep could remedy. Amira had seen men twice his age who were not half as old.

“I’ll leave you alone, now. I’ll see you in the morning.” Daindreth slumped on his way to the door, either exhausted or putting on a good show of it. If this was a show, it was an incredible performance.

Amira was surprised that she didn’t want him to go. That was foolish. He should go. It wasn’t proper for him to be here alone in the first place and, considering all she knew, she shouldn’t want to be anywhere near him.

But she didn’t want him to leave looking like that—with his head hung and his shoulders bowed.

“Thank you,” Amira blurted out.

Daindreth paused with his hand on the knob. “For what?”

“For...” Coughing awkwardly, Amira fingered her skirt.

It was Reimi silk, shipped from the far eastern continent. Queen Hyle had a Reimi silk dress years ago. She’d taken a switch to Amira’s knuckles the one time she’d touched it.

“The dresses. They’re very...” She cleared her throat. “I like them.”

Gods, what’s wrong with me?

The corners of Daindreth’s mouth twitched ever so slightly. “I like them, too.” With a small bow of courtesy, Daindreth slipped out the apartment and left her alone—as he had promised.

Chapter Eight

Darrigan

Amira jolted awake at the thud of the door. She froze, listening.

The room was dark, the fireplace smoldering to embers. The usual murmur of a palace asleep met her ears. Nothing was amiss, except—

She sensed ka blooming from the sitting room. The source was large, too large to be a rat or some other rodent. She doubted there were rats in this palace anyway.

Had Daindreth returned? It seemed unlikely, but she never could seem to predict that man.

Amira pulled on the dressing robe beside the bed. It was made of a light, delicate fabric that shimmered like gossamer. Belting it around her waist, she padded into the sitting room.

Amira stepped into the parlor, only to come to a sharp halt.

Outlined in the fireplace’s glow, a dark figure waited. He was swathed in black linens and leathers, knife and dagger hilts of varying sizes protruding from sheaths strapped over his waist, arms, and legs.

Amira firmly planted one foot in front of the other and faced him, arms loose at her sides. She didn’t bother with politeness. “What do you want?”

“Do you not remember me?” The captain of the guard tilted his head ever so slightly in her direction. “I remember you.”

Amira’s hands clenched. “If you’re here to kill me, I’d like to get it over with.”

“Giving up so easily?” He turned to properly survey her head to foot. Whether he approved, disapproved, or was apathetic, she couldn’t tell. “No, little sister, I am not here to kill you.”

Little sister? So he knew she was a Kadra’han. No surprise there.

Amira arched her brow, trying not to let him see her true fear. “What then?”

Darrigan folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the side of the fireplace. “How long have you been bonded to the archduke?”

Amira hesitated to answer, but she suspected that Darrigan already knew the truth. “Not long. My father handed me off by accident.”

“Ah.” Darrigan observed the leaping flames, eyes glittering gold in the firelight. “You must be rebellious. To have served your father for so long and still have only a dash of power.”

Amira tensed. A Kadra’han’s cursed forced obedience to the letter of their master’s commands, but service, true service, was what made them stronger. “How would you know?” she asked.

The captain’s smile turned predatory. “I have served Emperor Drystan and now Empress Vesha for decades, girl. Good and faithfully. These days, there is little that I don’t know.”

Studying him closer, Amira looked him from head to foot, feeling for ka. Power smoldered beneath his skin. Amira had once passed near a fire mount in the steppes of Rekeshi and seen the lava flows that ambled down the black slopes.

Darrigan’s power reminded her of that—hot, viscous, and able to consume anything it touched. Yes, he had served Vesha well. And his curse had rewarded him with the power to serve her even better.

The older Kadra’han was quiet for a moment. He frowned, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “You would kill him, if you had the chance?”

Amira cocked her head to the side. “I’m not that stupid.”

“Or just too ignorant.”

Amira frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

Darrigan stepped away from the fireplace, arms still locked across his chest. “Did you meet...” Darrigan hesitated. “A woman in your position would kill him if she could. If she was smart.”

“The archduke isn’t so bad,” Amira retorted. “As far as forced marriages, I could have done worse.”

“Not him—” Darrigan’s voice snapped off as if he meant to say more after that, but his jaw had been slammed shut.

“Who?” Amira asked. Even as she spoke, the memory of the red eyes flashed in her mind. A sinking feeling coiled in her gut.

Darrigan knew about that, too. He had to. As Vesha’s Kadra’han, he would be privy to the imperial family’s secrets—even their worst ones. All Daindreth’s servants had seemed to know. Why not Darrigan?

Darrigan jerked his chin to her. “I was there,” he said. “This morning. When the archduke spoke to the empress.” His jaw tightened again. He blinked at a space over Amira’s shoulder, his brow furrowing. “You’re an interesting woman, Amira Brindonu. Daughter of the Istovari. Daughter of the curse workers. The women who cursed emperors.”

Amira’s nostrils flared in annoyance. Daindreth had mentioned that the curse had first been placed on his father and that it had been placed by the Istovari, but she still didn’t understand. “Will you speak plain?”

A muscle in Darrigan’s cheek flickered. “I can’t.”

Amira’s eyes widened as realization set in. “Vesha ordered you against it.”

Darrigan nodded curtly, once. “Be careful,” he said, and the warning sounded genuine. “You need to find a way,” he added, voice growing hoarse. “A way to finish.”

Amira pursed her lips. An unbidden pang of sympathy went through her chest. She thought of fighting to warn Fonra while her father’s curse forbade it. Darrigan might have embraced his lot in life and flourished as a powerful Kadra’han, but he was still a slave. “What do I need to finish?” she asked.

“You’re an assassin.” Darrigan spat the phrase like a curse, then frowned.

Amira blinked at him. “You want me to finish the assassination?” She had to be hearing wrong.

Was this a test? Some sort of trap? Were they trying to get her to confess? But that made no sense. Daindreth could just order her to tell him anything.

But the alternative—that Darrigan was desperate enough to defy his own loyalties and curse to see the archduke dead—came with a whole host of other implications she was too afraid to consider.

Darrigan took another step toward her. Amira still didn’t retreat. “You’ve seen—” Darrigan’s teeth clacked together and he frowned, staring at the space over her shoulder. “The...the other.” He grimaced.

Realization made Amira’s eyes go wide. Darrigan had been ordered not to speak of the archduke’s condition. He was trying to speak around the empress’s commands, slip past the words of his liege like Amira had done with her father so many times.

“That thing?” Amira whispered, dropping her voice instinctively. “The monster?”

Darrigan opened his mouth, then hissed as if in pain and turned his head to the side. He stayed that way for several long heartbeats before facing her again.

Darrigan was at least three times as powerful as Amira if the ka wafting off him was any indication. To be that powerful, he must have served well indeed. What could drive such a loyal servant to subvert his empress now?

But Amira already knew the answer—a monster. The monster inside the archduke.

Darrigan’s mouth worked like he was chewing on the curse, gnawing for a weak point. He gave no sign of choking or physical pain, but then perhaps the curse was gentler with him after so many years of partnering with it instead of fighting it.

“I don’t know what the archduke has told you or what you think you know. But he...” Darrigan paused, seeming to wrestle with his curse for another moment before continuing. “There isn’t much time left.”

“This is madness.”

“Yes,” Darrigan agreed. “Utter madness. But you know it’s the truth. For your family. For the empire. For us all. Even the archduke.” Darrigan’s words were low and dark like oncoming thunder. He drew a silver blade from his belt.

Amira took a step back, but the other Kadra’han just tossed the blade to the floor at her feet.

“It’s better for us all this way.”

Amira looked between the knife on the ground and the Kadra’han, not moving. “What are you saying?”

“You’re an Istovari,” Darrigan said flatly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Darrigan opened his mouth, but no words came. He snapped his jaw shut. A command from the empress had stopped him again. Interesting.

“You would have me kill your mistress’s only heir?” Amira couldn’t even begin to consider the implications in that. “You would betray her? Disobey her? I thought you served her.”

“Sometimes,” he said, speaking each word with careful, deliberate precision, “service and obedience are two different things.”

“You think I would do anything to bring the empire’s wrath on my family?” By family, she meant Fonra. If she killed the archduke and they knew who had done it, vengeance would come crashing down on Hylendale hard enough to make Emperor Drystan’s conquest look like practice.

“Vesha needs Daindreth dead,” Darrigan said. “But she doesn’t have the heart to do it.” A shadow passed over his face and Amira suspected that he and the empress had exchanged many words over the matter. “The Kadra’han saved your life. You owe us, if not the empire.”

Amira’s arms burned, the memory of that day searing along the crooks of her elbows. “You saved me because my father made a bargain.”

Darrigan was unmoved. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes,” she said, barely able to manage more than a whisper. She still had a hundred questions and a hundred new ones on top of that. But Darrigan couldn’t tell her even if he wanted to.

The Kadra’han nodded. Then he was gone, slipping out the door of the apartment with only a murmured word to the guards outside.

Amira stood there for several long moments before she reached for the knife on the floor. The blade was flawlessly balanced, made of the finest steel. It was the length of her hand and gleamed with sharpening.

It was a risk for Darrigan to give her this and that was an understatement. Unless this was the most elaborate trap set in the history of mankind, the older Kadra’han was desperate. Fearfully desperate.

That thought was enough to send a shudder down Amira’s spine.

Chapter Nine

Caa Iss

Amira awoke to stirring in the apartment.

She had fallen asleep on the floor of her bedroom near the window, still clutching the knife. The rustle of a smock and a cheerful hum assured her it was neither Daindreth nor the captain of Vesha’s Kadra’han.

Amira nearly sighed with relief and stuffed the knife under the edge of the curtains.

The bedroom door opened to one of the younger handmaidens carrying a bundle of starched linens. She caught sight of Amira and started. “My lady,” she gasped, “is something wrong? Why were you sleeping on the floor?”

“The bed was too soft.” Amira didn’t really expect the servant girl to believe her, but no convincing lie came to hand.

She’d lived lies for her whole life, but always the same ones. Those lies were carefully crafted fortresses that she had fortified daily. Crafting a lie now out of thin air was like reinventing bricks.

She didn’t want to confess that she’d spent hours after Darrigan had gone, praying to Eponine. She hadn’t had the proper votives to burn, but considering the circumstances, Amira hoped the goddess wouldn’t be picky.

“Oh.” The maid didn’t press the matter, but she didn’t seem convinced. “Shall I have the mattress packed tighter? Send for a new one?”

“I’m fine,” Amira said.

The maid cleared her throat. “Well.” She opened her mouth again, but Shasni’s voice came from the other room.

“Melody, is her ladyship there?”

“Yes, Mistress Shasni.”

The tanned young woman appeared beside the maid. Shasni’s eyebrow quirked as she noted Amira rising from the floor near the window, but she made no comment. “I think you ought to change, my lady.” Shasni stepped past Amira into the boudoir. “It will soon be time for luncheon and Her Majesty may have plans for supper.”

Amira cringed at the thought of being trapped again in the presence of the empress and her Kadra’han. What would happen if she repeated Darrigan’s words to the empress? Either Vesha wouldn’t believe Amira and Darrigan would likely kill her for outing him, or Vesha would believe her and Darrigan would still find a way to kill her for outing him.

Neither option was especially appealing.

A crash sounded from the other room and Amira and both the servants jumped. Boots clomped into the apartment, steps uneven as if the intruder were drunk.

“Amira!” Daindreth shouted. “Amira!” He battered into the apartment and slammed the door after him, rattling the doorframe.

The assassin glanced to Shasni, but the maid’s frown of confusion mirrored her own. Amira inhaled a breath and dared make her way toward the parlor and Daindreth’s voice.

Had he found out about Darrigan’s visit last night and come to reprimand her? She wasn’t sure how the events of last night were her fault, but imperials could have strange logic at times.

“Amira, are you here?” His voice cracked, like his throat was hoarse from a terrible sickness.

Amira peered out the bedroom door into the parlor.

Daindreth had both hands braced against the mantle over the fireplace, like a man caught in a fever dream. His clothes were rumpled and his hair stuck out in all directions, like he’d been trying to rip it out. He reminded her of a raver she’d once seen in the coastal city of Cadrene.

No sooner had the assassin opened her mouth to speak than Shasni came up behind her. “My lady, do you—?”

“Leave us.” Daindreth jerked away from the fireplace and spun around to face the women. Deep circles bruised his swollen eyes. Shasni hesitated and the archduke’s jaw tensed. “Leave us!” he roared.

The command glanced off Amira, as her curse recognized that it wasn’t for her. All the same, she fought the impulse to flee. Something instinctive and primal told her to flee after the girls, to get away from the archduke and whatever simmered behind his eyes, but she stood her ground.

Shasni and the other maid scurried past him and out the door like the good little servants they were. They cowered and didn’t look back. The door shut behind them, leaving her alone with the archduke.

Amira watched him. Even if a part of her wished she still had the knife.

It was improper for him to be here in her apartments, much less here alone while she was still in last night’s dressing gown. Daindreth had always been courteous and genteel, but in his current state, she didn’t know what to expect.

She had seen him stressed before—tense, troubled—but never this...agitated.

The archduke strode to her in three quick steps. Amira braced herself, half-expecting a blow, but he seized her hands, fingers locking around hers in a death grip. He pressed his forehead against her shoulder and a shudder went through him strong enough she thought he might fall to the floor.

Amira froze. Her heart did something odd in her chest and she was so, so aware of his warm hands enveloping hers. He smelled strongly of dirt and sweat, but with the underlying scent of sage and new parchment.

Daindreth took another heaving breath.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, almost afraid to speak. Some part of her feared her voice might break whatever shred of control he had.

“He’s angry.” Daindreth’s words came out broken, disjointed.

“Who?” Amira asked softly, though she knew.

“He wants me to kill you.”

There was no threat in the archduke’s words, but fear tightened Amira’s gut. “Who...who?”

“He says you’ll find a way to kill me if I keep you longer, but I’d rather you kill me than—” Daindreth’s words broke off in a shudder. “It might be best if you killed me,” he mused. “If you can do nothing else.”

“What are you talking about?” Amira’s heart sped up, fear and confusion tying her into knots.

Daindreth shook his head against her shoulder.

“Highness?”

“I can’t,” the archduke groaned.

Amira stood still, letting him hold onto her. She didn’t know what else to do. Closing her eyes, she tried to relax. They would be married soon if the archduke decided to go through with it and then she would have to let him do far more than this.

He stayed bowed over her shoulder, forehead pressed into her sleeve. He ordered the servants out and stormed in here with no reason and he used that power simply to hold her?

Finally, the archduke straightened. His grip on her hands loosened, but he didn’t let go. The ghost of a smile passed across his face. “I’ll be fine in a moment.”

Amira studied the archduke. There was raw vulnerability in his distress. A kind of need she didn’t understand, somewhere between a plea for help and a demand. He needed her. That realization was...strange. Not unpleasant, but strange.

They were alone and close. Very close. She hadn’t been this close to someone in a long time.

Men were one of many pleasures she’d been denied as a Kadra’han. Her father hadn’t wanted her to have any entanglements and had given her commands against it after the incident with Corman—she still wasn’t sure exactly how he’d heard about it. But her father’s commands were voided as soon as he handed her off.

Daindreth would be a generous lover, she was sure of it. Gentle, giving, and—

Daindreth studied their joined hands, not daring to meet her gaze. He no longer trembled, but that didn’t erase the deep lines or the dark half-moons beneath his eyes. He looked more like a vagabond than an archduke.

“What’s wrong?”

Daindreth shook his head.

“Highness?”

The archduke became abruptly fascinated by the dead fireplace. “Amira, please.” Daindreth raised their hands between them in supplication. “Please. I’m trying to protect you.”

Amira’s nostrils flared. “Protect me? You dragged me from my country. My home.”

“They abused you there. Used you for your power.”

“And you aren’t using me?” Amira spat. “I don’t know how or for what or what you plan, but you are using me.” She shook their hands between them. “I’m still as much a slave here as I was to King Hyle. What do you want with me?” Amira demanded, her voice rising. “And what are you? Why did my father want you dead?” And why does Darrigan?

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I am trying to protect you.”

It was a good thing Amira had left the knife in the boudoir or else she would have stabbed the archduke right there.

“You aren’t protecting me. Stop deluding yourself.” She couldn’t tell him about Darrigan outright. “My stepmother attacked me because you chose me. Every noble house with a nubile daughter hates me, I know it. Perhaps they could accept you marrying a borderland princess, but an Istovari bastard?” Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. “In a few weeks, I’m supposed to share my bed with a madman, but you are protecting me?”

Daindreth flinched. “I didn’t say I was good at it.”

Amira yanked her hands out of his.

A low groan escaped him, and he doubled over. Gasping, he went down, and his knees hit the floor.

“Highness?” She grabbed one of his hands. “Daindreth!”

Daindreth gripped her hand in both of his. He knelt on the floor, panting, but at least he wasn’t doubled over anymore.

Amira gaped at the archduke before her. Some thick and heavy emotion stabbed at her as she realized she had hurt him. Somehow.

Daindreth kept his head down and clung to her. He trembled, still kneeling.

“Daindreth?” Amira almost whispered the name. Half of her wanted to back away and flee, but the other half churned with some sympathetic and protective emotion. “Are you alright?”

The archduke’s shoulders rose and fell in steady gasps. Amira touched his sweaty temple. He was feverishly hot. The archduke leaned into her hand, seeking her touch.

She didn’t think she’d ever had a man so vulnerable in her life, certainly not of his own volition. Her caress soothed him, calmed him. That both frightened her and stirred up another emotion that was warm and golden and alien.

“What’s happening?” Amira whispered.

The archduke heaved a sigh, a deep, defeated sigh like that of a duelist yielding to a worthy opponent. “Alright,” he said, clambering back to his feet, never releasing her hand. “Alright, I’ll tell you.”

Amira waited. It was hard to know if the archduke was collecting his thoughts or wanted her to speak first.

Daindreth straightened and let a long breath out his nose. Again, Amira thought he looked suddenly like an old emperor worn with years of reign, not a young archduke who hadn’t even begun. He didn’t make eye contact, but Amira could see that they were earthy brown, human.

“Do you trust me, Amira?”

The assassin hesitated.

“I’ve never lied to you. I know you don’t believe that, but I haven’t.” The archduke examined the ink stained fingers of his right hand, stalling. “Nor do I plan to. This is going to sound like madness, but...it’s the truth.”

Amira took a deep breath. Everything about their relationship was madness, why would the explanation be different? “Go on.”

Despite his promise, he was in no rush to reveal his secrets. “When my father conquered Hylendale...” He cleared his throat. “Or rather, Hylendale surrendered.”

“Yes,” Amira tightly answered. Her father had bowed before the empire without a fight, groveling like a whipped puppy in exchange for the occasional pat on the head.

“The outlying cities, villages, and farms surrendered and every clan in the highlands came to swear fealty to the empire. Many came reluctantly, but they came. All except one.”

Amira tensed and it was her turn to look away. “The Istovari.” She knew this story. She had been a child, but this story was burned in her memory like the scorched earth in the wake of Erymaya’s armies.

Daindreth nodded. “You probably know more than I of what happened there. The sorceresses took their husbands and sons to the castle at Acha’s Gap.”

“It marks the beginning of the Cursewood now,” Amira said absently. She’d gone back a few years ago to see it, the edge of the boundary that separated Hylendale from the mountains beyond, now the territory of the sorceresses in the north.

Obsidian vines spiked with thorns, some wider across than six men standing on one another’s shoulders, burst up out of the rocks like stone pustules. They had long since overtaken the fortress, breaking through the walls and knocking down the towers.

Daindreth nodded. “You know what happened. When the sorceresses were cornered and their ka spent...”

“I know,” Amira said shortly. She should never have cut off an archduke, much less her future husband, but they were alone and propriety had long since been left in a cloud of dust. Amira had the scars on her arms to prove what the sorceresses had done. “They ran out of ka.” Amira shuddered, memories of dark stone halls packed with whimpering women flashed across her mind. “Many of the men volunteered and opened their veins so that the sorceresses could keep defending the walls, but...” She cleared her throat. “It wasn’t enough.”

Daindreth nodded, mouth pressed in a tight grimace. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t ask if she had been there. He didn’t ask what she had seen. Yet there was a softness to his words that told her he knew.

The assassin raised her chin, resisting the impulse to pull down her sleeves, but they were already pulled all the way past her wrists. “They cast a curse.”

“Yes,” Daindreth nodded. “The Cursewood. But there was another one. The curse on my father.”

Amira met his eyes then—still that soft brown. This much she had known.

A muscle in his cheek throbbed as he clenched his jaw. It was a wonder he had any teeth left. “This curse...he calls himself Caa Iss.”

Amira’s whole body tensed at the name, though she had never heard it before. “Caa Iss?”

“Yes, he...” Daindreth frowned. “He infected my father the night during the final siege.”

Amira fought back her own memories of the final siege—smoke, tears, and a knife in her grandmother’s hands.

“My father was able to control him for a few months, but then...” Daindreth shook his head. “He lost control one night and the demon attacked my mother. He beat her so badly she couldn’t walk for a week.” The archduke squeezed Amira’s hands tighter.  “When my father returned to his own mind, he sent for his most trusted Kadra’han, Darrigan. You met him last night.”

You have no idea, Amira thought to herself.

“He ordered Darrigan to kill him right then and there.” Daindreth looked away. “Now I understand why. A few years later, I turned eleven.” He cleared his throat. “Suddenly, I wasn’t alone in my mind or body anymore. I don’t know why it took so long, but I inherited my father’s curse.”

Amira’s gut clenched. “Istovari boys go through the first rites of manhood at eleven.”

Daindreth let off a bitter laugh. “Well, that’s one mystery solved, I suppose.”

This was madness. Utter madness. Yet she had seen the insanity of her grandmother and the other women there at the end. When they had seen they were defeated, that they would be crushed by the emperor or hunted to the ends of the earth if they did not take a Kadra’han’s oath, they had been willing to break every law and pervert every rule if only to make their enemies suffer.

“What is Caa Iss?” Amira whispered.

Daindreth was quiet for a long time. Amira had begun to think he wouldn’t respond, but then the archduke took a breath. “He’s a cythraul and he lives inside me.”

“Cythraul.” Amira echoed the name with a soft gasp. She wouldn’t have believed it a month ago, but those eyes, that voice, the way he had healed overnight from burns that should have disfigured him for life...

“Yes.” Daindreth shivered, watching her reaction with a fevered intensity while not looking directly at her, as if he feared she would lash out at him or call him a liar.

“One of the riven ones?”

The archduke nodded slowly. “Yes.”

She’d had her suspicions. She’d stitched together fragments of conversations and clues from the past few weeks, but she’d hardly been able to believe it. Now, hearing it spoken out loud was like the final thread weaving everything together.

Cythraul were denizens of the underrealm, the Dread Marches. Some said they were the dead worshippers of Moreyne, others insisted they had been angelic heralds that had sided with Moreyne in her attempted coup of the pantheon. Whatever they were, early sorceresses had studied and tried to harness them for power with greatly mixed results.

Amira knew little of the demons aside from the fact that their greatest desire was human bodies. They had frequently been documented exchanging favors, loyalty, and sometimes even abyssal powers in exchange for a body to inhabit. Without bodies, they were unable to leave the Dread Marches.

Amira wanted to mock Daindreth, wanted to say that this was all lies and yet...the words settled into the same space of her mind as her name, the color of the sky, and the feel of water on her skin. His words were truth, Caa Iss was real, and she knew it.

As a girl, cythraul had been a ghost story, something the older children and vindictive nursemaids mentioned to frighten her and the younger ones. As a girl trying to learn spells from moldering books and cracked scrolls, cythraul had been mentioned as only a footnote, a testament to a forgotten age.

Cythraul had once been human, or at least had bodies, according to legend. They’d been torn or “riven” from their flesh and while there were many different stories that gave different reasons, for whatever reason they hadn’t passed into the Third Heaven where souls were meant to go. The cythraul had instead descended into the Dread Marches, the space between this life and the next.

Amira was silent, thinking on all that would have had to happen to make Daindreth’s story real. A sorceress would have had to open a doorway into the Dread Marches, extract a single spirit, and bind it to the late emperor. That would involve keeping the doorway open long enough to summon and bind a cythraul, but then shut it soon enough that the path between worlds wouldn’t fracture both the sorceress and untold leagues of the surrounding countryside. Besides that, one would have to have secure enchantments on the spirit to keep it from fleeing or possessing the sorceress herself. Then one would need to keep back the scores of other spirits that, by all accounts, would be clamoring for a chance at new bodies and freedom.

Not one sorceress, Amira realized. A circle of sorceresses—like those that had been trapped in the tower.

“Amira?” Daindreth shifted. “Please say something.”

“What’s it like?” was the first thing past her lips. “Having Caa Iss...” She touched his temple. “In there.”

“Most of the time, I can suppress him, but I feel him—fighting for control every moment.” Daindreth’s eyes flitted across her face. “Sometimes, like the night we met, he takes over completely.”

Fear rattled down Amira’s spine, but she wouldn’t let this creature frighten her now.

Amira licked her lips, studying the archduke. “You...you can feel him right now? As we’re talking?”

Daindreth faltered. “No.”

Amira’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“That night. When you...burned me?” Daindreth looked a little sheepish, though she’d been the one to attack him. “It was like he was cut off. I thought, gods, for just a few glorious minutes I thought I was cured.” He shook his head. “Then you were gone and Caa Iss was back, angrier than ever.”

Amira was quiet. That made no sense and yet it did. If her Istovari mothers had been the ones to bind the demon...

“Then that night in Lashera, at the party. Suddenly, he went quiet. And I knew you were there.”

Amira didn’t know what to say. A hundred thoughts and ideas and questions whirred through her skull.

“I’ve tried potions, spells, exorcists, everything you could think of to rid me of my demon, but you are the only thing that’s even come close.” He cradled her hand and ever so slowly traced the patterns on her palm.

It was a simple gesture. Chaste enough and yet in that second it was the most intimate touch she’d ever experienced.

Daindreth had bared himself to her.

Amira’s heart sped and she couldn’t say if it was fear or anger or perhaps something else. Daindreth had never given an order that she let him touch her. For now, she had the power to reject him. So why didn’t she pull her hand away?

His brow furrowed, some heavy emotion lining his face once more. “I know it’s selfish, Amira, and I’m putting you in danger. And I’m sorry, but I don’t know what else to do.”

Daindreth squeezed her hand. “With Caa Iss, the empire is in danger. Without me, the empire’s stability is threatened. You are the only way they can have one and not the other.”

Amira thought to Darrigan’s implied command. Would killing Daindreth be the best thing for him? Would it be the best thing for the world? But Emperor Drystan hadn’t had a remedy for the demon.

Daindreth studied their hands like there was some puzzle in the folds of their fingers. “When I’m near you, it...does something. It’s like he’s mute.” Daindreth yawned again, covering his mouth. The dark circles over his cheekbones and the lines on his forehead stood out even more.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Amira asked.

“No,” Daindreth said. “If I did, I had nightmares of being awake.”

“How do you live?”

“It’s not usually this bad, but Caa Iss was angry about you meeting the empress.”

Amira wondered if that was because of the surrounding implications or because of something else. “You really do plan to marry me,” she said, a little surprised to hear the words herself. “Despite what I did. Because of the demon.”

“I didn’t know how else to take you with me without causing an international incident.”

Amira barked a laugh. As if her assassination attempt hadn’t been exactly that. “I appreciate that. At least now I know why you picked a bastard sorceress over a pedigreed princess.”

A beat of silence passed between them while Daindreth’s jaw worked, as if he was assembling the words in his mouth. “Your sister is a sweet girl.”

Amira curled her lip. Sweet—one might think it was the greatest of all virtues by the way people praised Fonra for it.

“But I never wanted to marry her. Especially after I met her. She couldn’t take Caa Iss and I didn’t want to ask her to.”

“But?”

Daindreth grimaced. “The empire needs heirs.” He looked down.

Cythraul or not, they would expect Amira to bear heirs for Daindreth. Sons to carry on the bloodline and the curse, apparently.

For a moment, the sorceress in her took over and she wondered, as she was sure Daindreth had, if perhaps the curse couldn’t pass into an Istovari bloodline. Perhaps this was the way to cut it off.

Daindreth was still talking. “And I hoped that, with Hylendale so close to the Cursewood, perhaps I might be able to make peace with the Istovari one day. I still hope that.” He shrugged. “Most likely, I would have destroyed your sister, but I have hope that you can destroy me. If you need to.”

Amira didn’t know what to say to that.

Daindreth seemed content to wait. He yawned again.

“You need rest,” Amira said. It wasn’t the best response to what he had just shared, but she could think of nothing better.

The archduke shrugged. “I won’t be getting any rest if Caa Iss has a say in it.”

“You could sleep here.”

Daindreth’s bloodshot eyes sprang open.

“On the couch,” Amira quickly added, face flushing. “I’m not suggesting...” She trailed off, hating that she was flustered. “But if you can’t sleep when he’s harassing you and he can’t harass you when you’re with me, there we are.”

“I don’t want to sully your reputation,” Daindreth said, frowning.

Amira laughed again, more bitterly this time. “You think of that after you come to my rooms alone and order all the servants out?”

“I’m sorry.”

The assassin shook her head. “From what the empress said, that’s already what everyone thinks of me.”

Daindreth grasped her other hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. For all you know, the rumors are true and I’m every bit the whore my stepmother thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was convinced I slept with you to get you to choose me.” Amira couldn’t look Daindreth in the eye for a moment.

“You did nothing wrong to get me to choose you,” Daindreth said flatly, as if she didn’t know that. “At least, nothing your curse wouldn’t have forced you to do.”

“And yet here I am.” Amira sniffed. “It’s like they say. No good deed goes unpunished.”

Daindreth shook his head, awkwardly motioning between them. “This...isn’t a punishment, Amira.”

“A reward, then?” Amira’s nostrils flared. “You never asked me if I wanted to be empress.”

“Do you?” Daindreth’s voice was soft. Treacherously soft.

He watched her closely. He cared about the answer, she realized. But he shouldn’t.

“What I want doesn’t matter.” Amira resisted the urge to pull her hand away from him. “I’m your Kadra’han. And you’re the archduke, remember? You will get what you want.”

“What you want matters to me.” Daindreth’s thumb stroked the back of her hand. “What do you want, Amira?”

Amira hadn’t really thought about it. She tried not to think about things she couldn’t control and whether she became empress or was executed as a traitor, her fate was in the hands of the imperial family. “I don’t know.”

Daindreth lowered his head and exhaled a long breath. For a moment, she thought he would press the matter. Then he said, “I will take up your offer of a couch, if you don’t mind.”

“Good.”

The archduke finally released her hands. Amira felt the absence of his touch like a gust of wind.

“Can I trust you not to stab me in my sleep?” Daindreth asked, half joking from his tone.

Amira gave him a look that wasn’t quite a smile.

The archduke didn’t order her not to stab him as he sprawled over her couch, arranging a few of the decorative pillows under his head. For an archduke, it seemed rather provincial.

Not sure what else to do, Amira settled into the armchair near his head. There was more cushioning in the seat of that chair than any bed she had occupied as a child. She perched stiffly on the edge, thinking she should have grabbed a book from off the shelves before sitting down, but doubted she would have been able to focus on it.

Everything made sense now. She’d pieced parts of it together, but now she had confirmation. Why he had wanted her. Why there wasn’t a mark on him from her attack. Did the demon accelerate healing, too? It also explained what Darrigan had meant about it being a favor to Daindreth to kill him.

Amira hated the entire situation. Hated it so completely and wholly.

The tick of the mantle clock marked the crawling minutes. The archduke’s breathing leveled and he relaxed.

Amira’s back ached and her neck grew stiff, but she held her position. She had once spent twelve hours nestled in the branches of a sequoia, waiting for a Facrinian ambassador to pass in range of her bow. She could wait a half hour for an Erymayan archduke to fall asleep.

Daindreth’s breathing grew steadier and softer. His face had a boyishness when he slept. It occurred to her how young he was, how young they both were.

Darrigan was right. Her father was right. Even Cromwell had agreed with this.

Daindreth was a good man, yet the thing inside him was anything but. She quelled the demon for now, but what if something changed? What if Caa Iss took over Daindreth again and this time there was no shoving him back down?

The thought of that thing as emperor sent shudders down her spine. She understood then why Vesha had kept headship of the empire for so long. Why there had been no talked of coronating the rightful heir.

Daindreth himself might be fit to rule, but that thing...

Once she was certain he was indeed asleep, Amira steeled herself and rose to her feet. She fetched Darrigan’s knife from under the drapes in the bedroom, fighting down nausea. She gripped it until the hilt’s etching imprinted on her skin.

Just because he’d spoken kindly to her and given her a few pretty dresses didn’t mean he owned her. Even if he had the tether to her curse, that didn’t mean he owned her.

She adjusted her grip on the knife again and again. The hilt didn’t seem to quite fit in her hand. If she did this right, Daindreth would simply never wake. She desperately wanted to get this right.

Once it was done...well, she would worry about that later. This was what was best for everyone. For Fonra, for Hylendale...and for Daindreth.

Her own life had been counted as a loss a long time ago. As a Kadra’han, she would spend the rest of her life killing and hurting as it suited whatever man or woman held her leash. She wondered if her tether would go back to her father after Daindreth was dead.

Amira watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. So at peace. So at ease. She wanted to curl up beside him and soak in that peace.

Cursed prince and heir to a damned throne. Forced to fight for control of his own body, yet kind.

Cromwell had once told her servants treated their master the way their master treated them. If a man was always trying to cheat his staff, they would always try to cheat him. If he was suspicious and convinced they were plotting against him, he would most likely be proven right sooner rather than later.

King Hyle’s servants respected him, served well, and were generally honest. But Daindreth’s were truly loyal. She had seen that in Taylan, Thadred, Shasni, his attendants from the road, and even his guards. They protected him, kept his secrets, and guarded him with their lives.

Daindreth was loved by the people who had seen him at his worst. And why wouldn’t they?

Daindreth had been cursed, same as she was. He couldn’t help it. But where her curse had shattered her into sharp edges and left her with smoldering rage, Daindreth’s had made him kind. All that pain, terror, and anger and it had made him kind.

Or perhaps he had always been kind and had refused to let the curse change him. Either way, it was easy to see why so many loved him. Why so many would die for him.

She watched him, her breathing slowing to match the rhythm of his. Strong jaw and angled cheekbones, and body sculpted as if by a master artisan. He was beautiful, too.

Daindreth was everything the bards and historians wanted archdukes to be. Even with his demon. She should hate him. She should want to kill him. His father had taken everything from her and her people, but she couldn’t hate him. And she didn’t.

What was one assassin’s life in comparison to the archduke? He would do far more good in this world than her, curse or no curse. He already had.

She furiously scrubbed her face with her hands. “I’ve stopped so, so many hearts,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Daindreth went on dozing, his ka a steady glow.

“But with you, I can’t.” She raked back her hair and squeezed her eyes shut.

Amira stood, her jaw locked, her mind made up. She wasn’t killing Daindreth. Maybe if she died for his sake, she would be redeemed enough to buy herself leniency in the afterlife.

Not that it was her first plan.

The assassin marched off to find a better place to hide the knife. She was sure she’d still have use for it.

Amira watched as Daindreth slept. It had been a good two hours since she stashed the knife and had held vigil ever since. She’d fought a battle against Daindreth and lost. It was a different sort of battle than the one countless lords and kings had lost against his father, but the defeat was no less sound.

The archduke dozed peacefully. The sinking sun cast a halo over his mussed hair. He looked like one of the angels from the cathedrals come to life.

Amira rubbed her nose. She knew little more about cythraul than a fireside storyteller. They had never been a serious topic of study. Nonetheless, she expected it would take far, far more than her skill and anything she could conjure to get rid of one. But if her presence neutralized the cythraul, then there must be some way to make it permanent. At least she hoped as much.

“Have you been there this whole time?” Daindreth’s voice was thick with sleep. He pushed himself off the cushions, fumbling into the sitting position.

Amira whirled on him like a caught thief. “It would seem so.”

“Hmm.” Daindreth’s mouth pressed into a wry grimace.

“What?” Amira shifted, feeling suddenly as though she were being weighed and measured.

“Nothing.” Daindreth shook his head, stifling a yawn.

“Do you feel better?” She hoped that would change the subject.

“Much.” He peered out the window. “What time is it?”

Amira shot a quick glance to the mantle clock. “An hour or so to noon.”

Daindreth raked his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes with a deep inhale.

The assassin didn’t have time for his meditation. “What about the Istovari spellbooks and tools you brought from Hylendale? Have you checked them? Is there anything in them?”

“You don’t know?”

“My father never let me read them.” Amira was a little surprised at the resentment that crept into her voice at that. She thought she didn’t care.

Daindreth angled his head to one side. A moment of silence passed between them. “I’ve been through them already. Me and a handful of the scholars at court. They don’t know why they’re looking, but they’ve found nothing.”

She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Why else would Daindreth have wanted the arsenal as part of Fonra’s dowry?

“Everything from fairytales to ancient histories and no one ever mentions a way to silence a cythraul without excising it.”

“So, they do mention exorcism?”

The archduke’s shoulders slumped a little. “There are one or two scripts that mention it, but only in passing. All that is mentioned is that a trade of some sort has to be made.” He shrugged. “It never specifies what kind or how.”

Amira inhaled. “If my mothers cast this curse, then the clue to undoing it could be in what they left behind.”

“We had thought of that.” Daindreth rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ve found nothing.”

“I should still see for myself.”

Daindreth was quiet for a full heartbeat. “My mother wouldn’t like that.”

“Why?”

“She thinks you could be influencing me. Controlling the demon.”

Amira filed that away in her growing list of problems. “Well. I still want to see what I can learn about this creature.” She had an objective now, a target beyond staying alive and keeping Fonra alive. She had to admit it felt good to have a mission again.

“Nothing has ever worked before.” Daindreth’s tone was flinty, hard with a brittle edge. He smoothed his rumpled shirt.

“You never had me before, now did you?” Amira stared him down, daring him to argue.

Daindreth wasn’t intimidated by her hostility, but then, he never was. He tilted his head to the side, once again taking her in like she was a winged polecat or a fanged trout. “No,” he conceded. “No, I never had you.”

His eyes lingered on hers. Silence stretched between them and her heart thudded in her chest. Tingles spread up from the pit of her stomach again and she caught herself staring at his lips.

She really shouldn’t be alone with him.

Amira cleared her throat, looking away. “So, tell me where the Istovari paraphernalia is being stored and I’ll begin.”

Daindreth spaced his words carefully, forming each one with deliberate clarity. “You’re willing to help me?”

Amira sniffed, folding her arms across her chest. “You could order me to do it anyway.”

“But I haven’t ordered you,” he said.

“That’s why I’m willing.”

Daindreth didn’t respond for a moment. “Are you helping me because you want to or because you expect I’ll order you otherwise?”

“Look, do you want my help or not?”

Raking a hand through his hair, Daindreth sighed. “I believe most of the Istovari collection is being stored in a vault below the palace.”

“So how do we get in? We should probably find a way to look without Vesha and her people knowing.” More specifically, Darrigan. Amira shot a surreptitious glance to the door, remembering they should keep their voices down. “If we can.”

Daindreth arched an eyebrow. “We?”

“You or Taylan or Thadred—you can trust Taylan and Thadred, I presume? It hardly matters.” Amira shrugged in an offhanded manner.

“Yes. They’re loyal to me.”

Amira thought back to how the two men had reacted to Daindreth screaming on the ground that night in the forest. They were used to seeing him grapple with the demon. They probably knew more about it than anyone.

Chapter Ten

Pageantry and Prizes

With the thundering of hooves, two knights galloped toward one another across the field. They met at the center and a rain of wood splinters burst over them both. The knight in the blue livery raised his shattered lance and the heralds cried out that he had been awarded a point.

The ground was churned and muddy where the horses and a dozen or so before them had charged across the lysts. Clods of dirt and grass scattered the field.

Applause rang from the stands. The nobles seated beneath the bright canopies had been clapping and cheering for the past two hours with impressive stamina.

Amira kept straight in her wooden throne despite the trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades. The open stares of curiosity from the surrounding spectators had turned to occasional glances. Her whole life, she had been shuffled into corners and the edges of rooms. Nearly overnight, she was now the center of attention.

She felt their judgment burning all around her. The glances cast her way were unfriendly for the most part, as best she could tell. People had even found ways to judge Fonra—perfect, sweet Fonra—back in her father’s court, but Amira was sure her sister would not have earned quite so many glares.

The imperial box stood apart, draped in the banners and crests of the Fanduillion house and imperial seal. Wooden rails lined the sides to keep the rabble out. A canopy spanned overhead for shade and besides the three thrones at the front and center, rows of benches served as places for attendants, dignitaries, and retainers.

Vesha occupied a raised wooden replica of the imperial throne. Today the empress styled a slim golden circlet and a dress of the finest aquamarine damask belted with cord silk. Her onyx hair hung in a waving cascade, daringly loose.

Darrigan and several other Kadra’han guarded the empress’s back. None moved or spoke and Darrigan’s eyes remained on their surroundings, but Amira never doubted for a second that he watched her every move.

The older Kadra’han had seemed almost vulnerable with her when he had come to her rooms, but now he watched her like a hawk. He seemed to expect she might strike out at the empress at any moment. Did he think that was the only reason Daindreth had wanted an assassin? To clear his own path to the throne?

Amira stole a glance past the empress to Daindreth. The archduke sat on Vesha’s right, staring rigidly at the lysts. Clenched jaw, fingers digging into the arms of his seat—he looked even more miserable than she felt.

When she’d learned they would be watching a tourney today, Amira had hoped to see some highborn noble get knocked on his arse. But if the past two hours were any indication, such happenings were rare if they happened at all.

The knights charged one another again and the pattern repeated itself. The knight in blue was declared the winner and elicited an even louder round of applause from the crowd. The victor rode off the lysts with his shattered lance held high, dappled grey destrier snorting.

Amira mulled over Vesha’s chosen seating arrangement. Even the most banal details could be political statements. The empress had given Daindreth the lesser throne at her right—the fitting place for a Crown Archduke. Yet she had placed Amira on her left.

That was a place given to an honored councilor, a favored courtier, or a second born child. As the future archduchess, Amira’s place should have been beside the archduke. She should have been on an unassuming chair, close enough to hold his hand and maybe ease some of the tension that rippled through his shoulders.

By placing Amira where she had, Vesha was saying that the Kadra’han was a power in her own right. It made no more sense than anything else about these imperials.

Amira shifted when she noticed a baronet staring at her clothes. Vesha had suggested—which was a veneer for a command—that Amira wear this cream and gold gown. It had a fitted brocade bodice and long, fitted sleeves. Though the straight collar rose halfway up her neck, the front had a daring part that plunged below her neckline. Very little flesh showed, but it dipped down to almost level with her ribs, daring anyone not to look.

Amira self-consciously shifted in her seat. She’d worn scandalous clothes back home, even reveled in it, but this somehow felt different.

Two more knights took up their places on either side of the field. Their horses snorted eagerly, and the pages gripped their bridles tight as the heralds announced the riders’ names and ranks.

At the mention of the left-hand knight’s name, cheers broke from the stands.

Amira watched as the two knights took their places, charged on the lyst master’s signal, and missed one another. A disappointed groan went through the crowd.

The knights went at it a second round and this time a lance shattered. The point was awarded, and the heralds kept track of the score on the large wooden counting block.

The victor of the match was declared, and another set of contenders moved onto the field. It seemed that narrowing down the contestants would take some time.

One of the knights rode in on a chestnut destrier with vibrant green trappings and the other a roan in burgundy. Two pages gripped each of the prancing animals’ bridles on either side, restraining the beasts best they could.

Daindreth leaned forward with his first genuine show of interest that morning.

“And now, my lords and ladies, Your Highness, and Your Majesty,” the heralded boomed. It was a wonder he had kept his voice this long. “I present to you Sir Dollin Kerrs of Sivilset and Sir Thadred Myrani of Dunharrow.”

Amira straightened along with the archduke. The crowd roared at Thadred’s name including a good number of women—who clearly didn’t find him as annoying as she did. Thadred stood tall on his chestnut, looking impressively gallant, she had to grudgingly admit. “Thadred still jousts?”

“Of course. He couldn’t keep himself off the lysts if he tried,” Daindreth answered, sipping from a wine goblet.

“Even after his accident?”

Daindreth shrugged. “My cousin is stronger than most.”

“I heard it almost killed him. That it should have killed him by all counts.”

Daindreth shrugged again. “As I said. Stronger than most. He heals quickly.”

On the lysts, the two knights took their places. The assassin watched curiously, searching for any sign that his limp hindered him. She could note no difference between Thadred’s style to that of any of his competition.

At the signal, the destriers barreled down the lysts—four thousand pounds of horseflesh and metal on a collision course.

The lances leveled, the crowd gave a collective inhale and—

Thadred’s lance landed square on the shoulder of the other knight, sweeping him out of the saddle and flat on his backside.

Everyone leapt to their feet, cheering and calling Thadred’s name. It was an automatic victory.

Daindreth’s cousin dropped his splintered lance and raised his fist in the air, circling his horse around the lysts at a canter. He basked in his victory for a full circuit before returning to his side of the ring and allowing the pages to help him out of the saddle.

Meanwhile, Kerrs’s servants had the less dignified task of picking him up out of the dirt. They helped him stiffly to his feet and removed his helm, revealing a face sweaty and smudged with dirt.

Kerrs made his way to Thadred’s side of the arena and the two shook hands as the next pair of riders took their place on the lysts.

Amira kept her attention on Kerrs and Thadred as the two spoke together, occasionally motioning toward the lysts. They seemed on amicable terms, even if Daindreth’s cousin had trounced the other knight then ridden circles around him to prove it.

“What do you think of Sir Thadred’s performance, my lady?” It took Amira a moment to realize the empress had addressed her. The empress’s tone was dry and unaffected. She might have been asking after the consistency of jerked beef.

Amira hesitated a moment before answering. “It was spectacular, if short lived.”

“I hear that’s what most women say of him.” Vesha didn’t quite smile, but mischief wrinkled the corners of her mouth.

“I wouldn’t know,” Amira clipped.

Daindreth cleared his throat and stood. A small army of servants stood with him, including Taylan, who had been seated a few chairs over. “I will return shortly.”

Vesha nodded with a shooing gesture as the archduke crossed the practice field. Her eyes never left her son as he made his way to Thadred.

Almost of their own accord, Amira’s eyes also followed Daindreth, too. There was still another two hours of jousting, then they would have to watch the finals for all the other events before the finals for the joust. It was a long time to wait for the chance to speak to him in private again.

She needed to speak with him about their plans to get inside the palace vault, but even if they couldn’t speak...she had to admit she preferred to have him close. She wasn’t sure of much these days, but she was sure she could trust him. Vesha and the rest of the court, not so much. He was the one person she knew would protect her—not even her parents had done that.

Daindreth slapped his cousin on the back and the two men laughed. They exchanged a few words, gesturing to the field.

A female voice spoke from somewhere back in the stands. “It must be the red hair. Men seem to prefer the red hair even though my Chora’s waist is at least two inches smaller.”

The assassin frowned, the words barely audible over her shoulder.

“And my Huina has a dowry worth a king’s ransom!” muttered the same voice, rising a little.

Amira cast a glance to her left, spotting a pale woman in widow’s tight black wimple. She might have looked like a prioress if not for the headband of rubies across her forehead and the rings that flashed on her knotted fingers.

She spoke to a woman some years younger, though probably also a matron herself, dripping in sapphires with voluminous sleeves. The woman in sapphires sighed longingly. “If only my Cressy had been a little older. I heard Count D’Landro and Baron Alderman’s daughters had a contest between them who could catch His Highness first.”

“As did every other virgin with a thimble of noble blood. Bah!” The widow dropped her voice as she went on. “This is madness. His Highness has steered clear of every woman until now.”

The sapphire woman made a dismissive sound. “In truth, she’s earned the crown for such a feat. I only wish she could teach my Cressy the trick. We might marry her off to one of the imperial cousins.”

“Sir Thadred?”

“Heavens, no. I’ll only accept a landed man for her. Even if the archduke will no doubt give his cousin ample lands in time.”

“One of us might still be able to secure the archduke. Now that we know he has interest in women—and don’t give me that look. I know you wondered as sure as I did.”

Amira’s jaw tightened. Even engaged or married, Daindreth would still be fair game to many of the noble houses. The family of an emperor or great lord’s mistress was often as powerful as that of his wife. In the eastern parts of the empire, they even had a term for it, party wife—since the men often met their mistresses at parties and most often attended parties with them.

“But truly. Archduke Daindreth spurns every girl who comes his way and then this red vixen gets him to sign a contract in less than a week.”

“What was that, marchioness?” Vesha finally deigned to speak, though she had no doubt heard as much as Amira. The empress’s tone and countenance showed nothing but innocent curiosity. “Did I hear my son’s name?”

The woman in sapphires, the marchioness, seemed to wilt beneath the empress’s scrutiny. “Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty, we were just discussing the upcoming ball. To celebrate the archduke’s betrothal.” She inclined her head to Daindreth who was still speaking with Thadred across the field.

“Ah.” Vesha responded with a vague smile. “You must tell me if there is anything you wish to discuss.”

“Yes, of course.” The marchioness ducked her head as her companion elbowed her ribs.

Amira glowered at the two gossips as they scurried away.

“Should I punish them for the insult?” Vesha asked. “How should I do it?”

Again, it took Amira a moment to notice the empress had spoken to her, though not as long as last time. “Your Majesty?”

“They insulted the future archduchess. The future empress.” Vesha leaned over the armrest, closer to Amira. “Shouldn’t they be punished?”

The younger woman forced herself not to cower. There was an authority and forcefulness about the empress, a ferocity that simmered beneath the veneer of her beauty. Amira wasn’t yet sure if the woman wanted to have her as a daughter in law or eat her alive.

Amira found herself wishing that Daindreth would come back and soon. “I’m no stranger to insults, Your Majesty.” Amira returned her attention to the lysts.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to repay them?” Vesha’s tone was almost seductive as she leaned closer.

Amira was convinced that whatever she said would be wrong, but she couldn’t ignore the empress. This woman might very well still have her beheaded. “Before we left Lashera, I repaid one of the people who had insulted me most.”

“Oh?”

Amira raised her chin. “She deserved it and worse. I still wish I could bash her brains in.”

Vesha made a satisfied sound, as if she had expected as much. “Shall I send for a stool?”

Amira shifted uncomfortably. She should have known that the empress would already know about Amira attacking her stepmother. “Let them be petty,” the assassin said, though she could still feel the sting of their words. “Few of us can afford the luxury.”

Vesha made a considering sound and after a moment straightened, leaving Amira in peace on her side of the armrest.

Daindreth returned across the practice field with Taylan and his other retainers in tow. He ascended the steps to the imperial platform, glancing between his mother and Amira. “Is everything alright?”

Amira shot him a sideways glance, then looked away.

Vesha only smirked. “Of course, my son. Is your cousin sufficiently proud of himself?”

Daindreth smiled. It was brief and gone in an instant, but he did smile. It was a real smile, not donned for the sake of courtly decorum. “You know Thadred.” The archduke took his place at his mother’s side again.

The lysts were disassembled and rearranged by the orderlies. Straw bales with painted bull’s eyes on the broad sides lined one side of the field.

The stands stirred as some people left to find refreshments while some returned to watch. A large number congregated around a bookie, identifiable by the plumed red feather in his cap. Men and women alike placed bets on the archers, signing their names on the wagerkeep’s scroll.

“Who do you wager will win the archery contest?” Vesha asked, eyes on the writhing stands.

“Viscount Curespian.” Daindreth answered without a moment’s hesitation. “He always wins.”

“Hmm. I don’t think so,” Vesha answered.

“Oh? Where would you place your bets?” Daindreth smiled graciously in the direction of a bowing group of nobles passing before the stands, giving them permission to rise.

The group then bowed to Vesha and the empress inclined her head with all the grace of a goddess. For one moment, she reminded Amira of a statue of Eponine that had been in the Istovari tower—graceful, kind, yet teeming with power.

It took Amira a moment to realize the third bow was directed at her. She fought to hide her surprise and copy the slight bow and wafture to release the nobles.

The group rose and then scurried past—an older man with a woman perhaps in her forties with a pimpled boy and girl that couldn’t be more than sixteen. They were hemmed in by two ladies’ maids, a valet, and a trio of backmen, domestic servants who often doubled as bodyguards.

“That was the Baron Alderman, his daughter Demsia, and her two children,” Vesha said, returning her attention to where the servants had almost finished setting up the archery field. “A minor house. Minor enough to know their place, yet still important enough to be useful from time to time.”

In her father’s court, Amira had spent a lifetime learning every name, face, and likely motive that frequented the halls at Lashera. Here, she was starting over with perhaps three times as many faces and stakes twice as high.

“He’s Rebeku’s man,” Vesha added. “So don’t let his family’s flattery get to you.”

Amira inhaled. She was used to being friendless.

“You really think Rebeku would come against Amira?” Daindreth watched the Aldermans scuttle away like puffs of velvet and silk.

“Of course,” Vesha said. “They’ll do whatever they can to make her lose your favor.”

Amira ground her teeth. It wasn’t like she’d asked for this, quite the opposite.

How many of them would still want to foist their daughters off on Daindreth if they knew about Caa Iss? In truth, most of them would probably only care about Caa Iss as far as it allowed them to manipulate the game.

Like her father, every one of them had minor lords at home who depended on them, courted their favor, and made demands of them. Every one of these great lords no doubt also had ten or fifteen lesser lords in that number who would gladly replace them the moment their houses were weak enough.

Power was like climbing a mountain—the higher you ascended, the farther you could fall, and the more people began wishing for your fall. The trick was to tie as many people to you as possible so that if you did fall, you would take them down with you. That, in principle, made those people watch out for your best interests.

At last, the field was ready and the herald called for the archers to take their positions for the final round of archery. The herald went through the roster, naming off the contestants and their scores from earlier that day—which Amira had missed. She and Daindreth had attended a midmorning tea hosted by Dowager Duchess Elken, a distant relative of the archduke.

“Make ready!” the herald cried.

The archers drew their bowstrings, leveling their arrows at the straw targets.

“Loose!”

Ten missiles streaked toward their straw destinations. One missed altogether, three hit the edge of their targets, two hit near the third ring, two struck the second ring, and only one struck the center. That would earn them a negative point, one point each, three points each, five points, seven points, and ten points, respectively, if she remembered the scoring system correctly.

A moment later, the pages adjusted the score with the new tally and it proved she was correct—ten points to the archer who had led the preliminaries.

As far as Amira could tell, the archery contest set all the scores to zero at the start of each new round. That gave him a tally of sixty-two for the final round, putting him more than ten points ahead of the next closest contender.

“And the victor is His Grace, Viscount Curespian!” The herald sprang onto the field and grasped the hand of the archer who had struck closest to the center—and had been the most accurate thus far—and thrust it toward the sky.

A whoop rose from the stands as a train of gamblers made their way to the bookies. It seemed Curespian had been a popular bet.

The viscount beamed with victory and the first heartfelt cheers erupted from the crowd. Several called his name in congratulations and he was motioned toward the imperial box.

Vesha rose and the whole of the stands rose with her.

Amira took her cue from Daindreth and stood as the empress descended the front steps of the imperial box. Vesha’s embroidered train trailed after her and Darrigan followed close behind, matching step for step.

Viscount Curespian knelt before the empress. A page carrying a golden crown on a velvet pillow stepped up beside Vesha.

It was a work of exquisite craftsmanship—Amira thought it held an uncanny resemblance to the one Daindreth wore now. The page kept his head down, avoiding the empress’s gaze. Amira had only seen one person meet Vesha’s eyes without hesitation—Darrigan.

Vesha looked to the gold crown. In a few months, it would be Amira’s task to crown winners at such events as this, but for now, the job fell to Vesha. The stands, those occupying the imperial box, and every spectator waited.

The empress raised her chin. “It seems to me that not all our contestants have yet shown their skill.”

Several murmurs went through the crowd. Amira looked to Daindreth, but the archduke was frowning at Vesha.

“Lady Amira.” The empress beckoned over her shoulder.

A cold dread spread throughout Amira’s body at the sound of her name on the empress’s lips.

“Mother.” Daindreth’s voice was low, almost threatening. “What are you doing?”

“Come here, Amira,” Vesha repeated, not looking away from the lysts before them.

“Leave her alone,” Daindreth growled. “She is not your toy.”

“Is there a reason you don’t trust me, my son?”

Amira touched Daindreth’s arm before stepping down the steps to the empress’s level. She needed the empress as an ally no matter what happened. She wouldn’t make an ally with defiance. And she didn’t want Daindreth at odds with his mother over this.

“Come, darling.” Vesha rested a hand on Amira’s shoulder, drawing her nearer like a daughter.

Darrigan’s hand tightened on his sword hilt, but there was no other sign he even cared that a known assassin stood beside his liege lady.

“Lady Amira, won’t you have your round?” Vesha asked. “Sixty-two. That’s the score to beat.”

Viscount Curespian and the herald behind him looked on in bewilderment.

“Your Majesty?”

“The court, the city, and indeed the empire are all abuzz with rumors about the archduke’s young bride to be. They’re curious.” Vesha flashed her a smile. “As am I. Don’t you think we should get to know you better?”

The herald kept looking from Amira to Vesha to the viscount for some explanation of what in Moreyne’s Dread March was happening.

Vesha smiled, a flash of teeth like a snake before it strikes. “Take the viscount’s bow and show us who you really are.”

Amira looked to the longbow still in the viscount’s clenched fist. It was a fine weapon, made of northern maple and sanded smooth.

As she took his bow, the viscount released it one finger at a time. But he could no more defy the empress’s wishes than Amira could defy Daindreth, not if he wished to keep his family in good graces at court.

The empress nudged Amira toward the archery field. The arrows had been collected from the targets, but the straw bales themselves remained. Orderlies, retainers, courtiers, and the untitled onlookers on the lower green stared slack jawed as the archduke’s mysterious fiancée stepped onto the green.

Amira had heard from Fonra that archery was a popular pastime among many gentlewomen in Mynadra and the empire. But women rarely entered contests outside the far southern kingdoms where they also hunted and sometimes rode to war with the men.

Amira stole a look at Daindreth. The archduke shook his head once.

“Don’t—” Daindreth cut himself off. “I don’t want you to do this.”

Amira paused. He’d been about to command her and then stopped himself. A request—not a command. He’d given her a choice.

Choices—that was a new feeling.

She could choose to hang back, cowering from the court and shrinking from exposure. Or she could show them all what they were dealing with.

Then there was Vesha. She needed to show Vesha she wasn’t going to back down. In this case, defiance would show her as weak.

Amira stared at Daindreth for a heartbeat, just a heartbeat, and made up her mind.

She turned and marched to the distance marker before the first target.

“And now...” the herald stammered. “My lords and ladies, I give you Her Ladyship Amira Brindonu, betrothed of His Imperial Highness, Archduke Daindreth.”

The announcement was met with hesitant clapping and more whispers.

Amira looked over her shoulder a final time. An aide she didn’t recognize whispered frantically to the empress. Daindreth’s face was white and pinched and he looked ready to scream.

She would apologize to her fiancé later.

Passing one of the contestants still on the field, she yanked a fistful of arrows from his quiver. No one spoke above a whisper as she barreled to the targets.

Amira took up a position at the first target, at the hundred paces marker. She nocked an arrow, drew her arm back, and loosed.

The string twanged against her forearm. Even through her sleeve, it stung painfully. Amira gritted her teeth as the arrow buried itself within the target’s third ring. It wasn’t a perfect shot, but it would have killed.

The herald announced the score a heartbeat late. “Five points to her ladyship!”

Polite clapping scattered the field, drowned out by the murmurs of the crowd. Amira was grateful that down here she couldn’t make out their words.

Nocking a second arrow, Amira strode to the second target and repeated the action with a fluid motion. The string slapped against her forearm a second time and once again the arrow planted itself within the third ring.

Her arm throbbed and a spot of red blood stained her sleeve. Nothing she could do about it at the moment.

“Another five points!”

Amira moved to the third target and this time the arrow landed within the fourth ring, buried at the edge of the bull’s eye—ten points.

She carried out the task with a hard, martial efficiency. By the time the fourth arrow buried itself in the center of the bull’s eye, her arm throbbed and an angry red mark welled on her sleeve. Amira inhaled a deep breath and ignored the throbbing in her forearm.

The assassin moved on. As she struck her arrows within the second ring on the fifth and sixth times, the crowd hushed.

When she approached the seventh target, something changed. Her heartbeat steadied, her breathing fell into an easy rhythm. She’d been taught to regulate both, but as she pulled back the bowstring, she relaxed.

The creak and curve of the bow, every flaw and foible in the wood flared into her awareness. The wind became almost visible, a translucent ripple across the distance.

Amira let loose and the arrow hit the bull’s eye. Pain shot up her arm, but she moved on without so much as a flinch. The same preternatural awareness flooded her senses at the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth targets.

Thud, thud, thud.

The arrows struck center. Amira barely believed it herself. Even at the height of her practice, she had never been this good.

Her left arm burned sore. A bloody red stain marred her pale sleeve.

“Seventy-four,” called the herald. “Seventy-four points to Lady Amira.”

A slow, rhythmic clap came from his back. Amira turned to see the empress watching her with a wry grin, hard to interpret at this distance.

The crowd joined in, hesitant at first and then louder.

Amira looked up into the stands to see the Dame Rebeku along with the marchioness, all applauding.

The assassin made her way back to the empress, brushing past the other archers—she supposed they were her opponents. The clapping rang out around her like the very voice of falsity.

Viscount Curespian gaped at Amira with a mixture of fury and shock. She had just humiliated him and stolen his moment.

Amira bowed to Vesha before returning the viscount’s bow to him. “It’s a good weapon. Thank you for lending it to me,” she said, using the words her tutors had always used when borrowing weapons for a demonstration during lessons.

“Herald?” the empress prompted.

“Er...” The narrow, pale man goggled Amira as the applause died down. “Er...My lords and ladies.” He regained his composure and his trained voice once again reverberated over the stands. “I present to you our victor, Her Ladyship Amira Brindonu!” The herald did not take Amira’s hand and make a show of presenting her as the winner as he had done for the other winners. He stayed at a good distance as was befitting for a noble lady.

Vesha motioned to the ground before her. Amira knelt as the viscount had done. She bowed, keenly aware that Darrigan was two steps behind the empress, sword already in hand, ready to draw it.

Vesha settled the golden circlet around the assassin’s brow, taking her time, like she wanted to study the moment. “Rise, victor.”

Amira stood, looking to Daindreth. The archduke looked on, his expression unreadable.

“Now then.” The empress folded her hands before her. “Let us refresh ourselves and make ready for the next event!”

Amira waited until Her Majesty turned to speak with one of the ladies in waiting. The moment the empress was occupied, Amira went straight for Daindreth.

They nearly collided in their haste to reach one another. Amira’s circlet knocked askew and she half-knowingly straightened it.

Nobles rose to exchange pleasantries, circulating carefully. Their words were frivolous—questions about hunting dogs, new bolts of fabric from across the sea, and opinions on the new lace cravats that were this year’s fashion. Yet Amira had been in her father’s court enough to see that their benign interactions were anything but.

These light, often brief conversations were a way to remind the other nobles you existed, that you were their friend, wanted to be, or had best be. Erymaya’s dozens of provinces and territories were represented in the press of clothes and faces.

When so much of the court was only in residence seasonally or every few years, grudges could spring from a single snub or marriages from a single smile.

A man and a woman from the far south stopped to give Daindreth their compliments. Amira didn’t hear their names over the hubbub, but it sounded to her as if it were a father and daughter.

No sooner had the southerners moved aside than Amira found herself facing a trio of the Sea Wardens. Their braided beards clinked with metal rings and one man’s beard reached below his belt. The man with the largest beard was a Great Thane, similar to a king, but not quite.

As the Sea Wardens moved on and a bejeweled woman flanked by two somewhat pretty girls took their place, Amira realized that she and Daindreth were holding court, after a fashion. This was the first official outing of Daindreth’s wife-to-be, their future empress.

Everyone wanted to know what sort of woman would hold the White Throne when Daindreth was made emperor. Would she influence him for conquest? For peace? Would she favor any lands over others? Did she have prejudices or fondnesses that could be leveraged?

This empire knew better than to underestimate a woman. Their foreign empress had taught them that.

Servants appeared bearing wine flasks and platters of fruit and cheese. Many of the nobles drifted over to take advantage.

A lull in the line of well-wishers finally came and Daindreth wasted no time in pulling Amira into a corner, half hiding them both behind a long tapestry—not enough to be improper, but enough to make it rude to disturb them.

“Why did your mother do that?” Amira demanded the moment they had some semblance of privacy.

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

Amira shook her head.

Daindreth’s gaze slid up to the circlet crowning Amira’s brow at the same time she looked to his. They were nearly identical, but his had been studded in sapphires while hers was adorned with rubies. It hardly seemed the sort of thing given out for an archery match, even at the imperial palace.

“She made you earn your crown,” Daindreth said, frowning as if the words tasted strange. “She knew you’d win, but...”

Daindreth rested a hand on the wooden rail of the box, turning his back to where his mother now sipped a goblet of wine, speaking to the Sea Wardens. “She’s up to some game.”

Amira felt like a fly, caught up in the empress’s web. “Whose side is she on?” She wasn’t even sure whose side she herself was on, so perhaps it was an unfair question.

“The empire’s.”

“What does that mean?” Amira looked away from the empress when she noticed several sets of eyes had noticed her staring, Darrigan in particular.

“When can we leave?” Amira cleared her throat and smiled even as she said it.

“We still have the finals for the discus throw, the sword fighting, and the polearm fighting. Then the joust at the very end.”

Amira suppressed a groan. She would rather hike a mountain barefoot.

Daindreth’s fingers brushed her left forearm. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s fine.” Amira pulled back though her skin throbbed hot and tender beneath her sleeve.

“You’re bleeding.”

The assassin looked down to find the stain on her arm now covered most of the inside of her sleeve. “Damn it.”

“Fetch the surgeon,” Daindreth ordered a footman in earshot.

“I don’t need a surgeon,” Amira protested.

“I’d be a poor husband if I let you bleed all over your clothes.” Daindreth touched her left arm. “You should have asked for an armguard.”

“I wanted to make a point.”

“Which is?”

Amira tilted her chin up. “I’ve faced worse.” She reached for the laces at her shoulders. “Here. Help me take my sleeve off.”

Daindreth cleared his throat awkwardly, but obeyed, helped her undo the laces and pull off the brocade. As soon as he did, he exposed a bloody mark that had mostly stopped weeping, but still left a red smear over her skin.

“Amira...” Daindreth stiffened. “Your arm.”

At first, she thought he was looking at the welt, but then she realized his eyes were fixed on a place farther up her arm. She resisted the urge to cower self-consciously.

White lines slashed across the inside of her elbow. Time had left her skin smooth and whole, but there was no mistaking the scars.

“Who did this?” He gently brushed his thumb over the marks. A shiver went down her spine, his touch so tender it almost hurt. No one ever treated her with tenderness before, not like this.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he added, softly.

Amira studied the man in front of her. The one who had a monster inside his skull yet fought it for more than half his life. The one who held her leash so loosely she often forgot it was there.

He hadn’t wanted her to step onto the green but had let it be her choice. Nor was he angry she’d chosen what he didn’t want.

He had earned an answer, she supposed. Even if speaking the words made her feel naked.

“My grandmother,” she said. “And her acolytes.”

Daindreth froze, tension sending an invisible ramrod through his spine. “Why?”

“She didn’t want my father to have me.” Amira’s mother, grandmother, and their people had already been declared traitors by then. The last thing they wanted was a young, malleable Istovari falling into the hands of a man who had sworn allegiance to their enemies.

In a way, their worst fears had come true. King Hyle had weaponized her power for himself, paid to have her trained as one might a hunting dog.

Daindreth’s brow furrowed, but he never took his attention off her scars and the weeping splotch on her arm. “How old were you?” The question was soft, barely audible.

“Four,” Amira answered.

Daindreth stroked his thumb across her scars. His touch sent warm shivers up her arms and down her spine. He touched her so gently, caringly. She didn’t want him to stop.

The lines on Daindreth’s forehead deepened. People were no doubt noticing the archduke’s concern, but his attention was focused solely on those white lines.

“Don’t pity me,” Amira said. “Please.” She couldn’t stop the waver that crept into the last word.

“Not pity,” Daindreth said. The archduke took a breath and looked about to speak, then must have thought better of it. “But I’m sorry,” he said. “For what they did.”

“It was a long time ago,” Amira said, straightening.

Daindreth said nothing. He leaned down and pressed a kiss over the scars. It was a feather-soft caress, but she felt it in every nerve ending in her body like sparks of fire.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He kissed the scars again, lips brushing over the sensitive skin inside her elbow.

“Daindreth.” Amira barely managed to choke out his name.

He straightened and searched her face, concern lining his own. The concern left as he studied her closer, her lips parted slightly, leaning toward him.

Daindreth’s eyes darkened. “Amira—”

A woman with close-cropped hair and a tourney surgeon’s uniform interrupted. “Your Majesty. Your Ladyship.” The surgeon bowed to them each in turn. “How can I be of service?”

Amira cleared her throat and turned away from the archduke. As the other woman began ministrations on her arm, her mind drifted toward the approaching wedding and specifically the wedding night.

For the first time, she looked forward to it.

Chapter Eleven

The Witch

Thadred won the joust, of course. No one was surprised. As soon as his opponent was lying in the dirt, nobles rushed to collect their bets. According to Daindreth, bets involving Thadred usually were regarding by how much he would win, not if.

Amira cast the archduke a stern look as Thadred cheered at another victory. “No one is that good.”

“Thadred is.”

“How can he be so much better than the people he fights?” Amira countered. “A blade goes dull without a whetstone. How can he stay so good if he never faces a real challenge?”

“I don’t know, but he does.”

Amira rolled her eyes at that. No one, not even Adros Nephaine, the most powerful Kadra’han in memory, had been undefeated.

When the time came to crown Thadred the winner, Vesha stepped aside and looked pointedly to Amira.

The assassin’s throat tightened. For the love of all the gods, surely the madwoman wasn’t about to ask Amira to joust?

“Lady Amira,” the empress said. “As bride of our future emperor, will you crown our victor?”

Amira didn’t see the harm in obeying and nor did she see a safe way to disobey.

The assassin stepped up to take the empress’s place before Thadred. A squire knelt with the crown on a velvet pillow, just like the others. All she had to do was place it on Thadred’s head. She wasn’t sure how one could mess that up, but she was fairly sure she could find a way.

Amira took the crown and raised it over the sweaty knight’s head. She could feel hundreds of eyes watching her every move, weighing every breath and blink.

Thadred kept his face lowered. Amira wished she could have seen his expression as she settled the golden circlet around his brow.

“Rise, victor,” Amira said, imitating the words she’d heard Vesha speak four or five times now.

“I thank you, my lady,” Thadred said. He grasped and kissed the back of her hand as the previous champions had done with Vesha.

The knight stood, a little stiffer than the others had, favoring his bad leg. Still holding her hand, he thrust it into the air and the crowd broke into cheers so loud that the horses whickered in terror across the lysts.

He touched her only with the hand that wore his ka-absorbing ring. Amira wondered if that was coincidence.

Thadred bowed and waved before turning back to her with a grin, lapping up the applause like a tomcat lapping up cream.

“Congratulations, victor,” Amira said, not even trying to lessen the sarcasm that dripped from her voice.

Thadred only grinned broader. He kissed her right cheek, then the other, as one would a sister. “Congratulations, victor,” he snickered back.

Daindreth slid between them. He slung an arm around Thadred’s shoulders, then Amira’s waist. She was acutely aware of her side pressing against him, the warmth and solidness of his body.

Daindreth hugged both of them. “My champions,” he said, preening like the general of an undefeated legion. He ruffled Thadred’s hair and kissed Amira’s forehead.

Amira frowned. “You’re pleased?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Amira had gone against his wishes earlier. She could think of several reasons for him to be displeased.

“Forgive me, my son, but your bride and I must prepare for the feast tonight.” Vesha came up from behind the archduke, Darrigan close at her back.

Daindreth’s smile faltered as he released Amira and Thadred. “I...yes, Mother.”

“Never fear. I shall return her quickly,” Vesha assured him. “We’ll see you in an hour or so. Tell your bride to come with me and behave.”

Daindreth shot a look to Darrigan behind Vesha. Several torturously long heartbeats passed before he looked straight at Amira and said, “Do as I’ve told you.”

Amira almost frowned. That wasn’t really a command. She already had to do as he told her.

Darrigan’s mouth tightened and a muscle clenched in his cheek.

“Stop it, Darrigan,” Vesha clipped. “It’s not like we’ll be alone.”

Amira allowed Vesha to take her arm in a familial gesture that didn’t feel quite right. Yet what choice did she have?

“Daindreth—” Amira looked to him as the empress tugged her toward the steps off the raised platform.

“Yes?” Daindreth didn’t look any more pleased about her leaving than she was. The way his brow pinched in concern, the way his whole body shifted toward her...he wouldn’t make her go with the empress and Darrigan if she asked not to.

“I—”

Past the archduke, she noticed the throngs of nobles milling about, dispersing as the orderlies took down the rails, the stands, the bunting, and removed the paraphernalia of the joust from the field. All were absorbed in their own affairs, but Amira could still feel hundreds of eyes watching her from sidelong glances and over the shoulders of their companions.

She couldn’t afford weakness in front of them. If they saw her pull out of the empress’s grasp, if they saw even a hint of vulnerability...

Amira forced a smile. “I will see you at the feast, Your Highness.” She inclined her head to Daindreth and he inclined his head in turn.

“I look forward to it.”

As Amira walked away with Vesha, she realized she looked forward to it as well. And not just because she’d get a reprieve from Vesha.

The empress led her the long way back to the palace, taking a walking path that looped through an avenue lined with shrubs, skirting near the game park, and then back through the long way to the main leisure portions of the palace.

In her paranoid mind, Amira wondered if Vesha meant to have Darrigan finish her off and leave her body in the game park for a family of boars. Not likely, but she wouldn’t put it past the empress.

Vesha offered small talk about the tournament and its attendees while Amira managed to force a response every hundred words or so. Despite the cordial words, the hairs on the back of Amira’s neck stood on end and she couldn’t ignore the looming presence of Darrigan at her flank.

They reached a dome of latticed stone that spanned a solarium at least three times the size of the lysts back on the field. The lattice cast geometric patterns over the massive stone-hewn pond, like lace made of shadows. Flat footpaths crisscrossed the pond in concentric shapes, the mirrored reflection of the pattern above. The design triggered something in Amira’s memory, something deep and hidden yet vaguely familiar.

The water rose so high that even the slightest ripple sent splashes over the walkways. Water lilies floated on the smooth surface. Flashes of red and white koi circled below.

Amira stared. The only sounds were that of the empress and her guards and the distant trickle of water. Amira couldn’t guess where the sound of water came from. She could see no disturbance on the glassy surface of the pond.

“The famed lily solarium of Mynadra,” Vesha said.

Amira wouldn’t have needed the empress’s explanation to know what she was seeing. “It’s beautiful.

“Emperor Drystan gave it to me as a wedding gift,” she said. “I had it renovated not long after he died, but my husband built it first. He was a harsh man. Too ambitious for his own, good as you well know.” There was a note of accusation in the last few words. “He could never do anything partway. With him, everything was all or nothing. If he hated, he hated with his very soul. If he loved...” Vesha trailed off, frowning. “Have you heard the story?”

“Some of it, Your Majesty,” Amira answered. “I know people say he cared greatly for you.”

“Yes,” Vesha agreed. “He promised me that he would make me his empress. I didn’t believe him.” She smiled then, an absent and sad smile. “I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that my son risked offending the whole empire to have the woman he wanted. His father very nearly started a war for me. More than a few men died as it was, but the emperor didn’t care. He would have burned cities in my name if that’s what it took.”

Amira returned her attention to the solarium. There was an elegant beauty, a sense of wealth displayed and enjoyed, yet depths beyond the eye’s perception. It was so much like the empress herself.

“When we met for the signing of our marriage contract, I mentioned that I missed the water gardens of my mother’s country. This was his response.”

The assassin’s jaw almost dropped. Such extravagance. According to rumors, the lily solarium had taken two hundred master stone masons and their apprentices working night and day six months to complete.

“Drystan gave me a crown, an empire, and the chance to leave a legacy most men never even dream of, much less women.” Vesha’s fingers tightened on Amira’s arm. Her nails pressed into the bandage beneath the new sleeve that the servants had brought to replace the one Amira had stained with blood. “And no one has threatened that chance more than a certain tribe of sorceresses to the north.”

Amira kept her jaw slack, eyes fixed straight ahead. That was the trick of it. Appear occupied with something else. Her mouth went dry and a tightness spread through her chest.

She was keenly aware of Darrigan at her back.

“I have fought to keep this empire thriving in the face of vying nobles, rebellions, insurrections, through my husband’s ailment, and now my son’s.” Vesha’s grip tightened. “When I die, it is unlikely that Daindreth will be able to rule, at least not consistently. Not unless we change something.”

Amira’s mouth tightened. “Why not?”

“You know why not.” Vesha’s voice hardened.

“No,” she said. “I don’t.”

“You know of his curse?”

“Every curse can be broken,” Amira said, citing the rule almost without thinking.

“And every cloud can bear rain. That doesn’t mean they will.” Vesha inhaled. “I have broken my own bones to build this empire into something that can last.”

Amira wasn’t sure what the empress meant by that, but she wasn’t about to interrupt.

“I have not paid the price for this empire only to have it crumble in a generation.”

“What are you saying?” Amira looked squarely to Vesha.

“I did not rise to power alone, Amira. No one does.”

Amira searched the empress’s face, still not understanding.

“This all comes at a cost,” Vesha said, waving vaguely at the air. “Have you wondered how I have kept the empire stable for nigh on twenty years? How I have ensured good harvests, healthy livestock, gentle winters, and fertile summers?”

Shaking her head, Amira’s thoughts whirred in a thousand different directions at once. “You rule well.”

“I do,” Vesha agreed. “But the weather?” She arched one eyebrow. “There hasn’t been an outbreak of cankerworms in the crops for years. No droughts and only a handful of floods within the empire’s borders.”

A sinking feeling began in Amira’s gut as they reached the dais at the center of the gardens.

Vesha didn’t stop, leading her gingerly up the steps to the very top. “That takes power, Amira. Power that no man or woman can give you.”

Amira looked around her from the top and the pieces began clicking in place. She recognized the design of the stones and the mirrored design in the lattices above—highly stylized and embellished, but still recognizable. This whole garden was a Witch’s Wheel, a conduit for shaping spells. Not to mention it was surrounded by still water, a veritable echo chamber for ka.

Looking closer, Amira realized that the latticework and the mirrored design below were of different stone than the pond’s giant basin. It was hardly noticeable, but the walkways and the overhead pattern were hewn from paler rock. Vesha had renovated her wedding gift into a tool for magic.

“But...” She looked back to her future mother-in-law, fear and confusion tangling her tongue. “You’re not a sorceress.” There were none of the telltale signs, no excess ka sticking to the empress’s body.

“Not naturally,” Vesha responded. “Not by blood.”

Amira shook her head. “What then?”

“Some are born with their gifts,” Vesha said. “Others must take them.”

Pulling her arm free of Vesha, Amira surveyed the other woman, the empress’s slightly tilted head and playful, almost girlish smile. Something was wrong, so very wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Saan Thii,” Vesha said to the air. “Show yourself.”

A shape materialized at the corner of Amira’s vision. Jumping, she choked back a scream as her hands ached for a knife, a sword, even a club to defend herself.

The thing was vaguely humanoid with stretched and bent limbs. It was pale, paler than a corpse with blue veins standing out along its almost translucent skin. Eyes like glass orbs studied Amira, those familiar, fiery red slits taking her in.

A forked tongue flicked over the thing’s bloodless lips as it studied Amira. Knobby spines ridged its back to the end of its twitching tail.

The creature’s ka flared into Amira’s awareness—that same hot, ashy sensation she’d felt from Caa Iss when he’d taken over Daindreth.

“How might I serve you, my empress?” The thing had a voice that made Amira’s heart shake and drew cold sweat along her back. It stooped into a bow, its elongated fingers splaying on the stone.

“This is Saan Thii, my familiar,” Vesha said.

Amira shot a look to Darrigan. The other Kadra’han made eye contact with her, his mouth tight and one hand on his sword, though Amira didn’t know what good that would do against the creature.

I tried to tell you, his gaze seemed to say. I tried to warn you.

Whirling back to the creature, Amira forced down her fear enough that she could speak. “What is it?”

The creature hissed.

“She,” Vesha corrected. “Saan Thii prefers to be called she.”

Saan Thii’s tail continued to twitch, those too-large eyes resting on Amira.

“She is a cythraul,” the empress explained. “And she serves me.”

“Cythraul serve no one,” Amira grated. She was no expert, but she knew that much.

Vesha ignored her. “I learned much in search of a cure for my son. Those first few years after my husband’s death, we saw no less than five rebellions. Raiders ravaged every province and it seemed every other week some minor king was invading his neighbors to expand his own dominion.”

Amira remained still. Saan Thii was a grotesque and mutant horror that Amira hated looking at, but she wouldn’t dare take her eyes off the thing, not for a second.

“Then I found an obscure book. A grimoire.”

Amira tore her gaze from the cythraul for just a moment to shoot Vesha an accusing look.

“Don’t look at me like that. You have no idea the decisions I had to make.” Vesha’s nostrils flared. “Saan Thii and her kin have protected the empire, guarded its borders. Brought the rains and kept away even the plagues. The empire thrives in every way.”

“At what cost?” Amira whispered, a sick feeling in her gut. Demons didn’t help out of altruism. There had to be something in it for them.

“Our bond allows Saan Thii access to this plane, outside the Dread Marches. It’s different from a possession, so she doesn’t have a corporeal body, but can still move through and influence our world. It’s the same with the others who serve me.”

Amira’s head spun and she could hardly believe it. “You’re a witch,” she whispered.

Not a sorceress, not one who wove the power of the natural world into tapestries of spells, but a witch. One who had no innate power, but gathered hers by manipulating creatures of the other world to do her bidding.

“A sorceress and a witch—there is much bad blood between our kind,” Vesha admitted. “Never fear. I hold no grudges.”

There had been a time when the sons of sorceresses had formed a knightly order, the Hell Cleavers, to eradicate witches and their familiars from the continent. It had been generations ago, but stories of their battles had lived on in legend.

“Why have you left Caa Iss in Daindreth, then?” Amira demanded, indignation sparking in her chest so that she didn’t even worry about admitting that she knew the demon’s name. “You’ve left your own son—”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Vesha hissed. “But no. Caa Iss made a contract with the Istovari sorceresses, Amira, your mothers. They paid the price to allow Caa Iss to possess my husband and his heirs. I cannot break a contract that belongs to another, only add to it.”

In other words, Vesha could only make things worse.

Amira might have screamed in rage if she hadn’t had Saan Thii watching with those hellish red eyes, almost identical to Caa Iss.

“I have a contract prepared for Caa Iss,” Vesha said, speaking slowly, as if she were thinking over every word twice. “A contract that would force him to seek the good of the empire.”

“And what is the price of this contract?” Amira demanded.

Vesha shrugged. “Every contract with a cythraul requires a sacrifice.” The empress looked away. “But the empire is worth it. Millions of lives.” She stared vacantly toward a water lily, her eyes unfocused and glassy. “For them to live in peace and safety—can any price be too high?”

Instantly, Amira wanted to respond with a resounding yes. Nothing good could come of striking bargains with the fiends of the spirit world, but she doubted the wisdom of saying as much. Especially with one of those fiends watching.

“We can find a way to turn this curse into a boon,” Vesha said, returning her attention to the ghastly pale cythraul. “You’re dismissed, Saan Thii.”

The demoness hissed, tongue flicking over needle-like teeth before she vanished from sight as quickly as she had appeared.

Amira tensed, watching the spot where the demon had vanished.

“So you see, you must choose, darling.” Vesha cast the other woman a smile that was almost sad. “Will you be my ally? Or will we be enemies?”

“I belong to Daindreth,” Amira said flatly, as if it were hardly worth repeating. “He is my liege lord.”

“Only if you choose as much.”

“You spoke of Daindreth’s curse,” Amira said softly. “Don’t you know of mine?”

Vesha smiled. “You’re bound to Daindreth, not the demon.”

Amira considered the implications for a moment. “You think he will lose himself to the creature?”

Vesha remained silent.

“He’s controlling it!” Amira said, surprising herself at her own forcefulness. She bit back her words, determined not to reveal that she silenced Caa Iss. If Vesha didn’t already know that, Amira wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.

“You think I don’t know?” Vesha snapped. “It makes no difference.” She grabbed Amira’s arm and spun her around so that they were facing. “I stood beside my husband as he descended into a madness that grew with each passing day until he ordered a dagger into his heart. I have watched my only child battle for rule over his own body for more than half his life. I have wasted a dozen fortunes and more trying to find a cure. My Kadra’han have scoured every corner of the empire and beyond and there is no cure.” Vesha’s nostrils flared. “There is no cure,” she repeated, flatly this time, as if she were reminding herself. “Daindreth will lose himself and when he does, there must be someone to take his place.”

The world spun and Amira was sure she would be sick. “He won’t.” The words were almost a whimper. “We’ll find a way.”

Vesha’s face softened for a moment before the steel mask returned. “For more than a decade we’ve tried. Now we can only make plans for when he can’t control the demon anymore. Or make sure that when he does, that there is someone who will seek the empire’s best interest.”

Amira shook her head. Daindreth was stronger than that thing that vied for control of his body, Amira had to believe it. Needed to believe it.

“Could that be you?” Vesha asked quietly. “Could I trust you? Perhaps you can find a way to free yourself of your curse. Take vengeance on your mother and her people.”

Amira’s jaw clamped shut and she looked away.

“Don’t try to tell me you don’t want to,” Vesha crooned, her voice stroking seductively along some coiled and hissing part of Amira’s soul. “They left you to your father and the curse he locked around your throat. Oh, yes. I know all about your father’s bargain and how he begged Emperor Drystan to let the Kadra’han save you. You think Darrigan keeps secrets from me?”

With the man only two steps away, Amira wisely did not reply.

“You could be powerful, Amira. Even more powerful than me.”

“You...want someone more powerful than you?” Amira frowned.

“I want the future of this empire to be greater than it has ever been,” Vesha said. “That requires a leader stronger than any there has ever been.”

Amira pressed her mouth into a line, considering. She only half believed Vesha, but there was too much fevered sincerity in the empress’s eyes for it to be a complete farce.

“Daindreth will be—is—a great leader,” Amira said.

Vesha frowned at her. “Is that your curse talking or are you besotted with the boy?”

“You don’t know me, Your Majesty.” Amira stiffened. “I’ve done things...things that I wish I hadn’t done, but my curse left me no choice, like Daindreth.” Memories of dead men and women wafted in the back of her mind like a cloud of hot smoke. “But the difference is that he fights his curse far harder than I ever did mine.”

Vesha studied Amira for a moment that seemed to last forever. “Your curse will kill you if you defy it.”

“And by your own words, his consumes him no matter what he does.” Amira inhaled. “Yet he fights. If either of us could break free, it would be him.” Of course it would be him, Amira thought to herself. Of course. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I wouldn’t usurp Daindreth. Even without my curse. And no, he hasn’t given me an order about this.”

“You love him?” Vesha spat the question like it was the vilest of curses, unworthy to touch her lips.

“No,” Amira said quickly, a little too quickly.

Love was that thing Fonra did with smiles and gentleness and kindness and all the things that had been beaten out of Amira. Or perhaps those things had never been in Amira to begin with. Perhaps they had been bled out of her on a stone floor in the tower of the Istovari sorceresses.

Vesha’s brow furrowed as if she had expected a different response. “Don’t you want to marry him? I’d wager every unmarried woman in the empire does. Some of the married ones, too.”

Amira frowned. She hadn’t considered the question. “I am going to marry him, if that’s what you mean.” She’d resigned herself to her fate sometime after their arrival in Mynadra, though she couldn’t say when. “I mean to serve him well.” She hesitated, mind flickering over the broad implications of that statement. “In whatever capacity he so chooses.”

She didn’t know of any Kadra’han that had been married or lovers to their liege lords, but it must have happened before. There had been too many of them over the course of history. Odds were this wouldn’t be the first time.

Vesha persisted. “Yes, but is that what you want?”

“I...” Amira looked away. “I don’t know.” She was barely worthy to be his assassin, much less his wife.

I don’t deserve Daindreth, Amira thought to herself. But I definitely deserve Caa Iss.

Vesha watched her for a long time and said nothing.

Darrigan and the guards remained silent as they had been through this whole conversation. Amira could gather nothing from their stoic silence.

“We must have you fitted for your wedding dress soon,” Vesha said, a flippant tone back in her voice. “I’ll have my maid Silvi send word to the tailors in the city to expect us in two days.” She hooked her arm through Amira’s again. “Come, darling. I know your bridegroom is eager to see you.”

They walked through the palace and didn’t speak another word of cythraul or curses. But Amira couldn’t help but feel as if the slitted eyes of Saan Thii followed them.

Chapter Twelve

Secrets and Schemes

The day after the tournament found Amira in the company of Vesha and Daindreth for most of it, again. Daindreth sat in judgment over the petitions and complaints of his vassals for the better part of the day, Vesha listening silently from the throne at his side.

There was no sign of Saan Thii. All the same, Amira knew now that the cythraul was there, bonded to the empress like a shadow. At times, Amira could have sworn she glimpsed flickers of red eyes watching her from across the room.

Amira wracked her brain for every detail she knew about witches. Their power came from their familiars, she knew that much. Beyond that, she wasn’t sure. She wanted to ask Daindreth or even Thadred if they knew of Vesha’s demon, but hadn’t had the chance. Too many eavesdropping ears.

Daindreth ruled on some of the cases brought before him. Other cases he deferred to the lawyers for closer study. On a few of them, he glanced to Vesha for guidance, but not often.

Amira was provided a stone chair beside Thadred some twenty paces away. The knight was kind enough to lean over and whisper the names and pertinent details of the various petitioners—where they were from, how and if they were related to the imperial house, any current events involving them, et cetera.

Every so often, his attention wandered to the pretty faces around the room, most of them casting covert smiles his way. Not all of them were from unwed women, either.

A nobleman’s daughter with lips painted a dark mauve slipped past them, following her parents out of the petition hall. She dropped a handkerchief at Thadred’s feet as she passed.

Thadred picked it up, pressed a kiss to the kerchief, and cast a devilish grin after the girl.

She grinned back with a giggle before falling in after her parents and disappearing through the archway.

“Tessaia Redmont. Lovely lass,” Thadred said. His signet ring fairly thrummed with ka, picking up on the energies of so many people in the walled space. The assassin would have to ask at some point how it worked. Did it simply collect ka, or could it also somehow be drained and tapped as a power source?

Amira frowned after the girl—Tessaia. “She doesn’t mind being one of a collection?”

Thadred shrugged. “I suppose not.”

“Didn’t you say earlier she’s engaged to a baronet or something?”

“Engaged isn’t the same as married.”

Amira rolled her eyes.

Thus, the day continued.

The court adjourned, and Amira was shown back to her rooms by Shasni and a pair of bodyguards—not Kadra’han.

Back in her rooms, Amira had Shasni help her out of her brocade court dress and into a green linen gown. Yet even as one of the “plainer” dresses, it was still embroidered along the hem, sleeves, and collar with tiny rose vines.

Amira spared a glance for herself in the mirror. Even with the rouge, kohl, and lip stain removed, she still looked finer in that moment that she had on most days in Lashera. Some might say that being betrothed to a monster was the best thing that had happened to her. Something tugged in her chest at that thought.

Vesha honestly believed that Daindreth would succumb to his demon and she probably knew demons better than anyone. Darrigan believed it. King Hyle seemed to believe it.

Every curse can be broken.

Amira pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking. Who better to break the curse than the women who had cast it? If she went to the Istovari sorceresses, would they speak to her? Then again, she was to wed the son of their greatest enemy.  She was sure Vesha must have tried contacting the Istovari—with either bribes or threats. But the sorceresses of the north were proud. And spiteful. They wouldn’t be so easily persuaded.

Then there was the question of finding them. The Haven never moved, but its entrance did and that was buried somewhere deep inside the Cursewood.

One would have to travel through days of toxic plants, and animals ranging from spruce finches to stilt foxes to kelpies and worse. It wasn’t somewhere one could take an army and yet it would take an army to convince those women to help Daindreth, she was sure.

Unless they could be offered something in exchange for lifting the curse. Something...

A knock at the door startled her before she could finish the thought. “His Highness the Archduke, my lady,” the guard called from outside the door.

So, they were being formal now, were they?

“Enter,” she said.

The door opened and the archduke appeared. Daindreth entered and paused on the threshold, hovering before her. “Amira.”

“Yes?” Her heart increased its beat just a little as the door closed and all thoughts of strategic questions vanished. She straightened her shoulders, praying to Eponine that her face wasn’t showing red.

Daindreth glanced to the window before returning his attention to her. “I’ve been thinking. About when we first met.”

Amira couldn’t find somewhere comfortable for her hands and folded her arms across her chest. “Yes?”

“I wanted to apologize.” Daindreth looked away and back again. “For the way I treated you.”

Amira’s brows rose. “For the way you treated me?”

“Yes. I treated you badly. I made you tell me things you didn’t want to.” His mouth tightened. “I used your curse to control you.”

Amira’s frown deepened. “Need I remind you that I tried to kill you?” He’d treated her far better than almost any other ruler would have treated a would-be assassin.

“That’s not the point. The point is that we’re going to be married soon and I wish we could have gotten a better start.” His eyes drifted to her mouth, lingering there.

Amira licked her lips and glanced to the window.  “Nothing can change it now.”

“I suppose not.” Daindreth inhaled a long breath. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“What’s wrong?” Amira’s pulse thumped heavily in her chest and along her back, all the way down her spine.

Daindreth straightened and when he spoke, it was with the voice of an archduke, the voice of an emperor. A voice that was used to being obeyed. “Amira, I release you of all commands and compulsions I’ve ever given you.”

Amira’s curse shifted in her throat. Something yanked and her head spun. She stumbled and Daindreth caught her by her arms. She clung to him, steadying herself against his chest.

“Are you alright? Amira?”

She looked up at him, searching his face. “Why?”

Daindreth offered her a sad smile. “I’ve lived without control. That’s not something I’d wish on anyone.”

Amira shook her head, flattening her palm on his chest. “Without your commands, I could attack you. I could attack Thadred. I could—”

“Then I’ll have to trust you, won’t I?” Daindreth said.

His face was close to hers, incredibly close. His heart thundered against her palm, hammering in time to her own racing pulse.

The archduke pulled back, ending the moment. “I hope you stay by my side, Amira,” Daindreth said. “I hope you don’t attack me or anyone else. But I want it to be your choice.” He swallowed and turned to the door. “We’re entertaining several ambassadors tonight, but I have more meetings until then. Thadred will come to escort you to dinner later.”

“Daindreth!” Amira resisted the impulse to grab his sleeve.

He paused, only turning partway.

The assassin didn’t know what she wanted to say until she opened her mouth and out spilled “I have an idea.”

He looked back. “Yes?” His voice wavered just a little and she wasn’t sure why.

Clearing her throat, Amira braced one hand against the back of the nearest couch. “I want to try warding the demon.”

Daindreth turned partway to face her. “What do you mean?”

“If my mothers cast this curse on you,” she gestured to him, “and I mitigate it, then perhaps I can at least bind him.”

“You don’t want to try just throwing him out?”

Amira shook her head, trying to think of how to explain it. “I believe your father was possessed through a curse, not a spell.”

“It is a curse,” Daindreth said.

“Yes, but,” Amira narrowed her eyes at the ceiling, putting it into words, “spells are like tapestries—they’re woven together, usually with ka and whatever physical mediums are required. They can be unraveled by any magic wielder who has enough power.” That made it sound much easier than it actually was, but it was her best analogy. “Curses are more like locks. They have specific release mechanisms.”

“So how do we find the release mechanism?” Daindreth asked, not surprisingly. There was an edge of excitement in his voice.

Amira shook her head. “That would be in the original terms of the curse.”

All curses were breakable, but they were designed to be as hard to break as possible.

Amira had been over the terms of her own curse—the oaths to protect, serve, and honor her liege lord in exchange for power for as long as she lived under pain of death—and never found what appeared to be the slightest weakness. Yet it was there—it had to be. All curses had some way they could be broken off.

“How do we get the terms of the curse?” The archduke’s eyes were bright, almost hopeful. It sent an ache through her heart.

He might have tried a thousand sorcerers, potion-makers, and charlatans before, but never a real sorceress. Never someone who actually suppressed the demon.

She wanted to give him hope, she would have given him almost anything in that moment, but she didn’t want to lie to him. “The ones who cast it might still have a record of it.”

The Istovari—her mothers.

His curse would have been cast while the sorceresses were in Caer Murren, the tower where they had made their final stand. After, they had fled with little more than the clothes on their backs and the tower had been destroyed.

Daindreth rubbed the back of his neck. “You know a great deal about curses.”

“I studied them extensively until my father forbade it.”

The archduke’s mouth tightened. “I see.”

“I should be able to weave a spell to mitigate the effects of a curse, though.” Amira knew for sure that the effects of various curses could be lessened by spells.

Daindreth paused, considering, but not for long. He nodded slowly. “Tell me what you need in the morning and I’ll see you have it.”

He hadn’t needed much convincing.

“It shouldn’t take long,” Amira said. “I would just need to prepare a medium and then an hour or so to weave the wards.”

Daindreth nodded. “Whatever you want.” He cleared his throat, looking away from her. “I should go before I’m late.”

“Did you know your mother is a witch?” Amira asked, her words barely above a whisper.

At that, Daindreth’s expression shifted. A flash of surprise flitted across his face and then he grimaced. “Yes,” he said. “It’s how she’s kept the empire prosperous since my father died.” He tilted his head, studying Amira. “She told you?”

“She showed me Saan Thii.”

Daindreth’s eyes widened at that. “I will speak with her.”

“Was she not supposed to?”

“No, she—” He sighed. “She told me she would leave you out of it.”

“You disapprove of her practice?”

Daindreth jabbed a finger at his head. “These things aren’t to be trusted.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Daindreth answered.

Amira had no response for that. “You should have warned me,” she whispered.

Daindreth turned away. “I was going to. I didn’t think she would tell you herself, especially not so soon.”

“Why do you think she did?”

Daindreth’s back was unreadable. “I don’t know.”

“She thinks you’ll succumb to Caa Iss.” Amira hated the sound of the words.

“She does,” Daindreth confirmed.

“I think she’s wrong.”

Daindreth turned at that and fixed her in a long, measured stare. “Thank you, Amira.” The words came out ragged, but brimming with gratitude. “We’ll speak more later.”

Amira nodded and watched him go as the door closed and she was left behind. Disappointment left her standing there for a long moment.

What had she hoped would happen?

She made her way into her bedchamber and threw herself on the bed, not bothering to change. She fingered the place at her throat where the curse lived, reliving Daindreth’s every word.

It was proof of trust. Trust she didn’t deserve, trust he shouldn’t have given.

Despite the uncertainty and the new danger she’d discovered, Amira’s mind to the heat of Daindreth’s breath on her skin and the hammer of his heartbeat against her palm.

Chapter Thirteen

Palace Intrigue

Amira wiped the sweat from her forehead and kept smashing the mortar against the pestle. She had been at this for close to two hours, much longer than she expected, but she should have known better. The black onyx was much harder to grind than salt.

She had hoped to be done by now, but the dress fitting earlier today had taken two hours plus the hour to travel there and back and afternoon tea with Vesha afterward.

The queen had engaged her in small talk and only brief discussion of the matters of state. All the while, Darrigan had lingered not far off. There hadn’t been another word about Saan Thii or the other cythraul, though Amira had been certain they were watching.

“Are you sure I can’t do anything?” the archduke asked for the third or fourth time in the past half hour.

Amira had wanted to make sure that the onyx was hammered down personally, but her hands were sore and Daindreth kept begging to be useful. “Here. Just keep grinding it.”

The archduke accepted the mortar and pestle eagerly, homing in on the task with the focus of a hunting dog on the scent.

Amira flexed her fingers and shifted her attention to the blank sheets of parchment fanned out around her.

They were cross legged opposite one another at the bottom of an old stairwell. It led to a portion of the palace under renovation and hadn’t been in regular use for years, according to Daindreth.

Amira tended a small fire beneath the smallest cooking pot they had been able to find. The cast iron pot bubbled with walnut oil over a bed of coals.

Out of the corner of Amira’s eye, Daindreth’s brow furrowed as he concentrated on his task. He didn’t shy away from manual work, unusual for a man born into silk swaddling clothes. Amira had met bastard slum lords with a hundred times more arrogance.

Humility—that was the word. Daindreth was humble.

Daindreth wasn’t strikingly handsome or tall or renowned in tournaments or any of the other things noblemen were usually praised for. Yet the more time Amira spent in his company, the more enchanting he became.

The archduke noticed her staring and looked up. Coughing, Amira fumbled for the painting brush Daindreth had procured for her along with the other things on her list.

Daubing the tip in a small cup of water, she practiced painting the runes she would use, the ones for protection, shielding, driving away, and troubles of the mind. Warding had never been her strong suit and she couldn’t afford mistakes now.

“The decoration has begun,” Daindreth said between strikes of the pestle.

Amira glanced up. “Decoration?”

“For the betrothal feast,” Daindreth elaborated. He pursed his lips for a moment. “The ballrooms and banquet halls have been almost declared sacred. Vesha’s steward has servants working all hours to prepare. It seems the expected attendance doubled since your performance on the green.”

That gave Amira pause. Their nuptials were fast approaching. The betrothal feast would be a month before the wedding, traditionally when any opposition to the marriage could be brought forth and any final legal matters settled.

In truth, it would be more a way for the early guests to start enjoying themselves before the archduke’s official wedding.

As for the wedding itself...

“You’re really marrying me?” Amira kept her attention on the outlines of the runes on the floor.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Daindreth asked.

Amira frowned at the ground. “I don’t know.” Some part of her still didn’t understand even though Daindreth had made his reasons clear. “Are you sure you want to?”

“Yes,” Daindreth said, without hesitating. Several long heartbeats passed. “Do you...not want to marry me?”

It was the first time he had asked, but Amira hadn’t expected him to ask at all. He was the grand archduke. He could have any woman in the empire. More than that, he now held her tether as a Kadra’han, even if he had released her from all his previous commands.

Amira leaned closer to the water outlines of the runes. “What if we find a way to free you of the demon? Wouldn’t it be better if you had someone...else?” Someone like Fonra.

Daindreth cleared his throat. “Some might say as much.”

“Then why don’t you choose one of them?” Amira gestured vaguely in the direction of the palace. “You were going to.”

“I don’t want them. I want you.”

Amira looked up at that. Her mouth went suddenly dry and she cleared her throat. “I’m bound to you, Daindreth. You don’t have to marry me to keep me. You know how a Kadra’han’s bond works.”

Daindreth frowned. “I know.”

“Then why?”

Daindreth shook his head and met her eyes. “The first time I saw you, it was through Caa Iss. You looked straight at him and didn’t back down. There’s only a handful of people who have shown that kind of courage.” He inhaled. “Then the night at your father’s banquet. When I realized who you were, I thought to myself I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful executioner.”

Amira shivered a little at that. She remembered Darrigan’s warning, his insistence that killing Daindreth was the best thing she could do for him.

“Then when you were exposed as the assassin...you begged me for your sister’s life. Not yours. Not even a speedy death. You begged mercy for the one person you had the most reason to envy.”

Amira looked away. If only he knew how much she had and often did envy her sister. Would he find her so admirable then?

“I would have you at my side. If you’re willing.”

“You never asked if I was willing before.” Amira let some of her resentment creep into her voice.

“No,” Daindreth admitted. “You were my enemy then and I treated you like it. But I don’t want us to be enemies.”

Amira watched him closely. “Would you force me to marry you?” She tilted her head to one side. “What if I said I didn’t want to marry you now?”

“I would try to change your mind.”

“And if you couldn’t?”

Daindreth lowered his attention to the mortar and pestle in front of him. “I don’t know.”

“One command, Daindreth. One command and I couldn’t refuse.” Amira stiffened her spine as she had when she expected a blow from her stepmother. “For the sake of your empire, your bloodline. Wouldn’t you do it for the greater good?”

Daindreth dropped the pestle and it clanked to the floor. “Look, I’m not going to use your curse on you like that. And I don’t understand why the curse changes things so much. I could order soldiers to keep you captive just as easily, but you don’t seem to care about those.” Daindreth closed his eyes, muscles flexing in his cheek. “What do you want, Amira?”

“I want to choose without the fear of being forced. I want the curse off.” Amira’s voice came out soft, almost a whimper. “There’s a way to break it, but no one knows it. Or no one will tell me.”

Daindreth’s eyes opened at that and when he looked at her, there was sadness in them. “I understand,” he said softly. And she realized he did. “I swear if we ever find a way to release you, I will do everything in my power to set you free.”

She believed him.

“Even if you left me now,” Daindreth said, choking out the words like they had barbs that caught in his throat. “No one should have to live with curses like ours.”

The assassin turned away and inhaled several long, shuddering breaths. Her eyes stung and she clenched them shut, fighting the tears. Both of them had been shackled by their curses, bound and bent in different ways. As long as a Kadra’han’s vows bound Amira, how could she be anything more than Daindreth’s prisoner? How could she be his equal if there would always be her curse ready to make her bow at a word?

“And once our curses are gone?” For a moment, she pretended that it was a question of when, not if. For a moment, she pretended that they even stood a chance of prying these chains off.

“Then we learn how to be free together,” Daindreth said softly. “If you’ll have me.”

Amira almost laughed. “You’ll tire of me the moment you don’t need me.”

Daindreth stared at her, barely even blinking. “I look forward to proving you wrong.”

Amira hadn’t expected that.

This man had no right to unsettle and disarm her like this. She felt like she had been caught without armor or a weapon, naked in front of him as she hadn’t ever been with anyone else.

“Will you marry me?”

Amira frowned. “The wedding is in little more than a month.”

“Yes. But you don’t have to. If you don’t want to.”

Amira’s heart pattered just a little faster and she leaned over the archduke, inspecting his work with the mortar and pestle. “I think that’s as good as it’s going to get.”

“Amira...”

She took the mortar and held it over the cauldron, spooning in the mixture with an iron ladle she had been using thus far. The walnut oil simmered as the powder floated in and sank below the surface. Amira ladled out the extra oil, flicking it on the nearby stone until there was only enough to cover the top of the powder.

Ever so carefully, she fed ka into the grainy mixture, pulling from the air around them a little at a time. It wasn’t like when she had to draw the strength for a full spell or an offensive attack, where it had to be built up to bursting. This way, it was more like releasing a breath.

The archduke leaned over to watch her with his hands splayed on the floor.

The assassin fed ka into the potion until it glowed a dull green, barely bright enough to be noticed. Then she traced invisible symbols over the bubbling potion, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Where are we supposed to be, again?” Amira had forgotten the clever lie they’d given to the guards and servants.

Even for an archduke who would soon wear the crown, it was surprisingly difficult to escape his minders. Amira took a little comfort in knowing that any other assassins would have to go through a gauntlet of guards and witnesses to even get near the archduke.

“Art gallery on the third level,” Daindreth replied. “Thadred’s covering for us until noon.”

Amira tapped the ladle on the side of the cauldron. “That needs to sit overnight.” She’d hoped it would take less time, but she’d underestimated the ingredients.

The two of them observed the bubbling cauldron for a moment. Daindreth watched with no visible emotion. Did he have even a little faith that this would work?

Amira watched a particularly large bubble pop. “Aside from taking this long, it’s going as I had hoped.”

“Hmm.” The archduke rose, stretching with a regal grace befitting his birthright. He tilted his head to one side, then the other, loosening his neck. “Is there anything else we can do?”

Amira frowned contemplatively. “No. Not until morning.” She’d fed enough power into the potion for now. All that remained was to wait. She doused the fire beneath the pot. It wouldn’t do to burn the place down.

“We still have a few hours, then. Can you come with me?” Daindreth asked. Another carefully worded question. It impressed her how well he avoided commands.

She accepted his extended hand and let him help her to her feet. His hand was warm and firm around hers. She could get used to holding it.

The pungent scent of the simmering potion followed them back up the winding staircase and out of the tower. Amira wrinkled her nose. Hopefully, no one would notice.

Daindreth led the way back into a palace corridor, casting a surreptitious glance around the empty hall before motioning her onward. Though this passage was rarely cleaned and even more rarely used, he didn’t let his guard down. Wise of him.

Amira kept her hands loose at her sides, trailing the archduke. They continued in silence, emerging at the ground level of the palace, the servants’ level. Amira heard the staccato clicks of a woman’s shoes from somewhere down the hall. Daindreth steered clear of the footsteps and turned into a narrow passage. Amira briefly caught the clatter and clank of the kitchens, hard at work on lunch and supper already even as the servants still cleared the debris of breakfast. The kitchen servants were busied, beginning preparations for the midday and evening meals.

Amira and Daindreth came to a darker, more austere portion of the palace. The odors of sweat, metal, and oiled leather mixed the air. Amira would know that mix anywhere. The low snores and jangle of iron from the other side of the walls indicated they were in the barracks of the palace guard or close to it.

Daindreth navigated the palace easily, as if he had a map inked on his palm. Amira supposed this was the place he had grown up. Had he and Thadred explored it as children? She smiled at the thought of them both as ruddy-faced boys escaping their governesses to go on adventures.

“Here we are.” The archduke stopped before a narrow wooden door bolted with iron brackets.

In the dim light of the passage, Amira heard him rattle the latch a moment before it swung open. She squinted against the sudden sunlight, then stepped out after him into a courtyard.

The ground level was paved flat and rimmed on all sides by a covered walkway. In the center, white lines marked off squares and circles. At the opposite end of the courtyard, the doors to an armory stood wide open. Amira spotted racks of rapiers, javelins, halberds, and several other weapons she couldn’t identify from a distance. Some were wooden, others were very much steel.

“What is this place?” the assassin asked, though she had already guessed the answer.

“The practice yards,” Daindreth replied. “This is where the imperial knights and squires like to train. The empress comes to watch them from time to time.”

Amira glanced up to a canopied balcony protruding from above. An empty throne, somehow imposing despite its humble wooden design, loomed overhead. The assassin could imagine Vesha on that throne, the empress’s sharp gaze judging, weighing.

“Come,” Daindreth urged, glancing over his shoulder. He headed off in the direction of the weapons room, hardly breaking stride. “This close to noon, they’ll be resting or working indoors. We have a little time before they return for the evening practice.”

Amira followed him and stopped at the entrance. She waited as he perused the racks of weapons, wandering to the far side of the room where all she could see of him was a narrow shock of tawny hair.

Leaving her unattended in a room full of weapons—Daindreth certainly didn’t trust in halves.

The archduke picked up the weapons in turn, considered a few of them for a moment, then replaced them on the rack. He eventually selected two light rapiers. He grinned as he tossed one toward her. “I believe you know what to do with this.”

Amira caught the weapon. “I could gut you with this,” she said, pointing it at him. “I could. Don’t think you’re safe because I’m in a dress.”

Daindreth’s grin widened and his eyes sparked devilishly. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Amira fought the urge to smile back, biting her lower lip.

“I thought you might like to spar.” He made a few quick strokes with the blade, his dull rapier swishing through the air. “I can’t imagine you want to lose your skills.”

It was the truth. The last thing Amira wanted was her hard-earned muscles to grow weak, but she looked away. “I appreciate your concern.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. It’s just...” She hesitated. “I’m not under compulsion anymore. I could hurt you. Kill you, even.”

“They’re not sharp.”

“I can be a creative killer.” Amira spat the words. A memory floated up from the back of her mind—a smuggler she’d killed by driving a spoon into his eye. It had been one of her earlier jobs and messier than those she’d carried out as a mature assassin.

The archduke shook his head. “I’m not helpless, Amira. I held my own well enough the night we met.”

“But it wasn’t you, was it?” Amira’s voice turned soft and it sounded sad to her ears. “It was Caa Iss defending his host.”

Daindreth’s face tightened a little, but if her words stung, he didn’t let offense show. “Yes. But I’m still not helpless. War is one of the arts an archduke is expected to learn.”

Amira decided not to respond to that. She had no doubts he had received the finest instruction from the finest weapons masters. Yet she doubted even that would help him against her—trained in the arts of death for as long as she could remember, beaten down and broken until even her heart had sharp edges. If she really wanted to, she knew she could kill him without the compulsions.

“Fine,” was all she said. Amira adjusted her grip and lunged.

The archduke had to retreat to avoid being struck. Even dull practice blades could leave nasty welts. He recovered, skirting toward the center of the courtyard, weapon held at the ready.

The archduke blocked and countered her next swing in a maneuver she recognized as the Layman’s Parry, from the imperial military college’s dueling manual. “You forgot to say en guarde.”

Amira shook her head. “Real enemies won’t give you the courtesy.”

“Is that how you were taught?” There was a hint of teasing in Daindreth’s voice. “Bashing at each other in the training ring in a free-for-all?”

“Not far from the truth, actually.” She circled him, studying his weight balance, sword grip, and footwork. When the demon had fought her on that first night, it had been a bare-knuckle match to the death. This was more refined, nuanced.

Daindreth almost surprised her when he attacked, but she noticed his muscles flex and his weight shift. She swung her sword up to meet his strike, pushing his blade aside and quickly followed up with a return strike for his knee.

She expected him to block, instead, he lunged, thrusting his blade at Amira’s chest.

Amira blocked with her rapier and skirted to the right. Like a flash she brought it up and aimed a blow of her own for his side. Quickly, Daindreth twisted around and their swords struck together with a clang. Daindreth thrust his weight into the rapier, exploiting his main advantage over her—strength.

Amira knocked off balance, but she regained it and spun around in a tight circle. Turning her back to her opponent had always been discouraged, but Amira used the momentum of her spin to swing a blow that narrowly missed smacking Daindreth’s torso. After the swing, she couldn’t stop her spin right away and had to give ground to return strike.

Daindreth was a worthy adversary. Even if he lacked the savagery that had been trained into her.

He fought differently as himself than as the demon. Caa Iss fought like a thing born with teeth and talons. Daindreth fought with more pauses, like he considered his moves before he made them.

The pair exchanged another flurry of blows, then another. Amira held her own ground easily enough, but Daindreth blocked her with more skill than she’d expected.

He had an opening when she tripped on her skirt, but, being a gentleman, didn’t exploit it. She almost yelled at him for that. She didn’t need his chivalrous follies but held her tongue.

The best lesson was to beat him and prove he’d made a mistake.

Since she didn’t know his weaknesses in sword fighting, she needed to play against his strength. Amira struck for his cheek, forcing him back. He brought his rapier up and their blades clashed.

Her heart beat a sharp tempo, her breath came in quick gasps. Caught up in the match, she hadn’t realized how much effort she was expending. Sweat stung her eyes and she smeared her sleeve across her face, keeping the archduke in her line of sight.

Across from her, a purple vein throbbed in Daindreth’s temple and the rhythm of his breathing matched hers.

“You’re good,” he muttered as they broke apart.

Amira inhaled a gulp of air. “You expected different?”

“Fair point.”

They circled one another. Amira watched for the first sign Daindreth was about to pounce. She drew a breath before striking. That was her mistake.

Daindreth swung first. Amira was forced to skirt backwards to avoid his blade before she could retaliate.

Feinting to one side, Amira swung from the elbow, arcing the sword on a path for the archduke’s shoulder. He moved to block, but at the last second, Amira sprang toward him, ducking under the path of his blade.

His rapier passed so close she felt it slice through the air above her head. Not wasting a second, she flicked her wrist and with a single clean motion, her blade smacked the back of Daindreth’s hand.

It was barely a touch, but the dull blade hit with a snap. His grip faltered. Following up her advantage, Amira brought her weapon around and slammed it into his. With his weakened grip, the blade knocked out of his hand.

Amira kicked Daindreth’s rapier away the moment it clanged to the ground.

“Well,” Daindreth said. “Looks like you’ve won.”

Amira kicked his shin, battering her weight against his. Daindreth was caught off guard as she seized his collar and yanked him sideways, then shoved and sent them both tumbling to the ground. She slammed him into the cobblestones.

Her skirt spread around them in a tangled pool of silk as she pressed the dull edge of her rapier beneath his chin. “You’re dead, Your Highness.”

Daindreth winced, not bothering to put up a fight. “So I am.” He blinked slowly. She had been careful not to let his head hit the stones, but he still seemed a little dazed.

“You rely too much on physical power. Remember a viper can kill a bull. Your strength will not always save you,” Amira said. “Even when you’ve broken apart from your opponent, you can’t let your guard down.”

Daindreth frowned.

“And even when you think you’re safe, never stop watching. Never take your eyes off anything that could hide a foe, especially the shadows.” Her fingers knotted into his shirt and she realized her face was mere inches from his. “You need to learn to protect yourself. Your best chance of safety is if you are your own bodyguard.”

“Amira, are you teaching me to fight?”

“I’m teaching you to survive.” The answer came instantly, rolling off her tongue like the most natural thing in the world.

Daindreth swallowed, though not out of fear. There was quite a different emotion in those deep brown eyes. “Have you ever thought that if I can’t be free of Caa Iss—”

Amira gripped his collar tighter. Darrigan’s words echoed in her mind and she could see where this conversation was headed. “Caa Iss can’t change that the world needs you, Daindreth.”

“You think the world needs me?”

The question hung between them like an invisible cord.

Amira hesitated. “Yes,” she whispered, that one word grating against her throat like sand. “Yes, Daindreth, the world needs you.”

His eyes widened. “Why?” The question was barely audible.

“You’re good. You’re kind. And you’re willing to suffer to stay that way.” Amira lowered her rapier, but kept her hold on his shirt.

Daindreth’s brow furrowed. His mouth opened as if to speak, but he shook his head. “I...”

“You’re a good man,” Amira whispered. “You will be a great emperor—I know it.”

Daindreth didn’t speak. He reached up and Amira thought he might be resuming their sparring match, but his fingers traced the side of her brow, down her cheek. Amira’s breath caught and her heart started racing again, but she didn’t move.

Daindreth stroked the loose strands of hair back from her face. Then his fingers found her messy braid and tangled in her plait, almost experimentally.

Amira thought her heart might hammer through her ribs. Heat pounded through her in waves. She liked him touching her, far too much. She couldn’t have pulled away if she wanted to. He touched her reverently, as though he feared he was unworthy, as though the honor floored him.

Before she quite knew what was happening, Daindreth was tugging her toward him. He was gentle, ever so gentle, as he brought her face to his.

Amira’s eyes fluttered close, the moment their lips touched all questions and doubts fled, and all that remained was his kiss. Daindreth’s mouth moved gently against hers, tender and soft. She let him tug her even closer, their bodies melding into each other. Amira’s heart hammered in her chest and she was acutely aware of everything—the smell of him, the taste of him, the warmth of him.

The archduke’s arm coiled around her waist, holding her tightly as though he worried she might fly away. Amira tossed away the dull rapier and fondled his face in her hands. He deepened their kiss and her breath quickened.

Shivers of excitement rippled through her, excitement that sparked something hungry in the pit of her stomach.

Amira’s hands wandered from his face and slid down his neck. Almost of their own accord her fingers hooked under his collar. She wanted to unbutton Daindreth’s shirt so she could touch his chest, she wanted to touch him everywhere, but suddenly he broke away.

Daindreth pushed her off, disentangling himself and scrambling to his feet. He took three giant steps and Amira thought he was going to run and leave her there on the ground, but he jerked to a halt with his back to her. “Forgive me,” he panted, hands clenched at his sides. “That was inappropriate. I...I shouldn’t have done that. It won’t happen again.”

Amira very much wanted that to happen again, especially since they were supposed to be married soon, but stopped herself from saying that out loud. Clearing her throat, she rose to her feet and straightened her skirts.

Daindreth glanced to her, but Amira doubted she could look at him without wanting to kiss him again.

Kissing him had been incredible. It had been nothing like she had imagined it would be, certainly nothing like kissing Corman. It made her wonder about other things—things no proper lady should be thinking about—and if they could be just as amazing with him.

When Daindreth spoke, his voice nearly cracked. “Amira, I truly am sorry.”

“I know.” The assassin covered her embarrassment and sense of loss with a caustic grimace. “That was too forward.”

“We aren’t married yet.” Daindreth looked away. “And even after—”

Amira looked up. There was a part of her, at least a part, that had been looking forward to her wedding night. A part of her that now writhed and growled in protest. “What do you mean?”

Daindreth’s expression turned grave. “The demon, Amira.”

“What about him?”

The archduke looked away. “He sees everything. Even when I’m with you and I can’t feel him, he’s there.”

“I know. So what?” Amira folded her arms across her chest.

“Everything we do together, he will know. Everything.”

His words sank in and Amira’s cheeks colored. “Oh.”

“Yes.” Sorrow lined Daindreth’s face. “I don’t want to share you, Amira. Not with anyone, but certainly not him.”

Amira’s eyes stung and she couldn’t quite say why. “I see.”

“I’m sorry,” Daindreth said. “I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t know how.”

Amira shook her head. “You said the empire needs heirs. You said that was why you needed a wife.”

This time, Daindreth’s cheeks colored and he ran a hand through his hair. “It does, but things are different now.” He looked away. “I thought I’d learned to control Caa Iss enough that I could...do that. But then I lost control that night we met.” He turned back to her. “I haven’t completely lost control in a long time.”

Amira frowned, piecing his words together. “You don’t want to share me...and you’re afraid you’d lose control if we made love?” Her voice went hoarse, but she managed to force out the last few words, embarrassment and a tinge of excitement weighing her voice.

“Yes,” Daindreth said. “When I agreed to marry your sister, I’d kept Caa Iss under control for years and I was sure I could still do what I needed to do, at least enough times to conceive an heir, but...” He coughed.

“But I suppress the demon,” Amira protested, taking a step toward him. “If it would be safe with anyone, it would be me.”

“I’m afraid.” Daindreth almost shouted it. “My father lost control two weeks after returning from the north,” he said. “My governess tried to keep me out, but I got in to see my mother two days later.” His eyes watered. “Amira, I barely recognized her past the bruises and swelling. She was pregnant at the time and she lost the baby.”

“Dain—” She reached for him, but he pulled away.

“You unravel me, Amira,” Daindreth said. “Don’t think I don’t want you, because I do.” He turned partly away from her, eyes squeezed shut, hands clenched at his sides. “Gods, I thought I knew lust before I met you, but it was nothing like this.”

Amira’s heart beat faster. He still wouldn’t look at her, but his words sent an ache and a heat through her that she thought might drive her mad. This wasn’t pain, but it was torture, torture like she’d never known possible.

“But every fantasy I have of you,” his tone implied that there had been quite a few, “I end up seeing you like my mother after my father lost control. I see you beaten and bloody and broken and I’m afraid. Terrified.” He looked back to her and there were tears in his eyes. “I’d rather die,” he said, voice cracking. “Even if it seems he’s locked away, so long as he’s inside me, I won’t allow us to be that vulnerable.”

Something inside Amira crumpled and curled into a dark corner of her heart. “I see.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But you still asked me to marry you just now,” Amira said flatly.

“I...I don’t know what else to do at this point.”

Amira inhaled a long breath. She was angry. She couldn’t deny that. The words rose in her. She could accuse him of toying with her, of taunting her with what she couldn’t have. But she didn’t. In a strange way, it seemed unfair.

She didn’t understand him, not fully. But she did understand living in fear of a curse.

“You’re a good man, Daindreth.” Amira wanted to tell him that she wasn’t afraid, that she had plenty of her own fantasies she wanted to play out in his bed—or hers, either was fine.

But seeing his bent shoulders and how the memory of his mother still brought tears to his eyes, she didn’t press him. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was too dangerous for them to be lovers. She needed to think about this when she had a clearer head.

Amira set to gathering their practice rapiers with militant focus.

Daindreth let the silence stretch between them. As uncomfortable as it was, it was not nearly as painful as speaking.

Amira never had much hope for marriage, much less something like affection or desire. Her father had made it clear he would never part with her willingly. But with Daindreth...she only realized now that she had allowed herself to hope for something. A life that was more than obedience and violence and suffering for the sake of the greater good.

All that hope was crushed now. Disappointment weighed down on her like a ton of bricks.

The sting behind her eyes became sharper. She scrubbed at them. What was happening to her? Since when had she wanted Daindreth badly enough to cry over him?

“Are you...alright?” Daindreth asked. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m fine.” Amira turned her head away.

“I will still see you cared for and protected, Amira. And I would still like for us...to be friends. I don’t want this to change things between us.”

Friends—Amira almost scoffed at that. She’d had friends before, not many, but she’d never wanted to take their shirts off. Daindreth had given her just a taste of something more and she wanted it.

Amira nodded. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

Daindreth let out a long, defeated breath. Amira had a feeling he blamed himself for kissing her.

It didn’t matter now. That kiss had made her want something, believe she could have something, and now that hope was torn away. The sting of rejection pricked that scarred place in her heart where her father’s apathy and stepmother’s cruelty had worn it raw for all those years. For just a moment, Daindreth had gotten behind the hardened exterior and now a new scar was forming where his rejection had struck.

She wondered how many more wounds her heart could take before it became all scars and calluses. How long before she didn’t have one left at all?

The quiet stretched between them like a taunt cord. Not a word was spoken as Daindreth helped her return the rapiers and escorted her back in the direction of her apartment, dodging the stares of the guards.

Thadred joined them, returning from the direction of the art galleries. He kept glancing between the two, noticing the stony silence.

Despite Daindreth’s wish for nothing to change, something had. Her lips still tingled from his kiss. The taste of him still lingered on her tongue. The urgency of his embrace still warmed her body with hot tingles. Everything was different now.

Daindreth halted in the entryway while Amira marched into the apartment. She headed for the boudoir, though she didn’t need anything there. She wanted to be as far from the archduke as possible. Perhaps if she were no longer tantalized by his presence, she could get her head on straight and return to her senses.

“I’m dining with the empress again tonight,” Daindreth said flatly. “She wanted to see me alone.”

Amira halted at the door to her bedchamber, hand resting on the knob. “You may come here after, if you need my help,” she said. She wasn’t going to deny him solace from Caa Iss.

The archduke groaned ever so quietly. “That’s not what I meant, Amira. I mean I will probably not see you until tomorrow.”

“Understood,” Amira said.

He didn’t move. She could feel his eyes on her, fixed like constellations. “Are you offended?”

“No.” Hold me again.

“I truly am sorry.”

“I know.” There is nothing to forgive.

“I should...go.”

“You should.” Don’t leave me.

The archduke’s boots scuffed against the floor as he turned to go. Thadred followed and their footsteps left together, the knight’s three-beat stride after the archduke’s steady footfalls. Amira listened intently as they faded down the corridor, feeling like each one of the archduke’s departing steps was the strike of a hammer driving a nail through her chest.

Amira stayed as she was long after the door closed, wishing more than anything he would come back.

Chapter Fourteen

The Second Kadra’han

Amira relived Daindreth’s kiss a thousand times over and couldn’t seem to stop. For the rest of the day, she kept recalling the taste of the archduke, the feel of him.

After Daindreth left her in her apartment, she cried on the floor of the boudoir for the better part of an hour. She hadn’t realized her hopes had gotten up until they came crashing back down. How had she even dared hope she could have a real marriage? Much less one that was something other than another iteration of her service-bound existence.

Since Daindreth was with Vesha, Amira accepted an invitation from Dame Rebeku for supper, attended by Thadred. The knight was the perfect gentleman to Amira in front of an audience, though more than once she noticed his lip locked between his teeth as if holding back some clever quip or other.

The younger daughter, Gisella, smiled at Thadred over her fan while their mother droned on about improvements to her rose gardens back home.

Thadred winked back at the girl while Dame Rebeku’s attention was on Amira.

At that, the girl giggled and her elder sister, Melonia, smacked her arm.

Thadred grinned at Melonia, too, and the older sister cast him a stern look that devolved into a coy smirk.

Amira summoned every ounce of discipline to avoid rolling her eyes.

Dame Rebeku’s servants served them roast fowl with apples and oranges. The apples and oranges had been diced and boiled in a caramel sauce that hardened into a thin glaze.

Amira tapped her fork against one of the diced apples, watching the glaze crack and splinter. “Candied apples. How delightful. I first had this dish at my father’s second wedding.”

Amira supposed that now she was almost an archduchess, she could get away with not referring to him by his title all the time. He’d once ordered her to always address him formally in public and to other people. It gave her wicked pleasure to defy the order now.

“Oh, you have had it, then?” Dame Rebeku’s mild question was perfectly innocent, but Amira tried not to let her annoyance show.

Too many people assumed that Hylendale was a kingdom of ragamuffins and vagabonds. They kept forgetting that the civilization and protection of the empire was what her father had sold his soul and his kingdom to gain.

“Yes.” Amira replied mildly despite the passive insult. “The palace employs cooks and artisans of the highest caliber.”

“I can confirm,” Thadred said. “Lashera is a proper imperial city. It is an entirely suitable place for one to find anything that could be found anywhere else in the empire.”

Including a bride for our archduke, was the unspoken implication.

Dame Rebeku promptly changed the subject after that.

Dinner was cleared not long after, replaced by carafes of wine and trays of marzipan. At first glance, Amira thought they were shaped like animals, but at closer inspection realized that there were only three kinds.

The sugary fondue was shaped into white ravens, white stags with painted antlers, and red foxes the size of small plums.

Amira stiffened, recognizing the empress’s white ravens and Daindreth’s white stag. That meant the foxes...

“Is the craftsmanship not impressive?” Dame Rebeku asked, studying the tray of tiny confectionary animals. “There are some things one can only find in the core imperial cities.”

Dame Rebeku’s croaking voice was an echo of the younger, more beautiful, but less powerful woman she had once been. Gossips claimed that Rebeku had been the first to bed Daindreth’s father nearly thirty years ago. She would have been married and more than ten years the late emperor’s senior, but the rumors still circulated. Many also whispered that was why Vesha had rejected all talk of a Rebeku girl for Daindreth’s wife. It would have been borderline incestuous.

Amira stared down the older woman, marshalling herself from years of practice resisting taunts and insults from her stepmother. Smiling, she reached over the little silver tongs and the tiny dessert plates on lace doilies.

Never breaking eye contact, Amira picked up the marzipan fox closest to Rebeku on the far side of the tray.

Keeping that poisonous smirk firmly in place, Amira popped the candied animal into her mouth in one bite.

Dame Rebeku’s smile never faltered, but her eyes hardened. “Don’t assume you know so much of the empire, Your Ladyship,” Rebeku said. Though many had already taken to calling Amira ‘Your Highness’ after the proper address for an archduchess, Rebeku constantly took care to remind her that she wasn’t an archduchess, not yet. “You may be crafty, but you are still a borderland noble.” Rebeku said borderland noble as if it were a euphemism.

Thadred watched, eyes sparking with mischief as he glanced between the two women. He took a sip of wine, watching them over the rim of his goblet.

Rebeku’s daughters watched in tense silence, no doubt used to their mother’s various games by now.

This was a dangerous play. Rebeku was betting a great deal on Amira being too weak or on unstable ground with Daindreth. She was betting that Amira wouldn’t have the agency to push back.

Even as the archduchess or empress, Amira would need allies in the court to win any real power. Rebeku was attempting to establish dominance in hopes of manipulating the future empress.

Amira’s mouth was full of gummy, sugary paste and she had to chew several more times before she could swallow.

Thadred set down his own goblet in the tense silence and snatched up another of the marzipan foxes on the far side of the tray like Amira had. Thadred grinned at Rebeku as he did. The knight popped the fox into his mouth and wolfed it down.

“Mmm.” He reached for his goblet of wine to wash it down. “Those are excellent. My compliments to your pastry chef.”

Amira gulped down hers and pasted her smile back on.

The conversation shifted back into safe territory after that. They discussed the weather, the palace renovations, Amira’s plans for tomorrow, the guest list of the upcoming ball, and minor politics of the palace. The assassin listened intently as she did with all nobles, especially these days.

It was a game Amira and Cromwell had played when she was younger—see how much you could learn about someone’s ambitions and intentions by what they chose to discuss. Even the most careful, seasoned statesman couldn’t keep his true thoughts wholly hidden. Even the greatest flatterer would give away their honest opinion in some way.

When the time came for her and Thadred to leave, Amira did her best to be gracious, imitating Fonra’s smile as she curtsied. “Thank you, Dame Rebeku. You have been a most generous host.”

“Thank you, Your Ladyship,” Dame Rebeku said, her wimpled veil dipping as she bowed in lieu of a curtsy. “Remember me fondly to His Highness.”

Amira offered a tight smile. “I shall certainly remember you,” she replied.

Thadred hooked Amira’s arm through in his. They left the dame’s parlor and began the hobbling walk back toward her rooms. “That went well enough.”

“Aside from her calling me a crafty fox?” Amira had been called worse, but it didn’t lessen the sting as much as she had hoped.

“She didn’t technically call you that,” Thadred said. “She strongly implied it.”

Amira growled unintelligibly. “More games.”

“Politics is one great game. Isn’t it fun?”

“No,” Amira said.

“You just haven’t started winning yet. Once you do, then it will be fun. Though that move eating the fox whole was quite good. Implying you could eat her whole, too.” Thadred chuckled.

“I didn’t think about the symbolism, just what would be the boldest thing to do.”

Thadred snorted. “And it worked!”

“That woman hates me,” Amira said.

“Eh. She’s afraid of you. That’s practically a compliment. Rebeku has been one of the foremost players in this court for nearly thirty years. If she sees you as a threat, be flattered.”

Amira rolled her eyes. “I’ll try to hear compliments when she’s reminding me of my mother’s treason and my father’s cowardice.”

Thadred was quiet for several steps, his cane tapping every other stride against the floor. “You get used to it,” he said. “It used to bother me until I realized they all envied my place in Daindreth’s confidence.” He scoffed. “Honestly, I didn’t even consider it until I was shaving. Daindreth and I grew up together. It was something I took for granted.”

Amira let a breath out her nostrils, watching sunlight play over the marble walls. The wind was blowing a tree outside the window, casting tangled shapes on the stone. “They envy me. Because they think I have some power over Daindreth.”

“Well. You do.” Thadred shrugged. “He overturned an imperial proclamation without informing anyone back in Mynadra and caused more than a few shouting matches in the upper aristocracy because of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Thadred glanced around them before continuing, “that Fonra was decided on because of Queen Adelaide’s family connections as much as King Hyle’s. When Daindreth picked you instead, the Bolesses were so angry I thought Baron Boless would have an aneurysm right there in the throne room.”

Amira stiffened. Up ahead, she could see the door to her apartment guarded by two palace sentries. She tugged Thadred back ever so slightly, slowing their pace. “There’s been dissension over me?”

“Oh yes,” Thadred nodded. “Much of it.”

“What has Vesha said?”

“In all the meetings I’ve attended, nothing.” Thadred shrugged again. “She’s let Daindreth explain himself to the nobles. Which I think is good. It establishes him as ruler. Vesha has done a lot of letting him handle the nobles lately. More than ever since we returned from Hylendale.” He added a frown at that.

The two of them stopped, the door of her apartment in sight of the guards some twenty paces off.

“Has Daindreth spoken to you at all today?”

“Not really. Why?”

“No reason.” Amira cleared her throat. She supposed there wouldn’t have been time for the two men to talk since this morning. Since she kissed Daindreth—or he kissed her—or they’d kissed each other.

She was afraid to ask Thadred about what Daindreth had said. She did not want Thadred involved in her and Daindreth’s love life or the lack thereof. But she ached for someone to talk to, someone who understood what Daindreth dealt with and who could give her advice.

“Did you two have an argument?” Thadred asked.

“No,” Amira answered a little too quickly. “Why?”

Thadred’s sideways look told her she wasn’t fooling him. “Nothing. Daindreth seemed a little...deflated when I did see him. Not like he usually is after he’s spent a whole morning with you.”

Amira looked away at that.

“So, you did fight. You little liar.” Thadred chuckled, then grew serious when she didn’t retort. “Should I be concerned?”

“No,” Amira said, fighting back a rock that seemed to have lodged itself in her throat. “It’s fine.”

“Is that girl fine?”

Amira frowned at him. “What?”

“You know how girls always say they’re fine, but really aren’t?”

The assassin rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing you need concern yourself with.”

“It concerns my master and as such it concerns me.”

“Your what? Are you his slave?”

Thadred chuckled. “Daindreth is all our concern.” He glanced to the guards at the door to her room. “I want him alive. And preferably happy. Call me mad, but you seem to make him happy.”

“It’s just you know what. He’s merely happy to have relief from that.”

“I don’t think so,” Thadred said. “I personally find you semibearable at best.”

Amira’s nostrils flared and she smacked his arm.

“It’s true! But...” Thadred trailed off, studying her with a narrowed gaze. “You smacked me.”

“Oh, that little tap?” Amira sneered. “What, did I wound you?”

“No, you...Daindreth ordered you not to attack me.” Thadred’s eyes widened. “Then—” He shot a look down the hall with a frown. “No, the bond is still there.” He seemed to be talking to himself. Looking back to her, he blinked twice, and his voice dropped to the softest of whispers. “Daindreth said you could hit me?”

“Not specifically.” Amira raised her chin. “He released me from his previous commands. That’s all.”

Thadred let off a low whistle. “That son of a bitch likes to live dangerously.”

“Careful, that’s the empress you’re talking about.” Amira studied Thadred. It was her turn to narrow her eyes. “What did you mean by the bond is still there?”

Thadred shrugged. “You’re still bound to him.”

“Yes,” Amira said slowly. “But how did you know?”

Thadred was quiet for two heartbeats. It was two heartbeats too long.

Amira’s eyes widened as the pieces fell in place. “You...you’re a Kadra’han, too!”

“Keep your voice down, the guards are watching us.” Thadred shot a look to the pair of sentries outside her bedroom door.

“No, they’re not. And you didn’t deny it. You’re a Kadra’han! Of course, why didn’t I see it before?” She looked him from head to foot. “That’s how you win every joust with your bad leg. That’s how you survived your accident, isn’t it?” The accident that should have killed an ordinary man. Amira looked him over from head to foot. “But you don’t have magic. You barely have any ka.”

Thadred’s mouth tightened into a hard line. “You don’t need to be a full sorcerer to be made into a Kadra’han. A little latent power in the blood is enough to make the oaths stick.” The knight cast her a venomous smile.

“Your father.” Amira’s mind whirred as several things made sense all at once. “He was from the north, wasn’t he?”

“Clever girl,” Thadred sneered. “Yes, it seems we could be distant cousins, perhaps. Though I pray to every god we’re not.”

Amira looked the knight over like she was looking at him for the first time. She supposed he had more ka than normal, but his ring hid whatever else he might have had or used. The ring must have been what hid his oaths to begin with.

“Daindreth can’t use a ring like yours,” Amira realized, the pieces clicking into place. “Because you have to be a sorcerer to use it.”

“Excellent! Yes, that’s correct and you’re not Daindreth’s first Kadra’han.” Thadred smirked. “Does that bother you?”

Amira didn’t know how she felt about it.

“You’re not the only bastard trained to serve the legitimate heir, either.”

As much as she wanted to detest Thadred, in that moment she found she might have even pitied him. “I’m sorry,” Amira said. “For what was done to us.”

Thadred straightened, looking past her out the dark window. For a moment, she thought some bitter retort was coming. Instead he said, “So am I.”

“Do you remember it?” Amira asked, voice soft. “Taking the oaths?”

Thadred shrugged. “I remember repeating words that slid down my throat like castor oil. Then I remember falling flat out on my back when the force of them slammed me to the floor.”

Amira nodded.

“Darrigan here at the palace oversaw my training. He’s trained most of the Kadra’han serving today.”

“He must be forty or fifty at least.” Amira frowned. For a man that old, he didn’t look a day over thirty.

“It’s his service,” Thadred said. “He served Drystan and now Vesha well enough that his power is greater than all of us put together. Maybe greater than any Kadra’han in history. Who knows?”

The assassin hesitated, embarrassed by the question for some reason. “Does Daindreth have any compulsions on you?”

Thadred scoffed. “Of course not, though gods know I do enough to drive him mad. He hasn’t given me an order since we were children. We had jelly tarts and I kept stealing all the gooseberry ones, you see.”

“I see.” Amira inhaled. “This explains a great deal.”

“Yes. Well. I’m glad your aching curiosity has been satisfied. Now. I am fairly certain I have a standing invitation from Gisella Rebeku for tonight. If you’ll pardon me, my lady, I’d like to get you to your chambers as soon as possible.”

Amira smacked his arm again. “You’re shameless.”

“Too many people tried to shame me in my youth,” Thadred said. “It only inoculated me. Besides, our lot are entitled to our pleasures, don’t you think? After all we’ve been through?”

Amira didn’t answer that. But she supposed if anyone was owed some scrap of comfort, it was probably slaves.

And whatever other names Kadra’han might have been granted over the years—protectors, servants of the great, kingmakers, armor-bearers—that was all they were in the end. Slaves.

Amira ran through an endless cavern, rocks clawing at her like living things. Her feet bled, her hands had been scraped raw, and her red-stained shift barely covered her knees.

She ran, forcing her way through the narrow passage. At her heels, she could hear them, moaning and shrieking through the tunnels after her.

“Amira!” they called, voices mingling together—the wails of the damned. “Amira!”

The tunnel grew narrower, forcing her to slow. Her temple struck a low hanging rock and her head spun, but she forced her way onward.

Their shrieks came closer. The dead couldn’t be stopped by mere stone. They had no bodies to batter against the jagged rocks.

“No,” Amira panted. “No, no, no, no, no...”

Amira ran on and on until the ceiling dipped and she had to drop onto all fours and crawl. Her pursuers came closer, gaining on her with each racing heartbeat.

The jagged rocks slashed at her like swords and dirt clung to her bleeding wounds. Amira scrambled onwards, even as rotting and bony hands clutched at her ankles.

Amira fought, landing kicks and punches, but her hands passed through them like mist. She couldn’t touch them, but they could touch her, hurt her.

“No!”

They dragged her into blinding crimson light, dragging her by her hair, her arms, her ankles, her shift, anything they could catch hold of. She battled with everything that she had, but every time she wrenched herself free from one, two more seized her.

Their faces loomed over her—those first bandits she’d killed with their heads lolling half-severed from their necks; a border lord with the knife she’d used still sticking in his chest; a merchant woman with black bile foaming from her mouth; a pirate captain still wearing the rope coil she’d wrapped around his neck months ago; and a multitude of nameless others. White eyes watched her blindly, grinning mouths chanted her name. They were vengeful and gleeful all at once, dragging her out to her reckoning.

“You killed us,” their voices rasped. “You killed us, Amira.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Amira screamed. “I had to! He made me!” She wept and sobbed and screamed out the truth over and over, but the shades didn’t care.

They dragged her out onto a flat stone floor, no longer in the cave.

A dark stone ceiling arched overhead, stones as ancient as the bones of the earth, yet crafted by mortal hands. Candle smoke congealed in the windowless room, oppressive even from where Amira lay pinned to the floor.

In the distance was the clamor of an army, the thud and boom of trebuchets. The ceiling shook as one of the stone missiles struck home outside.

This was a scene Amira had revisited a thousand times in nightmares throughout her childhood. The memory was branded into her as surely as a hot iron, only burning deeper with the passing years.

“Shh,” a familiar voice crooned. “Shh. It’ll all be over soon.” A dark silhouette towered above the insubstantial forms of the dead.

“No!” Amira fought with renewed vigor, but the vengeful dead held firm. She could only writhe in terror as a gleaming silver knife appeared in the grasp of the dark figure.

The dead chattered in excitement, pressing her harder against the floor. Amira screamed, but her struggles were as useless as a mouse fighting a serpent.

Amira shrieked as the knife tore at the insides of her elbows. Blood sprang from the wounds and poured over her arms. It ran over the wooden floor planks in rivulets, seeping across the ground.

Unseen voices began to chant, female voices.

The dead faded away and in their place was a circle of hooded women. They dipped their fingers in her blood and linked hands, voices speaking in a language she didn’t know.

Nothing held Amira to the floor now, but she was too weak...too weak. Her limbs wouldn’t respond to her commands and her eyelids flickered.

The first figure, the one with the knife, dropped the blade, kneeling at her head. Hot tears splashed Amira’s face as the woman pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Go to sleep, Amira,” the figure whispered. “It’s alright. Go to sleep.”

But it wasn’t alright and Amira didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to live.

Amira fought to keep her eyes open, fought to cling to that shred of consciousness that was her life.

I want to live, I want to live, she thought, rolling the words through her head over and over. I want to live!

“Amira,” a voice called. Male. Distant. Little more than a thought.

The figure kneeling beside her slid her eyes closed and Amira was too weak to even open them.

“Amira!” the man called again.

In the darkness, she heard the voices of the dead calling her back as she plummeted down, back into the caverns where the specters waited for her.

A scream worked its way up her throat, fighting for release.

Mama, I want to live!

“Amira!”

She fell back, falling, falling into the caves again. The specters grabbed her, ripping at her bloody shift, tearing at her flesh. Their hands in various stages of decay, ripping at her with nails and bones. They tore at her face, arms, legs, thighs, belly, neck, back, and sides. They tore like starving animals trying to rip off a meal, like—

“Amira, wake up!”

The hands pinning her to the rock flew off until only two remained. Amira thrashed, trying to wrench free.

“Let me go!” she shrieked. “Let me go!”

“Amira, it’s me!”

The assassin drew a sharp breath and opened her eyes.

Daindreth leaned over her, gripping her shoulders. “It was a dream. My love, it was a dream.”

Amira jolted into reality, breath coming in sharp gasps. She swung her gaze around the room, half expecting to see specters or the hooded figures that had surrounded her in the nightmare.

But no.

She was tangled in the velvet coverlet of her bed in Mynadra. She panted, her heart raced, and her scars throbbed, but she was very much in Mynadra.

Shasni stood behind Daindreth, holding aloft a candle. “We tried to wake her, but couldn’t,” the lady’s maid said. “She only kept screaming.”

Embarrassment flushed Amira’s cheeks.

“Thank you, Shasni,” Daindreth said, not looking away from Amira. “Can you give us a moment?”

Shasni nodded and lifted the hem of her dressing gown to leave. She left them alone in the bedroom, but the door remained open.

Amira shoved up the sleeves of her nightgown, exposing her scars. Her right arm had marks to mirror her left. They were as they had been for years—jagged white tracts tracing over her veins. There was no fresh blood, no new wounds.

“Is that what you were dreaming about?” Daindreth’s voice was gentle. “How you got those scars?”

Trembling, Amira shoved her sleeves back down. The memory of the nightmare burned along the marks.

“Amira?” Daindreth leaned closer. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” The assassin hugged her arms against her belly. “I’m fine, I just...” Her words broke off with a shudder. She tried to stop shaking, but the memory ricocheting through her skull had other plans.

Daindreth tugged her to him. “It’s over now.” He wrapped his arms around her, the solid heat of him seeping into her. Daindreth cradled her against his heart. She closed her eyes as her racing pulse slowed to match the rhythm of his.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently.

“I’m never going to be anything but a tool, am I?” Amira whispered. There was no accusation in her words, none of the venom she wanted to come out. There was only despair, flat and heavy as an anvil. “I’m always going to be a weapon.”

Whether for Daindreth, her father, her mother, or someone else. She would be used for power or protection, dead or alive.

Tears sprang up and she clung to Daindreth’s arm. “My mother opened my veins to defy the empire. My father...” A sob worked its way up her throat and she barely forced down her self-disgust. “The dead come for me, Daindreth. They scream at me. But I had to kill them. The curse made me obey.” More tears dripped from her lashes and dropped on Daindreth’s sleeve. “The sins of my masters come back on my head.”

A Kadra’han was nothing if not the perfect scapegoat. Simply order them to take the blame and they had to. They had no other choice.

“Listen to me.” Daindreth pulled away enough so she could see his face. “I can’t make you many promises, but I can make this one—I will never order you to kill for me.”

Amira blinked at him, not sure if she believed it.

“And I will never ask you to suffer for me.” He stroked back her hair, one hand cradling the side of her face. “You’ve suffered enough.”

Amira’s heart leapt into her throat as she studied his face, close enough she could feel his breath on her lips.

He wasn’t going to kiss her, especially not after yesterday, but how she wished he would. How she wished he would climb into the bed and comfort her with his touch for what remained of the night.

But no, he made it clear that wouldn’t be happening.

Even after they were married.

Daindreth rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, one hand still cradling her face.

Amira closed her eyes, squeezing them shut hard enough to keep out the lingering visions of her nightmare. “What are you going to do with me?” Amira whispered. “If I’m not going to be your assassin.” Or your lover? she added silently.

Daindreth let off a long breath. “I don’t know.”

It was all Amira could do to keep from crying again.

Chapter Fifteen

Warding

Letting the potion sit overnight had done wonders. What had been a grainy mush was now a dark, thick pigment smooth as oil.

Amira stirred the mixture, folding wisps of ka into it as she did. One hand held the spoon and the other worked over the air, waggling through empty space to one that couldn’t see the magic.

Daindreth watched closely, Thadred at his side.

The knight yawned, rubbing at the dark circles under his eyes. His hair was disheveled and he still wore last night’s clothes. Amira would guess that his conquest had been successful.

She curled her lip a little at that thought. Then again, she supposed what Thadred did with eager women on his own time was his business.

There was to be a ball and accompanying banquet tonight to celebrate the coming wedding. In the bustle and rush, the three of them had managed to steal away to the stairwell before the sun rose and all of them were swept into appointments and preparations for the rest of the day.

Turning her attention back to the dark mixture in front of her, Amira decided the potion was ready. She fished a short paring knife from the pile of tools and unused ingredients at her side.

Daindreth grimaced as she slit the knife across the back of her hand. He never once took his eyes away as she let several large drops of scarlet fall. For a moment, her blood bubbled on the surface before dissolving like steam.

Amira put her hand to her mouth to stop the bleeding and stirred with her other. Her blood had seemed to work that first night she’d met the demon, so it should probably help now.

“So.” Thadred cleared his throat, sitting cross legged between the two of them.

Daindreth had decided to bring his cousin despite the stairs. Those had taken the knight a few extra minutes to descend. Thadred was probably meant as a chaperone. Though the idea of Thadred chaperoning anyone was laughable.

Thadred glanced between the assassin and the archduke. “Are we going to talk at...all?”

“What is there to say?” Still sucking on her cut, Amira kept her attention on her task.

“I heard from Taylan that a maid came and fetched you from your apartment last night.” Thadred cast a probing look to his cousin. “One of her maids.” He nodded toward Amira.

Daindreth became most fascinated with the cauldron.

“Careful, Thadred,” Amira growled. “I’m handling boiling liquids.”

Thadred kept staring at Daindreth.

She stirred the potion a few times, making sure her blood was evenly spread through the entire mixture. Once satisfied, she removed the ladle for the last time and picked up the slender calligraphy brush she had used yesterday.

Thadred’s brows rose and he looked pointedly to Amira.

“No,” Daindreth said hastily. “No, no, I didn’t—we didn’t—we—”

“You’re hardly one to judge if we did,” Amira snapped.

“I’m not judging.” Thadred spread his hands in a placating gesture. “Just meddlesome.”

“Well, I want you to stay out of it,” Daindreth snapped. That was as close to a command as Amira had ever heard him give the other man.

Amira’s cheeks burned, annoyed both with Thadred and what his meddling had brought to mind. But she needed to focus.

“Alright. Back to business.” She stood, gesturing for Daindreth to sit several steps back from the fire. He complied, taking his place at a spot they’re decided on earlier.

Amira dipped the brush in the pot of oil and studied the space around the archduke, gauging the distance. She started with the outward points, painting six roughly equidistant circles around the archduke before connecting them with a circle. Then she set to filling in the design, connecting the runes for binding, silencing, and sealing so that they formed a whirling pattern.

Daindreth had managed to smuggle several books to her from the Istovari collection. She’d copied out the runes before having Taylan return the books, then sketched the symbols for hours. All the same, practicing them in miniature and executing them in the size she needed were two different things.

Amira concentrated on her task, but was well aware of the knight and archduke watching her every move. Neither of them spoke.

The minutes ticked by.

Muscles ached along her shoulders and neck. Thadred fidgeted and made small talk. Daindreth was as still as a statue, watching her with a feverish intensity.

Daindreth’s stare was by far the greater distraction.

Thadred fell silent, stretching out his bad leg. He muttered to himself, watching the sorceress at work.

Amira finished the wheel of runes and ran over the symbols with a second layer then a third to make sure they were thoroughly marked. She crouched low over them, mouth pressed into a thin line.

Finally, Amira sat up. She set aside the brush and surveyed her handiwork. The runes were painted in dark lines, arches, and curves. It wasn’t a perfect circle and wasn’t anything worthy of framing on the wall, but the characters were legible and should hold spells well enough.

Amira dipped the brush in the pot again and daubed it on her pointer finger. It stung for a moment, then cooled into an oily black smudge.

Stepping up to Daindreth, she marked his left temple, then his right. He watched her the whole time, almost enough to make her hands shake. Lastly, she left a dot of the potion between his eyes.

He didn’t move, but his gaze never left her. It made her heart flip and tumble and it was only by sheer force of will that she kept herself on task.

It was a good thing Thadred was here after all, she supposed.

This next part she wasn’t so sure about. She had to channel ka into the mediums to activate their power. It was simple enough in theory, but she had limited practice. Her father had directed her studies more toward sabotage and assassination.

Amira held her hands out over the edge of the runes. She closed her eyes and reached for ka. Focus was key.

She drew in a deep breath, inhaling until her lungs were full to bursting. Then she let it out as slowly as she could manage.

Amira gathered ka to herself as she had so many times before. She let it fill all the hidden spaces in the fibers of her body, flow through her like water through veins of rock. She channeled it down her arms and out the ends of her fingers.

Thadred gave a soft exclamation as the glow increased.

Coppery light bled through her closed eyes. Amira kept on funneling ka until it began to radiate back on her from the wheel of runes. Then she channeled more until she thought her hands were on fire and her sternum would burn.

Gasping, she yanked her fingers back, ending the flow of energy, cradling her hands against her chest. A rusty glow still came from the circle of runes.

“Are you alright?” Daindreth reached for her, then paused. He must not want to disturb what she was doing.

“Fine.” Amira peered down at the runes as the glow faded from sight, but the invisible glow of ka remained.

She frowned; not sure she was seeing right. The circle of runes had taken on a russet hue, strikingly like the color of Amira’s hair. They had firmed and shone like enamel on the stones.

The three dots she’d used to mark Daindreth’s face were gone as if they had never been there. He surveyed the circle of now rust-colored runes, curiosity creasing his brow.

“Huh,” he said.

Amira sat back on her heels. “How do you feel?”

The furrow of Daindreth’s brow deepened and he chewed his lip for a moment. “He’s gone, but that’s normal when you’re here.”

“We’ll just have to see, then.” Amira cleared her throat and covered the cauldron with its heavy lid. There was less than half the mixture left. “I want to save this. In case we need it again.” She glanced around. A few bricks were loose toward the base of the stairs. Grabbing the paring knife, she slid over to the wall and pried out a few stones.

“Start clearing the signs of the fire and the unused pieces,” she said over her shoulder.

The two men said nothing in response to her command, but she heard them shuffling, disposing of the evidence.

Ever so carefully, Amira removed stones until she managed to clear a space large enough for the cauldron. She stuffed it in the opened and replaced the bricks in front, sealing away the potion. Moving the extra bricks to a less conspicuous spot beside the already crumbling staircase, Amira returned to help Daindreth and Thadred. They had stuffed the ladle, pouches of extra ingredients, and assorted odds and ends into a sackcloth bag.

Daindreth hadn’t really spoken to her since last night. Maybe it was best that way.

He’d left her about a half hour after he dragged her out of her nightmare, staying only long enough to see her calmed down again. Amira had laid awake for a good hour after that, thinking about the rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his arms around her.

But she’d die before she ever told him about that. Damn her girlish fantasies.

Amira brushed away what remained of the fire’s ashes, but she couldn’t erase the black spot on the floor. She supposed at worst, someone would think it was servants’ mischief.

When she finished and turned to the archduke, Daindreth had undone the top button of his shirt to readjust his collar. She looked away.

It was a single button, showing barely two extra inches of skin, and no basis for the strange tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach. And certainly not for the abrupt urge to trace her fingers over his collarbone.

Thadred was watching, she knew he was. She could feel his eyes on her as she refused to look at Daindreth. Bastard. Arrogant bastard.

She looked away until she was sure Daindreth had buttoned his collar again. When she looked back, he had one eyebrow raised.

I want you, she thought silently. It’s humiliating how badly I want you.

Daindreth didn’t break eye contact for a heartbeat too long. His hand flexed at his side and he faced his cousin. “Thadred, I have to see Taylan about my fitting for the ball tonight.” He said it with a complete lack of enthusiasm.

“Is your current wardrobe not dashing enough?”

Daindreth ignored Thadred’s remark. “Could you see Amira to her apartment?” The archduke added to her, “The empress has arranged for me to entertain several nobles from the central fiefdoms after, but I should be able to visit you sometime this evening.”

The assassin wanted to ask why she couldn’t come with him, she’d been attending all his other gatherings, but she had never been needy and wasn’t about to start. “Very well,” was all she said.

“Of course,” Thadred assured him. “If you’re not worried about leaving such an innocent blossom in the company of a rake like me.”

Daindreth arched one eyebrow. “Thadred...” He said it like a warning.

“Careful,” Amira added to the knight with a venomous smile. “My compulsions are gone. I can kick your ass now.”

“Would you stoop to attacking a cripple?” Thadred asked in mock scandal.

“Yes.”

“Fine,” Thadred muttered. “I’ll see her back to her apartment and I’ll even pretend to be a gentleman while doing it.”

That seemed to appease Daindreth. The archduke ascended the stairs first, sprinting up them two at a time. He must have been far later than he had let on. “I’ll see you both this evening!”

“Later!” Thadred shouted after him.

Amira watched the archduke go, a strange twisting in her chest.

“Well, my lady,” the knight said, stepping to the foot of the staircase. “I would offer you my arm, but seeing as how this staircase is only wide enough for one at a time—”

“Save your charm for more fertile hunting grounds,” she snorted.

Thadred shrugged. “Habit.”

Amira shouldered past him and leapt up the steps. At the top, she leaned against the wall and waited. A lady like herself wouldn’t travel the halls of the palace alone. Since Shasni was off somewhere seeing to the duties of a lady’s maid and Daindreth had bolted, Thadred was Amira’s only option.

Thadred took a little longer to reach the top of the stairs. His bad leg had trouble bending at the hip, but he managed. Once the pair were both in the landing, he led the way into the castle’s maze of halls.

They hardly exchanged a word and no one stopped them save for a few rounds of bowing from the handful of nobles they passed. A few of the palace courtiers and dignitaries had started recognizing Amira.

The pair reached her apartment, passed the guards and the door closed. Amira had the feeling she was a hound being stuffed in the kennels. Thadred waited in the foyer as she headed straight to the cold luncheon Shasni had left on the parlor table.

Amira expected the knight to leave, but he remained there. “Do you have something to say?”

In the other room, she could hear the chambermaids freshening the sheets and curtains in the bedroom. They weren’t technically alone any more than Amira had been technically alone with Daindreth in her room last night.

Still. Thadred lingering had the potential to start undesired rumors. Especially with his reputation.

The knight opened his mouth and closed it again. He glanced to the door, then helped himself to the armchair across from her. “I need to speak to you.”

Amira rolled her eyes. “This isn’t about Daindreth’s whereabouts last night, is it?”

Thadred didn’t answer.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Daindreth is my cousin and my liege lord. That makes it my business.” Thadred hesitated, waiting. When she didn’t comment, he went on. “Chastity is not one of my virtues.”

Amira scoffed. “A masterpiece of understatement.”

“And I’ll be the first to admit it. I can’t even say for sure how many women—”

“I don’t want to hear about your dalliances, Thadred. I really don’t.”

“My point is that Daindreth isn’t like that. He’s...naïve.”

“Get to the point and end this conversation. The faster the better.” Amira helped herself to a cup of tea. It had gone cold despite the quilted cover placed over the teapot.

“Daindreth is a very kindhearted individual and...I can see he cares for you more than he has any other woman.” Thadred twisted the buttons on his doublet.

“I should hope so. He seems determined to marry me.”

“Yes, about that.” Thadred inhaled. “I don’t want you to take advantage of him.”

Amira lowered her teacup. “What exactly do you mean by take advantage?”

“I don’t want you to exploit his feelings, Amira.” Thadred rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, Daindreth holds himself to certain moral standards. If he felt he’d fallen short of those standards, he would feel guilty.” The knight shook his head. “Like most moral men, guilt has undue power over him. I don’t want him guilted into anything. He’s a good man.”

“He’s the best man I’ve known,” the assassin shot back.

Thadred frowned a little. “What?”

“You heard me. I would never do anything to hurt him. Or make him compromise.” That last part was mostly true. She hoped he’d change his mind on some things, certainly after they were married, but for now...

Thadred’s voice and expression were both flat when he replied. “You were trying to kill him not so long ago.” Thankfully, he spoke in almost a whisper, quiet enough that the maids in the other room wouldn’t overhear.

“People change. Priorities change.” Amira set her teacup down. “Now I believe you have a palace full of simpering minxes awaiting your attention. Or do you have something useful planned for the day?”

Thadred grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like Kelethian mule-driver curses. He hobbled to the door and slammed it after himself.

Shasni slipped in before the door had stopped ringing with the sound. Though she must have heard the angry knight storm out, she made no comment. “My lady. You have several invitations we need to discuss. Also, Resmin and I have finished the latest catalogue of your wedding gifts.”

Amira’s stomach tightened at “wedding,” but she frowned at that name. “Resmin?”

“Your steward, my lady.”

“Oh yes.” Amira took another sip of tea to hide her unease. Already, she had more staff than she could count. “Thank you. Weren’t the wedding gifts being catalogued by Taylan?”

Taylan was Daindreth’s valet but doubled for many of the duties ordinarily tended by a steward...and some that would normally be tended by a lawyer. She briefly thought of Cromwell’s dark shadow behind her father.

“The gifts directed to His Highness or both of you, correct. But there had been a sizable number of gifts for you specifically over the past three days.”

Amira counted backward in her mind. “They started arriving since the tournament?”

Shasni’s lips pursed, but she inclined her head. “It’s possible the gifts simply hadn’t arrived yet, but yes. Most of them have arrived since the tournament.”

“Hmm.”

She never would have thought an archery contest would earn her favor in this court, but it seemed Vesha knew better. All the same, Amira still couldn’t decide if the empress was her enemy or ally.

“Would you like me to send for Resmin and we can go over the gift tallies thus far?”

The assassin exhaled a long breath. That in addition to the pile of unanswered invitations already collecting beside the door.

“Refuse all of those,” she said, pointing to the pile of folded stationary. “But keep records of who sent invitations. I will host my own gathering in the next week and I want to invite everyone who invited me.”

Shasni covered one hand with her mouth and her eyes sparkled. “I think that a fine compromise, my lady.”

“Did I say something funny?”

“No, my lady.” Shasni straightened her face. “No, it’s only several of the other lady’s maids have told me...” She cleared her throat. “Well, there are some gentlewomen who have had their doubts about you.”

“About if I can be a proper archduchess, you mean?” Amira did her best not to bristle at that. “Contrary to popular belief, I was not left to run wild after my mother’s banishment.”

The assassin suspected she’d been subjected to more discipline and rules than any of those women.

“I meant no offense, my lady,” Shasni said, eyes falling to the floor.

Had she sounded offended? Amira was about to answer when a knock sounded from the entryway.

Daindreth slipped in and quickly shut the door after himself. He appeared much as he had earlier that day, if a little more rumpled.

“You’re dismissed,” Amira said to Shasni.

The lady’s maid glanced between the two of them but said nothing. Discretion was one of the most desirable traits in a personal servant. It was one of the things she appreciated most about her head staffer, but Amira supposed Shasni could be gossiping like a drunk tanglewife and she’d be none the wiser.

“I’ll be with the other girls sorting the wardrobe if you need me, my lady.” Shasni bowed and disappeared back into Amira’s apartment.

Amira thought it took an inordinately long amount of time for the archduke to meet her gaze, but when he did, his face held a faint smile.

Her chest clutched. “Well?”

He hesitated, keeping his voice down. “It works well enough.”

Amira’s hope drowned in disappointment. “What do you mean?”

“It works, Amira.” Daindreth stepped closer. “Not as well as being close to you, but it helps.”

Amira arched one eyebrow. “It really doesn’t do anything, does it?”

“No, Amira, it does something, it’s just...”

“Impotent?”

Daindreth’s nose wrinkled at her word choice. “Feebler than you.”

Amira folded her arms across her chest. She thought the ward would either work or not. Partial success grated her more than an outright failure.

Daindreth must have seen her look of displeasure. “I battled Caa Iss alone for nearly a decade, Amira. Believe me, I appreciate all the help I can get.” He was trying to lighten her mood. “Your spell makes it bearable. That’s more than I could have asked.”

Amira suspected he was playing up the spell’s effectiveness for her benefit. Did he think she was unable to deal with failure? Still, she didn’t want to press the issue. She doubted he would outright lie, so that meant the spell must have some effect.

The assassin tapped her forefinger against her opposite elbow, considering her next move.

“I wanted to tell you that much.” Daindreth flourished a shallow, yet gallant bow. “I’ll see you tonight.”

They stared at one another for a long series of heartbeats, neither sure of what to say.

Then Daindreth bowed one last time and slipped back out the door.

Chapter Sixteen

Dancing with Vipers

For what remained of the day, Amira was preened, plucked, perfumed, and otherwise prepared within an inch of her life. After a milk bath, her hair was soaked in honey, then washed, combed, curled, and braided. Her nails were filed and painted; her hands lathered in cream until they were soft as kidskin.

Shasni lined Amira’s eyes with kohl, stained her lips wine red, and darkened her brows. A sprinkling of gold dust lined her cheekbones and eyelids, enough to make her shine when she caught the light just so.

By the time the sun caressed the horizon, Amira hardly recognized the woman in reflection. She had that thought often over the past several weeks, but tonight...

The woman looking back at her was beautiful, striking even. The kohl and gold on her face contrasted light and shadows, like she was a creature that had stepped out of the sunset itself. Her hair—always cursed by her stepmother as the “whore’s bonnet”—was its own crown of curls and braids beneath her coronet. Russet and copper strands dangled around her face and down the back of her neck like threads of fire.

And her dress...

“You look lovely, my lady,” Getria, the youngest of her three maids, assured her.

Shasni nodded in agreement, pinning Amira’s golden circlet into place. “Tonight, you will be the envy of every woman and the desire of every man.”

Amira only wanted one man’s desire. And she both did and didn’t have that.

A knock came from the parlor and Mylla went to answer. Amira heard the door open and strained to hear the voices, but couldn’t make out anything.

Mylla returned with a dark figure in tow. Amira glanced up eagerly, only to be disappointed.

Instead of the archduke, Taylan filled the doorway. He had traded his usual ensemble of muted greys for one of all white which only made him look paler and somehow even older. Yet he remained as stiff, stern, and austere as ever as he strode into the room flanked by two imperial guards.

Amira quirked an eyebrow.

Taylan’s perpetual glare softened only slightly as he took her in. “You are ready, my lady?”

Amira shot a glance to her head lady’s maid. When she was archduchess, she would have three or four times this number of staff for her personal apartments. But for now, it was just Shasni and the two girls.

At Shasni’s nod, Amira turned back to the valet. “I am, Taylan.”

Taylan raised his chin, shoulders square, hands locked behind his back. He had definitely served in the military at some point. “Then I am here to escort you to His Highness, my lady.” He said my lady as though he were being forced to say it, like there was a knife that would plunge into his kidney if he didn’t.

Amira thought about asking the valet why Daindreth had not come himself, but she supposed for a formal event like this, an archduke shouldn’t trouble himself. She rose and her dress fluttered as she moved.

“This way, my lady.” Taylan proffered his arm.

Amira accepted his arm and let him lead the way into the hall and back through the palace. The valet took her past groups of laced and bedecked noblewomen and their suited attendants. Every single one of them had a male attendant, whether a son, brother, or even a uniformed servant.

They passed a plump matron resembling a toad wrapped in satin and pearls. The toad woman slapped the arm of a young man—presumably her son—with her fan. “That’s the archduke’s bride. Bow and stop staring!”

The young man closed his open mouth and bowed along with his mother and their servants.

Amira inclined her head in acknowledgement and did her best not to be self-conscious. She did look striking tonight. Shasni and the maids had done their job well. Amira only hoped Daindreth would approve as much as that random stranger did.

Amira followed Taylan onward into the more central areas of the palace. They encountered more and more groups of ball goers, most of which hid behind laced fans or whispered conspicuously as she passed. They were all dressed in blues and whites, a salute to Vesha’s imperial crest.

Not for the first time, Amira saw that it was the empress the people pandered to. And not for the first time, she wondered if Vesha planned to ever truly step down—whether she had a suitable heir or not.

The ceilings rose higher the farther they ventured. Creamy stone and sparkling chandeliers made Amira think of being inside a gigantic pearl.

White feathers waved from the women’s elaborately styled hair and men’s silver capped canes tapped against the floor. Jewels glinted, silk rustled, laughter chimed like the clinking of crystal, and servants offered the evening’s first libations. From the distance, Amira caught the hum of string music and the blaring of trumpets.

Taylan led her past the inquisitive courtiers and into a private alcove shielded by a curtain. On the other side of the curtain was a short set of stairs descending one level. The stairs were polished to shine, and candles flickered from the generous sconces along the wall.

“Your Highness.” Taylan stooped into a bow. “I have brought the lady.” He indicated the assassin with something less than enthusiasm.

“Thank you, Taylan.” At the foot of the stairs, Daindreth had his back turned, shoulders hunched only slightly. Two attendants waited on either side of him, lower-ranking valets, if Amira had to guess. “You are dismissed.” Daindreth addressed the last part to the valets. The archduke finished adjusting his coat. He was dressed all in ebony, silver threads rimming his collar and cuffs. A narrow silver crown atop his head and a flashing signet ring were the only things that distinguished him as rightful heir of Erymaya.

Amira waited at the top of the stairs, heart racing. Why was her heart racing? Damn it, if she started sweating in this dress...

Daindreth finally looked up and froze. He started with the glinting crown atop her head, gaze sliding down the length of her.

Her body heated and tightened under his stare as he took in the lines of obsidian silk clinging to her shoulders and waist. Amira found herself shifting to give him a better view.

The bodice left her arms bared. Though the beaded collar rose halfway up her neck, the front plunged, leaving the narrowest strip of skin exposed all the way down to her waist. Daindreth took that in, too, eyes tracing the plunging neckline with a slow, meandering gaze that made her writhe with hot, burning energy.

Amira lasted for barely three heartbeats of silence before she cleared her throat. Heat had already spread across her face and down her neck. “Am I pretty?” She thought that was an appropriate thing to say. She didn’t recall ever asking a man that before. The words tasted strange.

“No,” Daindreth half coughed, half laughed. “No, you’re...” His throat bobbed. “You’re ravishing, Amira.”

Daindreth stared. He stared the way he’d kissed—intense, yet also afraid, like he was starting things he couldn’t stop.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said, surprised to find her voice husky.

Taylan cleared his throat. “Your Highness?”

Daindreth started and seemed to remember that the other man was there. “That will be all, thank you, Taylan.” Daindreth stepped up to replace the valet at Amira’s side. “I will see you later tonight.”

Taylan’s thin jaw clenched, but he simply stooped at the waist and sulked away, contenting himself with a final backwards glance at the assassin.

Daindreth climbed the stairs to stand in front of her. “Forgive Taylan, he only seeks to protect me.”

“I cannot fault him for that,” Amira conceded, watching the valet disappear. She was aware of Thadred’s footsteps approaching before she sensed his ka. He must be wearing his ring.

“Moreyne’s ti—” Thadred coughed from above. “I mean—Moreyne’s bosom.”

Amira whirled on him.

He stood in a white ensemble edged with red accents—white and red, Daindreth’s colors. His bright red cane tapped against the ground with each step, making him look respectable and sophisticated. Sure enough, his signet ring flashed atop it. “Amira, you look like an archduchess.”

“Compliments even from you?” Amira tossed her head. “What sorcery is this?”

“Damned if I know,” Thadred scoffed. “But it must be a mighty spell indeed.”

“Thadred—”

“Never fear, cousin.” Thadred held up one hand in a gesture of peace. “I merely came to give my best wishes before the celebrations.”

“Thadred—”

“I know, I know. I’ll be on my best behavior.” Thadred bowed in a way that made Amira wonder if he hadn’t already been at the flagons. “I shall do my best not to have a dollop of fun this evening.” With that, he made his way back in the direction he had come.

“He’s going to be the death of himself.”

Amira laughed. “Only if some jealous girl doesn’t beat him to it.”

“Are you cold?” Daindreth appraised her naked arms.

“No,” Amira said, surprised at the huskiness in her voice. Cold was the last thing she was feeling at the moment.

Daindreth’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t look away from her. “Neither am I.”

Breaking eye contact, Amira gestured about the empty alcove. “Where are the eager courtiers to escort you into the ballroom?” He’d dismissed his valets, but there should be an entourage.

“I dismissed them.” Daindreth held out his arm. “You’ve gotten me so used to the quiet, I find it hard to give up.”

Amira accepted his arm, resting her hand in the crook of his elbow. Her body shivered in excitement as she pressed against his side.

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

“Of course not. I’m about to face down everyone who’s anyone in the empire, not to mention every girl you’ve ever snubbed. What’s there to be nervous about?”

Daindreth cast her a wry smile. “You’re fiercer than all of them put together.”

“I know.” Amira gave him her best evil smirk. “And that’s why I’m not nervous.”

Daindreth laughed then, a real, full laugh. He threw his head back and she did her best to capture that memory—his hair falling back around his crown, his eyes partly closed and mouth cracked in a grin.

Amira stepped lightly beside him, the rustle of her gown like the whisper of leaves. He led her back the way Taylan had brought her to a side archway from which they had a view of the main ballroom entrance.

The pair kept to the side as the seemingly endless procession of ball gowns and gilded canes paraded past. No one took notice of them.

Daindreth needed to take them to the grand entry where they would both be announced, but he didn’t move.

“Is something wrong?” Amira whispered, not wanting to be overheard.

Daindreth shook his head. “No. No, it’s just been a long time since I’ve been in the thick of something this big.”

Amira tilted her head to the side. “I’ve never been in the thick of something this big, much less the spectacle of the evening, but you don’t see me cowering.”

“I’m not cowering,” Daindreth said. “I’m thinking.” His brow furrowed, giving him a pensive, almost scholarly profile.

She was aware of every place they touched. The silk and velvet did little to keep her from feeling his tantalizing warmth or the ripple of muscle under his sleeve. A tightness coiled in the pit of her stomach and a tingling warmth spread through her body.

Amira leaned over until she was almost kissing his neck. “Cowering,” she teased, letting her breath tickle his ear.

Daindreth visibly shuddered, then straightened, his neck flushing red.

Good. It wasn’t fair for her to be the only one tortured tonight.

“You’re right, enough stalling.” He guided her forward and waved to catch the attention of a uniformed man leaning against the wall.

The moment the manservant recognized the archduke, he raised his hand in a clumsy salute. “Your Highness! I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t see you—”

“Quite alright, my good man,” Daindreth interrupted, waving his hand in an easy manner. “You know what to do, I trust?”

“Aye, sir—I mean, my lord.” The manservant stammered, then cursed himself under his breath.

“Then carry on,” Daindreth replied with a friendly smile.

The servant scurried ahead and Daindreth followed, pulling Amira closer as he walked. They slipped down a short passage after the servant, uncertain silence falling over them. They reached a cluster of ball servants identically dressed, all of whom bowed and scraped eagerly before the archduke.

“It’s a pleasure to have you once again in residence, my lord,” someone said. “And we are honored to welcome you to your new home, Archduchess.”

“She’s not archduchess until next week, you idiot!” another of the servants hissed.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I meant—”

“It’s alright,” Amira said with a smile. “I’ll never ask anyone to apologize for giving me too much honor.”

The servant breathed a little easier, stooping into another bow. “I think you will make a splendid archduchess, my lady. And empress, too.”

Amira’s smile faltered a little at that. Archduchess—then empress—how heavy those words were when one explored their full depths.

The four servants escorted them to a large archway leading into the main ballroom. It was larger than any of the others. The hubbub of conversation, the merry tune of a volta dance, the click of the dancers’ feet—all blended into a single jumble of noise.

“Announce us when you are ready,” Daindreth said.

All four of the servants scurried off to see to the task of announcing their nation’s future ruler. Amira wasn’t sure why that was a four-man job, but supposed she’d find out soon enough.

From the ballroom, wooden staffs tapped four loud beats in unison against the floor. Amira listened, letting her ears tell her what her eyes could not. Conversations quieted and the musicians fell silent.

A pregnant silence throbbed, then a loud voice rang out. “My lords and ladies, I present to you, the Viscount of Mynadra, Prince of the Forsaken Isles, and Crown Archduke of our beloved Erymaya, Daindreth Fanduillion! Attended by his betrothed, Lady Amira Brindonu of Hylendale and the Istovari.”

If Daindreth was surprised or displeased they’d announced her as Istovari, he gave no sign. The archduke took the lead and Amira followed him into the glittering spectacle. The whole of the room paused, bowing to their future emperor and empress.

The sea of lace, silk, velvet, and glittering jewels sank as one. Amira couldn’t help but think of an ocean of wealth receding at their feet.

“Continue.” Daindreth’s voice brimmed with that same cordial lightness that it had held that night in Lashera, when she had met him properly for the first time. “Please, continue, my friends.”

The revelry resumed and already courtiers were forming a queue to greet the archduke.

A robust marquis bowed to Daindreth, exchanging pleasantries which His Highness smoothly returned.

The assassin took the opportunity to take in the massive domed ceiling. The roof rose above them like a giant abalone shell—white and perfectly arched. Everything exuded power and mastery—from the massive pillars to the colossal chandeliers strung with crystal casting fractured light in every direction. The walls stretched more than a hundred paces in any direction. And the room was filled end to end with the great and the good of Erymaya, each with their own ambitions, woes, fears, and dreams—the vipers of the empire. From the raised galleries overlooking the ballroom to the buffet tables laden with sweets, eyes watched the couple greedily.

Daindreth introduced her to everyone and only then did they address her, as etiquette demanded.

“Dowager Countess, this is my bride-to-be, Lady Amira Brindonu,” Daindreth said to a grand woman whose high cheekbones hinted at bygone days of youthful beauty, now replaced by a wattle and an unseemly scowl.

The scowl was meant for Amira. The assassin noticed two young beauties on either side of the dowager, her daughters judging by their matching looks of disdain.

Amira acknowledged them without smiling, inclining her head.

“I am pleased to see her accompany you, but what of the other young noblewomen, Your Highness?” the dowager protested. “Do the lasses of the empire not earn at least some of your attention?” She tried to sound teasing, but Amira was convinced there were hints of displeasure in her voice.

Amira caught herself bristling. Her first thought was that this woman must want to pawn off a daughter as a mistress. The thought of sharing Daindreth made her sick to her stomach. She never considered herself the jealous type, but if Daindreth planned to keep other women—

Daindreth replied with a smile as practiced as Amira’s swordsmanship. “My first duty is to my wife, Your Grace, I am certain you understand. And wife is what she will be in a matter of days.”

Amira straightened, trying not to think about her and Daindreth’s conversation after their first kiss.

The dowager shot a sharp glance at Amira. “Such a fortunate woman you are, Lady Amira,” she said. “To have secured so desirable a husband. There’s few worthy of such honor.”

“Indeed,” Amira agreed. “I could never hope to be worthy of His Highness.”

The dowager’s brow furrowed, which for her meant the lines on her face deepened more. “No?”

Amira’s fingers tightened on Daindreth’s arm, yet she never broke eye contact with the dowager. “I don’t believe there’s anyone alive who is. But I mean to spend the rest of my life trying.”

Daindreth was one of the several who shot her sharp looks at that.

Amira still didn’t look away from the dowager. “It pleases me to know that there are so many in the court so concerned for my bridegroom’s wellbeing.” She stirred sincerity into the words, thinking of Thadred and Taylan.

Regardless of their opinions of her, those two men she trusted with Daindreth. Either of them would die for her fiancé, she had no doubts about that.

“Personally, I would cut the heart out of anyone who threatened him, even my own mother.” Amira smiled to temper the words. “Truly, he has won my heart as well as my loyalty.”

The dowager’s jaw dropped like a trap door.

“It was good to see you, dowager,” Daindreth said. “I wish you and your esteemed daughters a pleasant evening.” With a shallow bow, Daindreth led Amira away, smiling dutifully at the swarm of courtiers vying for his attention. “I’m sorry,” the archduke whispered out of the corner of his mouth, grasping forearms with a young man close to his age before moving on through the crowd.

“Don’t be,” Amira smoothly replied. “It was a pleasure to see social graces in action.”

Daindreth touched her hand before exchanging meaningless pleasantries with the next courtier.

Amira carried her head high, staring down anyone who held her gaze for too long. Music carried on, a tune that skipped and pranced like a spring brook. Laughter flowed with wine and smiles were given freely as false words. Another group of well-wishers began making their way toward Daindreth—a motley collection of blue-clad courtiers with eager smiles.

Daindreth whirled on Amira, gripping her hands. “Dance with me?” Without waiting for permission, he hauled her through the thick crowd, toward the dance floor.

Next thing she knew, they were facing one another surrounded by dancing couples, mere steps from the full orchestra.

“I’m not very good at this,” she said. “And it’s been a long time.” Rarely had she stayed at her father’s feasts and celebrations long enough to dance. Even more rarely had her partners been good enough to make it enjoyable.

“Do you not want to?” he asked.

Amira grimaced in response.

Daindreth dropped his voice and leaned closer. “People tend not to bother you when you dance.”

Amira gave in. She was beginning to wonder if she would deny him anything—even if he never used the curse again. She clasped one of his hands and rested the other on his shoulder.

Daindreth settled his other on her waist, mirroring the poses of the other couples. “Follow my lead,” Daindreth whispered. With that, they leapt off into the spirited melody, Daindreth taking her through the steps with a practiced ease that belied years of experience.

Amira did her best to keep up and was proud that she mostly managed, but for once the gods pitied her. The volta ended after a few notes and the orchestra struck up a much slower minuet.

Daindreth smiled at her, changing their poses to match the other couples around them. They stopped beneath one of the massive chandeliers and Amira shot a glance around them.

Everything was awash with blue, white, and gold. In their black and silver, Daindreth and Amira were two dark star sapphires in the middle of it all, two pieces of the night sky made human.

They moved in time to the music. It wasn’t so hard as long as she paid attention to the general direction. Amira kept thinking some of the couples would collide, they were so caught up in their own conversations, but surprisingly, no one did.

Amira cleared her throat. “You look quite...nice.” The assassin looked away. “I didn’t tell you.” She’d been too distracted with his reaction to how she looked.

Daindreth’s faint smile reappeared. “I’d still rather be away from all this.”

Amira glanced past him, surveying the room. “There’s this place in Phaed, along the Hylendale coast.”

“I know where that is,” Daindreth nodded.

“Yes. The monks write down all the prayers from the people and leave them around the base of an ash tree.” Amira had visited Phaed only a handful of times, but every time she had gone there to leave prayers. Not once had she been able to write anything, though. Some heavy, black, and oily emotion had always stopped her. “It’s sacred, so no one goes there except on High Days. It’s a good place to be alone.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be alone,” the archduke said quietly. “As much as I might wish otherwise.”

“We can go somewhere quiet after this, can’t we?”

“I don’t just mean tonight.” Daindreth rested his forehead against hers and in the softest of whispers said, “I wish things were different.”

Amira closed her eyes. Her fingers tightened on his shoulder and she fought the ache that wound through her chest.

Something about being told she couldn’t have him had revealed how much she wanted him.

Amira slipped her hand up and fondled the back of his neck. She stroked through the fringes of his hair, fingers trailing over his skin. She wanted to touch more of him, she wanted more of him.

Daindreth drew her closer, pulling her into him and closing them off from the rest of the crowded room. “Amira, we can’t.”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Just...just give me this moment.”

Amira lightly traced his mouth with her fingertips. He was beautiful. He hadn’t always been. But now, after getting to know the soul beneath his skin, he was the most beautiful thing she could imagine.

Vesha had offered Amira the empire, but she wanted its heir. Out of all the riches, wealth, and fame that had been promised her, all she wanted was this man.

She thought then of the Emperor Drystan, the conqueror who had taken what he wanted, loved the woman he wanted, and damned the cost.

When had been the last time she had acted on what she wanted? Not what she needed to survive, not what she was ordered to do—what she wanted?

Daindreth’s breath quickened under her touch. “Amira.” His voice strained, low and husky in a way that sent a triumphant shiver down her spine.

Thadred’s words came back to her—our lot are entitled to our pleasures, don’t you think?

The world, fate, the gods, or whatever force had chosen her lot in life owed her this. She wouldn’t even ask for anything else. Just this.

Amira pulled the archduke down, crushing her lips against his. It was an impassioned kiss, her inexperience making it rough.

Daindreth went rigid in place. His arms locked around her, uncertain of what to do.

Amira didn’t pull back. What did she have to lose?

Then Daindreth’s hard mouth yielded and his grip on her tightened. He kissed her back with a longing—a hunger—throwing propriety to the wind as whispers erupted around them.

Let the court talk. If they wanted to believe she seduced Daindreth into choosing her, who cared?

Daindreth broke away, hands on her shoulders, forcing space between them. “Why?” His voice was ragged, chest heaving.

“I don’t care about him,” she said. “I want you.”

“Amira, now isn’t the time for this.”

“Take me back to my room and I’ll prove it to you.” Amira wished she could unsay the words the instant she spoke them. What was she thinking? What had possessed her to say that?

Daindreth’s eyes widened and she thought he would push her away in front of everyone. He merely said, “You’re worth more than that.”

His rejection hit like a splash of cold water to her face. The only thing worse than lust making her throw herself at a man was having that man spurn her. She was an idiot—a wanton idiot. The assassin yanked away from him, humiliation burning her face.

Daindreth caught her arm, yanking her back. “Amira, please. I—”

Someone cleared their throat. “Your Highness, the empress summons you to her solar.”

Amira whipped a glare on two servants in imperial livery. With her luck, they and everyone else had overheard her proposition the archduke.

“I will be there in a moment,” Daindreth shortly answered through a clenched jaw. He turned back to Amira, voice dropping several octaves. “I care for you, Amira. Deeply. And that’s why I can’t, don’t you see?”

Amira hadn’t wanted to hurt him in a long time, but in that moment, she could have happily punched him. Why couldn’t he see?

She never asked for anything, never expected anything from her father, from Daindreth, even from life, really. Now she asked for something—one thing—that should’ve been hers by all rights anyway, but even that was too much.

He was going to marry her in name only. To protect her, of course. Whether she wanted him to or not.

“Lady Amira is wanted as well, Your Highness,” the servant flatly informed them. “Her Majesty also requested that you come at once.”

Amira looked away, fighting to bottle the stinging sensation that flooded her chest and pricked at her eyes.

The air hissed out of Daindreth’s lungs. “Lead the way.”

The two messengers bowed and moved back through the crowd. Amira let Daindreth hook her arm through his as they made their way after the footmen.

Chapter Seventeen

Cast Out

As the messenger knocked on the grand double doors, announcing their arrival, Amira glowered toward Darrigan and two armored Kadra’han. The three warriors had tailed them here from the ballroom, lurking in the corner of her vision.

The archduke didn’t make eye contact with Amira as they entered a room with two walls made entirely of glass, clear as the waters in Balton Bay to the east. During the day, they would let in the sunlight to nourish the room’s dozens of tropical plants in decorative pots and urns.

Vesha occupied a divan, seated as delicately as a flower petal on a pond, yet radiating with the power of a rising sun.

Amira frowned, studying the woman closer. Was it her imagination or did Vesha have a stronger aura of ka than before? No, not ka. Something else. Something with a shadowy, ashen tint that Amira hadn’t seen before.

Vesha stiffened upon the entry of the archduke and Amira. Her gown of white chiffon sparkled in the glow of the fireplace. Amira thought the empress bit her lip ever so slightly, but all signs of distress were gone a moment later.

“Daindreth, my son.” There was not one hair out of place on the woman, not one loose thread. Vesha was pure perfection from her silver dancing slippers to her artfully shaped eyebrows. She wore no jewels, only silver bracelets and loops of thin chains about her neck, but she hardly needed them.

Vesha possessed a veiled power that lent her more beauty than all the gemstones in the empire. It occurred to Amira that there had probably never been a woman who so epitomized the word regal and there probably never would be again.

The messenger who had fetched Amira and Daindreth slunk away as the three Kadra’han closed in and took up their places around the room. The door thudded shut.

There were four other Kadra’han hemming in Vesha—seven in all. Amira hadn’t seen this many in one place since her first meeting with the empress.

“Your Majesty,” Daindreth said through gritted teeth. Somewhere between the ballroom and here, his hand had wrapped around Amira’s. “You asked to see us?”

“Indeed, I did.” Vesha’s gaze slid to Amira. “I’m most disappointed in you, darling.”

Though she wasn’t sure what she’d done to earn the empress’s disappointment, Amira raised her chin. “You would be one of many, Your Majesty.”

The air hissed out the empress’ lungs. With a rustle of fabric and a glitter of silver, she stood before Amira. “I wish you had accepted my offer.”

Amira glanced sideways, but Daindreth was examining the carpet.

“I see such greatness in you, greatness that could have been crafted into so much more.” Vesha trailed her fingers along Amira’s cheek. Her touch was icy, like blades of frost along the assassin’s skin. “You could have been magnificent.”

Amira fought to keep from flinching. She dug her nails into her palms, refusing to back down. “You must know something I do not.”

The doors opened again. Both Amira and Daindreth spun around to find Thadred.

The knight’s shirt was askew, and he leaned heavily on his cane, but his eyes were sharp and clear as he took in the scene before him. “What’s happening?”

The doors shut behind him as that very question formed in Amira’s mouth.

Daindreth shook his head ever so slightly.

Vesha reached for her son.

Amira bristled and had to fight the impulse to smack the empress’s hand away as she brushed Daindreth’s temple. Amira couldn’t have said why, but some possessive and protective instinct rose in her like a hissing adder. “Don’t touch him,” she growled.

Several of the other Kadra’han stiffened, but Vesha held up a hand to keep them back.

Vesha lightly touched Daindreth’s face and light flared from on skin, illuminating where Amira had drawn the symbols for her wards earlier that day.

Amira felt a pop in the air and Daindreth winced. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

Vesha’s tone hardened. “You thought I wouldn’t know?”

Amira straightened. “I was trying to help him.”

“I know.” Vesha turned to Daindreth. “You went behind my back, Daindreth,” she said. “You tried to cheat him. The goddess is displeased.”

“What goddess?” Amira looked between Daindreth and his mother, but their gazes were locked, staring one another down. Amira looked to Thadred, but he seemed just as clueless as her.

“What’s this about?” Thadred demanded.

“Moreyne has given us two options as the result of your subversion,” Vesha said, not looking away from Daindreth. “She will honor the original pact, but either we move up the timeline or...” She looked to Amira. “...we offer a sacrifice to appease her.”

“Moreyne?” Amira shook her head, not sure she had heard the name right. Moreyne—Goddess of the Second Moon, Mother of the Cythraul. Vesha used cythraul and had made it clear she did so quite often, but it was one thing to speak with the inhabitants of the Dread Marches and another to speak with their queen.

To commune directly with a goddess, especially one as volatile as Moreyne—

“How soon?” Daindreth asked, voice flat, empty as he stared at his mother.

Vesha’s mouth tightened. “Tomorrow night. That is how long it will take to prepare.”

Daindreth only nodded.

“Moreyne is willing to give you ten years of silence in exchange for them.” Vesha nodded to Amira and Thadred. “Caa Iss will be completely silenced. Ten years, Dain.”

The archduke stiffened.

“Will someone explain what the hell is going on?” Thadred demanded.

Amira grabbed the archduke’s arm. “Dain, I don’t—”

“Silence, both of you.”

Daindreth’s command hit Amira in the throat. At her back, Thadred’s voice cut off the same instant.

Ridiculous as it was, betrayal overwhelmed every other of Amira’s emotions. It stabbed her in the chest sharp as any blade. Daindreth had promised never to use her curse again. He’d promised.

“No one has to die,” Daindreth said. He grabbed Amira’s arm, yanking her behind him.

Vesha’s mouth tightened. “The empire needs heirs,” she said. “This deal would allow you to secure them, to be with a woman without losing control as you’re so afraid of. And if you don’t beget them yourself, Caa Iss will do it for you once he takes your body.”

Daindreth looked away. “I won’t let you sacrifice them,” he said. “Not even for a hundred years of silence.”

Amira wasn’t sure how he would stop his mother and her Kadra’han, but she clung to his back, heart racing, mind spinning.

Vesha’s hands shook as they folded before her. “You agreed to my plan, Daindreth. When I sent word to King Hyle. When I negotiated the Istovari spell books into the dowry.”

“That was before,” Daindreth shot back. “I didn’t have hope then. Didn’t you say you wished there was another way? Amira is another way.”

Amira wanted to demand what they were talking about, what Daindreth had kept from her. Glancing back to Thadred, his look of confusion matched hers.

“There is no other way!” Vesha’s voice cracked, rising to a shrill pitch. Her composure was back an instant later, but those in the room had already glimpsed behind her steely armor. “This...is how it has to be. I won’t risk the empire’s safety on a fool’s hope.”

For the briefest of moments, Amira thought she saw tears at the corners of the empress’s eyes. Then she blinked and they were gone without so much as a hint of having been there.

“I wish it could be different,” Vesha said. “Don’t think for a second this is easy for me.”

“Easy for you?” Daindreth’s tone hardened and his back went rigid in front of Amira. “You’re not the one who’s going to hell for this.” He cocked his head to the side. “Or maybe we both will.”

“For the empire, Daindreth. For our people. We agreed we would do anything for them.” Vesha raised her chin. “Did you mean it? Because I did. No sacrifice is too great.” She shook her head. “Not even you, my son.” Vesha inhaled.

Amira wanted to scream at them, to make them tell her what they were talking about, but the two imperials were wholly focused on one another and the other Kadra’han around the room gave no hints either.

“You tried to subvert Moreyne and now she requires a sacrifice. You can kill them,” Vesha said, jerking her chin to Amira and Thadred. “And have ten years. Or you can surrender yourself to Caa Iss now and let them live.”

Amira gripped Daindreth’s arm at that. What did Vesha mean? What was—no! She tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled whining sound.

“Give me their lives,” Daindreth said. The words were a command, not a request. “Grant me that much and I won’t fight it.”

Amira didn’t know fully what was happening, but she had to admit to herself that the empress was right. Amira would fight for Daindreth, even against a goddess if that was what it took.

“But we can’t have them meddling,” Vesha said.

“You won’t,” Daindreth promised. His words sent slithery coils of dread through Amira’s stomach.

Vesha raised her chin. “Do it.”

Daindreth turned around. He rested his hands on Amira’s shoulders, firmly keeping himself between her and Thadred, and the empress and her Kadra’han.

Thadred wheezed, fighting against the curse himself, fighting to speak. He stepped forward, but Daindreth barked a sharp command.

“Stay back, Thadred.”

The knight jerked to a halt. That same betrayal Amira felt twisted his features.

Daindreth took a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Amira shook her head, voice still choked off.

“Thadred, you’ve been the brother I never had. Every good memory I have from the past fifteen years is thanks to you in one way or another.”

Thadred choked again, nearly doubling over as he fought to speak or move or perhaps both.

Turning to Amira, Daindreth touched his forehead to hers. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said. “But I know I did and I’m sorry.” He inhaled. “I hope that someday someone loves you as well as you deserve.”

Amira didn’t know whether she would scream or cry.

Daindreth pulled back enough that he could see them both. “You will leave this palace at once. You will leave this city and leave this empire. You will never try to contact me, come for me, or see me again. You will not try to stop Caa Iss and you will run, run, run so far he can’t find you. Do you understand?”

At the question, the curse loosened enough for the two Kadra’han to respond.

Words ripped out of Amira in a storm. “No!” she screamed. “No, Daindreth, no, no, no I won’t!”

Even as she said it, the curse locked in place, binding her to the commands.

“You son of a bitch, no!” Thadred roared, striking his cane against the stone so hard it shattered. “You don’t get to—no!”

“Go now!” Daindreth ordered, his words slamming into them both.

“You may take whatever horses your desire from the stables,” Vesha said. “I’ll have the servants supply you with everything you will need.”

“Go,” Daindreth repeated. “You’re banished forthwith from the palace.”

Amira stumbled away from him, angry tears stinging her eyes. “I hate you!” she screamed. “I hate you!”

“Don’t do this!” Thadred shouted. “Daindreth, whatever she wants, don’t give it to her!”

“Look after Amira,” Daindreth said as his Kadra’han stumbled out the door. “Survive, both of you.”

Amira had trusted Daindreth. She’d let him near her, let him see parts of her soul she’d forgotten she had. She felt things for him, things she didn’t understand. She’d been willing—no, eager—to give herself to him completely. She’d already given him her whole heart, even if he’d refused her body.

Now he was casting her out like a flea-ridden bitch. He was giving in to his mother, letting her usurp him rather than fighting. He was simply giving up. He was giving her up.

Crippling pain wrenched through her chest and spread like icy claws raking over her whole body.

Anger bubbled up in Amira, that same hot, roiling rage that had come against her stepmother. They had no right, no right.

Chapter Eighteen

Killing the Curse

Amira turned her face toward the road, the dusty trail snaking away through rows of villages, farmlands, and grazing pastures splayed over the hills. A goose honked at their horses from the side of the road as the sun crested the topmost spire of the Mynadran palace.

The two horses stepped out of the city’s shadow and their horses plodded on. Anger, hurt, and some other heavy emotion pressed Amira’s chest, making it hard to breathe.

Silence hung between the knight and the assassin. Thadred kept his face trained ahead, all his usual joviality gone.

They’d left the palace last night, lurking around the dark city for hours until daylight. Despite Daindreth’s command, it seemed their curses at least allowed them to wait for the sun. Neither had really spoken to the other.

Amira mulled over the thoughts of the cythraul. If she could just get Daindreth to the Istovari, they should be able to help him. She’d find a way to convince them, she had to.

Even if the empire feared to go into their domain, even if entire armies knew better, she’d go. Even if the thought of seeing her mothers again turned her stomach like rotten eggs. If that was what it took, she would go.

But with her own curse locked around her neck, she couldn’t.

The curse bound her to leave Daindreth behind. Only if she could find a way out of her own curse could she save Daindreth from his.

Amira almost swore out loud at that. She’d been fighting, searching, and seeking freedom from her curse in some form or other since she’d learned what it was.

A Kadra’han’s curse punished them for disobedience and rewarded them for obedience, but more than that. Kadra’han became truly powerful when they went above and beyond the tenants of their curses, like Darrigan.

The captain’s words came back to her, from that night he had come to her room and confessed to going behind Vesha’s back.

Sometimes service and obedience are two different things.

Amira glanced over her shoulder to Mynadra. Even as her mind wandered, her curse stirred, but she decided in that moment she was desperate enough to try anything. She turned back to Thadred.

Thadred rested one hand on the reins and the other on his bad leg.

“Do you hate Daindreth? For ordering you to protect me?” Amira asked. She thought she might hate Daindreth for it herself.

Thadred was quiet for several strides of the horse. “Would it have been my first choice? No. Are there worse fates? Do I understand why he did it? Yes.”

Amira knotted her hands in the reins of her horse. “How can you accept this?”

“He’s doing it to protect us, Amira. The only way he can.” Thadred kept his attention focused straight ahead.

“Did he tell you his mother planned to use the demon herself?”

“No,” Thadred said with an edge to his voice that belied his anger.

“We could have helped him. If we’d known.”

“Maybe,” Thadred said. “Maybe not.”

“We could have at least tried!”

“Look, girl.” Thadred spun on her. “You met Dain a few weeks ago. I’ve known him for years. During that time, he’s suffered that demon and fought to protect the world from it at every turn. I’ve seen him battle that thing until he was bloody, literally. If you knew half of what he’s had to do to cling to some shred of sanity, you wouldn’t blame him for giving up.”

Amira’s blood heated at that, anger making ka swirl around her in thick wisps.

“You want the right to die with him, is that it? Caa Iss won’t make it quick, I can promise you that.” Thadred scoffed. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“We are Kadra’han.” Amira almost shouted. It was a good thing the road was empty this early. “That may not mean much to you, but without a liege lord, we will be nearly powerless. Weak.”

“I’m not as attached to power as you,” Thadred snarled, knuckles whitening on the reins of his horse.

“But more attached to your own skin, obviously.”

The knight’s nostrils flared. “What do you want me to say, girl? Even if I agreed with you, Dain has ordered us both away.” Thadred straightened, glaring at her down the end of his nose.

“It’s not his choice!”

Thadred’s reply was caustic, sharp. “Apparently, it is.”

Amira swerved her horse in front and around to face Thadred. She kept thoughts of Thadred at the forefront of her mind, focusing on her anger even as excitement and a bit of fear entered her thoughts. If what she was about to do didn’t work, she might die.

Thadred reined in his horse so that they stopped, facing one another. “What?”

“I am sick of being forced to do the right thing.” Her vision flared red as she caught sight of Mynadra over Thadred’s shoulder, focusing on the anger as she gathered her horse’s reins.

Vesha said she needed to wait until tonight. That gave them at least thirteen hours.

“Sure you don’t just want to nail a demon that bad?” Thadred cast her a sardonic smile.

Amira didn’t have to feign anger then. “What did he tell you?” she demanded.

“Nothing, but I can guess.” He shrugged. “Dain always said it was too dangerous for him to take lovers. He finally came around and agreed to marry, need for heirs and all that, but after Caa Iss took control the night of the assassination attempt, he got spooked.”

“I don’t need him to protect me. I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Look,” Thadred snapped, nostrils flaring. “We have no choice here. Dain has sent us away. He meant well. There’s nothing we can do to change it.”

“He’ll die!” Amira’s voice cracked as she finally let herself think about what was going to happen. “Worse! That thing—!”

“There’s nothing we can do!” Thadred shouted over her. His stony face cracked and for a moment she glimpsed her own anger, frustration, hurt, and loss mirrored on his face. “There is no choice for us,” he added, defeat weighing his words.

Amira knotted one hand into her horse’s mane, twisting several times to make sure she was as secure as possible. “There’s always a choice.”

With a sharp kick, she sent her horse leaping forward. The animal bolted with a whinny, taking off in a gallop back toward the city.

Amira managed to slap her reins against the animal’s flanks twice before the curse slammed tight around her neck. Her vision blackened at the edges and she gasped, free hand clawing instinctively at her throat.

There was nothing there, as always. Pressure built in her head, behind her eyes. Amira doubled over on the horse, her cheek knocking against the animal’s neck.

The horse slowed into a canter and it was all Amira could do to slap it with her reins again. It broke back into a gallop, dust swirling around them thick enough to choke if Amira had been able to inhale at all.

“Amira!” Thadred shouted.

Amira slumped toward the ground as her lungs burned and she began to shake. Her vision blurred and flashed black.

“Amira!”

She slumped toward the ground and fought to keep her left hand gripping her horse’s mane.

Mynadra loomed in the distance, a white titan outlined by the rising sun. Amira’s horse bounded toward it at what felt like top speed, yet it never seemed to come any closer.

Every second lasted an eternity as the curse constricted around her throat tighter and tighter.

The temptation to grab the reins and turn the horse around was there. She still had the reins. It would be so easy to—

Amira let go of the reins, letting them fly wildly out of her reach. She kicked the horse again and clutched at the mane with both hands.

The horse kept on for what might have been a hundred paces or a hundred miles. Amira’s head pulsed and her whole body shook.

She wasn’t sure at what point she lost her grip on the horse’s mane, but suddenly she was plummeting toward the ground.

Amira hit the cobbled road. If she hadn’t been strangling, the wind would have been knocked out of her. She had a sideways view of the horse veering sharp to the left in front of her and then cantering off into the grass, reins flapping behind it.

The curse snapped around her throat, constricting tighter and tighter and tighter. Any instant, she expected her head to just break off.

The thundering of hooves neared or was that the pounding in her head? Was this the end?

“Amira!” Thadred’s voice shouted through the fog in her mind. “Amira, stop!” Suddenly, he was there, grabbing her arm and pulling her back.

She yanked her arm free, clawing on the ground as she dragged herself forward inch by inch. She choked and coughed, spittle flying from her swollen lips.

Her eyes watered and her head spun.

She was dying. The curse would kill her.

No!

Amira forced herself onward another inch.

Thadred dragged her backward, but she still fought and with a gurgling scream, she kicked him off.

“You’ll kill yourself!” Thadred cried.

The curse tightened, tightened, tightened.

Obey, obey, obey, that word clanged through her skull like one of the gigantic church bells in Lashera.

“He’ll die!” Amira screamed, but her words came out in an incoherent jumble.

Obey!

No!

The curse coiled around her neck tighter, curling and doubling on itself.

Amira locked her arms on the cobbles in front of her, fingers digging between the stones to keep herself from turning back. She fought against the curse as she never had before. Always she had gone around it or tried to find holes in the commands it enforced, but this time she slammed directly against its grain, defying it and daring it to do its worst.

She could see blood on her hands and she could feel a distant throb through her side and the hip that had struck the cobbles, but they didn’t matter. Daindreth was doomed without her.

The thought of that kept her crawling forward, choking and seizing and coughing blood.  The curse was killing her, but it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.

...service and obedience are two different things.

If she had to fight the curse, if she had to fight Daindreth’s own will, she wasn’t leaving him, wasn’t backing down, wasn’t giving up. He was the one shred of happiness she’d managed to tear out of her short, miserable life and if she died gasping for him, to hell with it.

Go! the curse ordered. He commands it.

Amira didn’t know how, but she somehow found breath and the words ripped out of her in a feral scream. “I won’t leave him. I love him!”

The curse snapped.

The chokehold broke like a cut rope. Amira sucked in a breath of air.

That same instant, power rushed into her. Like the precious air, it filled every vein and pore, blooming in her chest before seeping into her sore muscles, joints, and bones.

Her head pounded as she collapsed against the stones. A cough forced its way up her throat and she laid still, eyes watering and her whole body aching.

One by one, she became aware of bruises, cuts, and sore spots where she had hit the stones after falling off the horse. Her fingernails were torn, and several fingers bled from clawing at the cobblestones.

The new power kept racing in with every breath—it was like breathing pure ka. The power soaked her like water into wool yarn. It filled the broken and aching places, smoothing the cuts and bruises.

She could feel ka sliding between her bones, mending what must have been fractures from her fall. It wrapped her like a cocoon and her body absorbed it like parched earth absorbing rain.

Thadred’s voice chattered over her, words forming out of the indecipherable noise. “Amira, are you alright? Amira! What happened?”

The assassin rolled onto her side, breaths coming in heavy gasps. “I...I think it worked.” The curse was gone, but her vocal cords were hoarse and ragged from screaming. “I...”

Her head spun as ka wrapped her head, fluttered along her throat, healing everything—everything.

The aches and cuts sealed and smoothed and slid off like dust off marble. She turned over her hand. Her nails were still cracked and torn and dried blood coated the tips of her fingers, but the skin underneath was clean, smooth. Whole.

Amira pushed herself up, carefully, surprised she wasn’t dizzy.

She pulled herself to her feet. Thadred moved to help her, but she waved him off.

“I’m...fine.” She frowned, testing her shoulders, her arms. She took one step toward Mynadra.

Nothing happened.

Amira took another step. Then another.

She touched her throat, but there was nothing.

Nothing.

For one moment, panic for Daindreth split her skull. She felt for that link, that connection. It was still there.

An invisible tether still bound her to Mynadra. She could sense that much. Daindreth was there.

She glanced to Thadred and she could see it. The bond was a golden band around his neck, knotted at the base of his throat. Not even his ring could disguise it now.

Amira was still bound and Thadred was still bound. Yet she had a new rush of power and the writhing thing around her throat was simply gone.

A grin split her mouth and despite everything, she laughed. She laughed loud enough that a distant farmer leading by his pack donkey shot a glance their way.

Amira only laughed louder. Yes, she looked like an idiot, standing in the road, giggling, covered in dirt and blood.

But she didn’t care.

There was nothing!

“Amira?” Thadred edged up beside her. “Are you alright?”

Amira whirled on him. “I’m amazing.” And she was.

Her body thrummed with power. For the first time since she could remember, there was no threat of a compulsion hanging around her throat.

“What happened?”

“It’s gone,” she said.

“What?”

“The curse.” She laughed again. “It’s gone!”

Amira flexed her hand, watching as cords of golden power wafted through her fingers. She felt like she had seen the world underwater for her whole life and was now able to see clearly.

The world pulsed and glowed with ka. Every plant, animal, and even the sun’s rays gave off the energy in golden threads. She took several moments to enjoy her heightened awareness, savoring the glow on her skin and how a passing bee hummed with life.

“What are you talking about?” Thadred glanced toward Mynadra. “Daindreth is still alive, I can feel it.” He made to take a step toward the palace, then stopped. “I’m still...” He looked to Amira. “But you’re not.”

Amira smoothed back her braid, grinning. “Every curse can be broken.”

Her mother had been right about that, at least.

Chapter Nineteen

Power-Drunk

There wasn’t really a plan, just a goal.

When they got back to the city, Amira stashed Thadred in an icehouse near the shipyards—as close to the palace as his curse would allow. Ice was valuable, but not something often stolen. Therefore, after picking the large but relatively simple lock, Amira was able to break in and set up a hideout where Thadred could wait.

The knight’s curse was still firmly in place. It was only Daindreth’s order that he look after Amira that allowed him to come back into the city.

When he had tried to ride back to Mynadra on his own or even walk, he’d fallen to the ground gasping and writhing until he passed out.

Amira had been forced to drag him away from the city until he could regain his breath and consciousness. Even now, he had been able to follow Amira to the shipyards, but not go within more than a few hundred yards of the palace.  Daindreth’s commands kept overriding each other.

“This is a foolhardy plan,” Thadred snapped.

“At least we agree on something.”

Thadred glared at the scrawled map on the floorboards. He was no artist, but he had been able to sketch out the main entrances, patrols, and guard placements.

“They might be expecting you,” he said.

“Why would they?” Amira tossed her braid over her shoulder. “They have no reason to expect me.”

Thadred adjusted his arms across his chest. “Are you sure?”

“Have you ever heard of a Kadra’han disobeying their master?” Amira certainly hadn’t. Yet somehow, it still made sense in the same desperate way it had made sense when she’d dug her spurs into her horse’s flanks and galloped toward Mynadra.

Thadred was quiet for a moment. “How did you do it?”

Amira licked her lips, frowning as she tightened the laces on her boots. “I folded the curse back on itself.”

“How?” Thadred’s tone was flat, bordering on annoyed.

“Our curse increases our power based on our service to our liege lord. But it also forces us to obey direct commands.”

“Yes.”

“When I defied Daindreth to save Daindreth, it made the curse try to kill me while making me more powerful every second that it did.”

“A snake eating its own tail,” Thadred said, understanding dawning in his eyes.

Amira nodded. “Hard to know for sure, though. All I know is that the world is fairly glowing with ka now and none of Daindreth’s commands are affecting me.”

Thadred made a harrumphing sound, folding his arms across his chest. It made him seem at least three or four times his age. An old and bitter man. “Why didn’t it work for me?”

Amira shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Adjusting his arms, the knight scowled. “Do you really expect to save him?”

Amira arched one eyebrow. “Do you expect to help by complaining?”

“It’s just that—”

Though a part of Amira pitied him, she lost her patience. “Are you about to stage a lone assault on the most secure palace in the known world?”

Thadred glared. He said nothing, but she could tell he hated being kept back while she went into the lion’s den. “Daindreth might not come out with you,” Thadred said. “You really think a man who was willing to hand himself over to a demon will let you rescue him?”

“I’ll knock sense into him, if I have to.” A part of Amira hoped she’d have to. Daindreth deserved a good thrashing for using her curse, Thadred’s too.

Amira adjusted the knife at her belt again. “You remember the plan?”

Thadred heaved a sigh. “Wait here for you and Daindreth. Once you arrive, we hop onto a ship and make our escape. Meet you at the docks by the red lamppost, but not under the lamppost.”

“Close enough.”

Amira checked the bundles of goods she’d bought with some of the money Daindreth had given them. She had procured rope, a few more hunting knives, basic apothecary tools, and other essentials. It had been difficult to locate another acceptable blade, but she had a serviceable dagger and a length of sturdy chain she’d lifted off the docks. She hadn’t practiced wielding a chain in a few years, but she was confident she still could.

“What if you can’t get to him?” Thadred asked.

That thought was one Amira had mulled over ever since coming back. “I’ll get to him.”

“I know. But what if—?”

“What do you want me to say?” she demanded.

Thadred’s mouth tightened and he exhaled out his nose. “What if you find the demon instead of the archduke?”

“I’ve taken on the demon before.”

“And he nearly killed you,” Thadred snapped back.

Amira finished securing her weaponry. “That was before. I’m prepared this time.”

Thadred was quiet for a long moment. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

Rather than answer, Amira slipped past him and out of the icehouse. She ghosted between the straw bales packed around the ice blocks, darting around an annoyed shipyard cat.

Thadred’s voice shouted after her. “Don’t die!”

When she stepped into the streets, it took Amira a moment to readjust to the steaming clouds of ka that hung over the city. She was almost blinded by it when she and Thadred had returned this morning, but she could swear it was even stronger now.

Or perhaps she was only more aware of it. Before almost killing herself, she’d been able to see it, but not this much. What had been a haze yesterday was now a thick layer.

Ka brushed her hands and swirled around her ankles, parting as she marched toward the city. She’d once had to reach for it, but now it reached for her. So much power, all at her fingertips. She needed but a thought to shift and move it at will. It was a heady, dizzying feeling.

Now there were hundreds, possibly thousands, of new spells she would be able to perform. With this much power, Amira doubted that there was anything she couldn’t do.  If only she’d learned more incantations and her father hadn’t forbidden her from the spellbooks. But there was nothing she could do for it in this moment.

Besides, she could still make use of this power, just perhaps not as efficiently.

Amira reached the palace within a few minutes. Her breathing had barely even quickened. She flexed her shoulders and cracked her neck.

Strength coursed through her. She felt like she could tear down a wall with her bare hands. Not that she was foolish enough to try, but she felt like it.

Amira slunk along the shadows beyond the gaze of the palace guards. The palace was almost eerily silent, nothing but the low murmur of a drowsy household. Only the guards could be seen from the outside and hardly anything stirred from within.

There were no parties tonight. Safe to assume the palace was in lockdown for whatever rites Vesha had planned.

Amira wondered what story had been spun about her disappearance. An abduction? Could it be that the nobles were taking precautions?

The silence of the palace would have been unsettling on any night, yet tonight the stillness prickled her skin with gooseflesh. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she couldn’t help feeling there was a weight of foreboding about the place.

Jogging, Amira skirted the city side of the palace, taking stock of the guards and shape of the battlements. Just because she was on a fool’s errand didn’t mean she couldn’t do it right.

She found a place near the servant’s portion of the palace where the walls dipped lower and weren’t as high or sheer. Exploiting a few choice handholds, Amira scurried up the wall, the looped chain slapping against her chest. Her muscles strained and the handholds were shallow at best, but she flitted up the stone like a wraith.

She almost laughed. She could have sworn ka swirled around her, lifting her higher. For the first time, she truly understood the phrase drunk with power.

Amira swung herself up and dropped into a crouch on the guardwalk. A sentry clomped toward her from behind the nearest guard tower.

His steps came rhythmically, calmly. It didn’t seem he’d spotted anything unusual yet.

Amira pressed herself into the shadows. She reacted out of instinct, not stopping to remember a spell. She wove ka into the shadows with a thought, using it to capture the dark and tug it in around her like a cloak—no runes, no wards, just her will.

The darkness around her thickened until it became almost tangible. She pulled tighter, eyes wide with excitement and a little awe as the shadows wafted up to shield her from the guard.

To him, she was but another pool of darkness outside the reach of his torch.

She didn’t move a hair, not even as the heavily armored figure plodded mere inches from her toes. He passed by without so much as a glance, oblivious. Still, Amira waited until he rounded the next bend before racing to the guard tower.

Amira sprang down the stone steps, running a hand along the side of the wall to find her way. Though she was still aware of a faint smog of ka, she knew of no way to use it to see in the dark.

She reached the bottom without complications and soon found herself in a courtyard closed off from the rest of the castle. The walls lacked any sort of ornamentation, in contrast to the rest of the palace, and a lone hand pump stood vigil in the center. Thadred’s rough map had indicated this as being outside the far end of the servants’ quarters, where the lowliest of the maids and hall boys lived.

Solemn conversation and the music of a single flute drifted from the open windows along with a buttery light. Ka moved on the far side of the walls, at least a dozen or more bodies packed together around a fireplace, as best she could guess.

Amira skirted across the courtyard and slipped in through one of the ground level windows. She landed in an empty bedroom with two narrow cots and a scattering of personal effects—candle stubs, scraps of letters, rough attempts at carved figurines. Amira let herself out of the room by the door and stepped into the hallway, careful to steer away from the laughter and noise.

She kept her ears cocked for any sign of someone else in the passage. Fortunately, it seemed everyone had congregated in the main living area.

After a few moments, Amira recognized the passages. Daindreth had brought her through here when he had taken her into the courtyard to spar—where they kissed for the first time.

Amira followed the hallway toward the central wing. Without a light, it was hard to make out the path clearly, especially since there were no windows. But a candle or a lamp would have given forewarning to anyone else in the tunnels.

Amira made a note that she needed to learn spells that would let her see in the dark. She’d once assumed she wouldn’t be powerful enough to wield them, but now...

Amira counted the doors to keep track of how far she went and where she turned. By her measure, she was nearing the apartment she had lived in and should be reaching Daindreth’s in a few dozen steps.

Amira stopped at a door with a crude sign bearing a hastily scrawled red crown. Logic dictated it had to be near either Daindreth or Vesha’s room. Even the people who worked here every day must have trouble keeping all the passages straight.

The servant’s door slid open on its well-oiled hinges, opening into a minimalist, utilitarian bedroom. The bed’s velvet coverlet and pillows were untouched, the rugs set perfectly straight, everything in tidy, neat order.

Parchment covered in half-finished sonnets and lines of crossed out text scattered over the desk. Amira briefly surveyed the papers by the light of the moon, satisfying herself that this was the right one.

A hearth glowing with dying embers dominated one side of the room. Otherwise, there was no sign of life aside from the haze of ka that lingered throughout the palace.

Amira stepped into the archduke’s parlor. The windows were open, the curtains stirring in the breeze.

The assassin frowned at that, hackles rising. What self-respecting palace servant would leave the windows open after dark?

From the shadows, dim ka caught her attention. A fading pool of energy splayed across the floor, eking out of a shape on the carpet.

Amira’s heart leapt into her throat. The corpse lay in a dark patch of sticky red, the source of the ka.

Glass shards cracked under Amira’s boots and a smashed armchair lay across the room. The dead man had not gone quietly.

It wasn’t Daindreth. She was still bound to him and would have known if he died, but a sick nausea still curdled in her stomach as she rolled over the body.

Even in the poor light, it only took a moment to recognize that sallow skin, pinched face, and the web of wrinkles. A gash across his throat was to blame for most of the blood and a half dozen minor wounds marked his arms, sides, chest, and legs.

Why kill Taylan? What could be gained by killing the archduke’s valet?

Either this meant Daindreth had been taken somewhere against his will—or that Caa Iss had won. Amira quickly dismissed the second option. The only reason to leave the body like this was if Taylan’s killers had been in a hurry. Vesha had mentioned needing to appease the demon tonight. It had almost certainly been the empress’s Kadra’han.

Amira closed the valet’s eyes before slipping to the apartment door. The hall outside was quiet, dark. Eerily abandoned. Not even the whisper of a guard or servant in sight and only incorporeal, wispy residues of ka.

Where was everyone? Had the upper levels been entirely deserted?

Amira tilted her head to one side. It was faint, but she could feel a tug and swirl of energy somewhere from within the palace. Frowning, she angled in that direction, one hand on the hilt of her dagger.

At first, she thought it might be a large gathering of people, but as she came closer, she realized that, no, it was something far more deliberate. The strands of ka weren’t wafting or settled as they usually were. This source, whatever it was, churned and rotated in a lazy vortex.

Angling toward the water gardens, Amira steadied the chain across her chest. Her heart pounded and she had to take deep breaths to steady herself.

She didn’t wonder what was causing that vortex of power. If she was honest with herself, she already knew.

Amira navigated the pools of moonlight as she skirted through the palace. The few stray guards, servants, and nobles she was able to avoid long before they ever saw her—their ka stood out like beacons to her now.

A low vibration rumbled through the floor, tickling the soles of Amira’s feet. She paused and pressed her fingertips against the stone. A tingle shot up her arm and she yanked her hand back.

Ka—like the extra heat from a furnace. Yet it was unlike any ka she had channeled herself. It didn’t glow and touching it left a taste like rotten eggs in her mouth.

Life force, yes, but an unnatural one. Mutated.

With fresh urgency, Amira picked up the pace, sacrificing stealth for speed. The chain clinked quietly across her chest and her boots clicked on the stone.

The echoing halls might give her away, but it was a chance she’d have to take. Amira moved at just shy of a run, as fast as she dared.

Every moment was precious.

As the assassin neared the water gardens, the air nearly crackled with ka. Natural ka pressed around her, tainted by the perverted, unnatural source. The mutant power raked along her skin like bone fingers, teasing, taunting.

Nothing had ever felt so far away as the water gardens did in that moment. Breaking into a run, Amira closed the remaining distance down the hallways and passages.

She skidded to a stop at the archway leading into the gardens. Her heart hammered a loud tattoo and her body shivered with the need to do something. Daindreth was here, he had to be, and he was in danger.

The maze of reflection pools and fountains separated Amira from the small, unassuming gazebo of white marble at the center. A huddle of figures crouched around it.

Power crackled against the stone latticework overhead, running along the lines of stone in mirror patterns to the stone walkways below. Ka rushed along the lines, swirling and racing through the spokes of the Witch’s Wheel.

Vesha stood outside the gazebo with her arms aloft and her head bowed. Long robes of the softest silk fluttered around her. She sang a low chant with words that overlapped themselves like raindrops and rolled like thunder.

Outside the sprawling pool surrounding the empress, there were over a dozen Kadra’han. Captain Darrigan and the others circled their liege in an orderly formation, watching in their full armor.

In the center of the gazebo, bound to a silver chair with bright silver shackles, Daindreth trembled. From this distance, she couldn’t make out the details, but dark red ka snaked around his limbs, neck, and waist, constricting like a python. Tendrils of it slithered into his skull through his ears, nose, mouth, and eyes.

Vesha paused her chant and gestured to her Kadra’han. “Join me.”

Amira watched with sickened wonder as the Kadra’han knelt before their empress. Darrigan reached out, linking arms with two other bodyguards on either side. They formed a circle around Vesha, heads bowed as if in prayer.

Sparks of power began to flicker and dance over their linked arms. Crackling veins of golden light reached for Vesha, flowing into her, feeding her spell.

The empress let off a soft gasp, either of pain or pleasure, it was hard to tell. The Kadra’han remained motionless, but the intensity of the power grew, brighter and sharper.

Something filled the air. Something almost too strong to be called ka.

The assassin could feel it in her bones—the yawning chasm of energy. It awakened something eager and hungry in her chest, something that seemed to have a will of its own. The air roiled and churned, frothing with power.

The assassin unsheathed her dagger, the weapon solid and reliable in her grasp. Sliding the chain off her shoulder, she swung it experimentally, wishing she had a better plan.

Chapter Twenty

Battle of Wills

Amira sprang from behind the wall. She was aware of everything down to the dust layer beneath her heel. Vesha’s chanting grew louder, more insistent. The air tingled around Amira like the promise of a storm.

Amira moved faster than she should have been able to, closing the distance in the space of a single heartbeat. She lunged for the nearest man and slashed. A Kadra’han fell at her feet, breaking the circle.

Swinging her chain into another’s head, Amira dropped a second just as Darrigan shouted. The assassin brought her dagger up to block when a fourth Kadra’han stood and drew his sword.

She ducked, whirling around to deflect the javelin of another. Kicking aside the spear, she slashed the wielder’s thigh, blade slicing easily through his leather breeches.

Vesha let off a choked sound, staggering as her spellwork was interrupted. Darrigan cursed. “The empress! See to the empress!”

The assassin watched in confusion as the Kadra’han reached over their fallen brothers, linking arms once again. The power in the air sparked brighter and stronger. Grimacing, Darrigan watched her and never once looked away, but he didn’t move from the kneeling circle.

Kadra’han ignoring an outright attack? Amira was so stunned that for just an instant she froze.

She could see some white-hot emotion in Darrigan’s face, he was furious. He wanted to rip her apart, she was sure. Then he shot a frantic glance to the archduke.

“No!” Vesha shouted, her voice cracking. “We need to finish the rite now. No stopping!”

Amira’s eyes went wide in realization. If Vesha was willing to leave herself vulnerable in order to complete the rite, it had to be because something worse than death would happen if they didn’t finish it.

Lunging past the Kadra’han, she dove for the empress with her dagger. Darrigan visibly flinched, but Vesha’s commands held him in place.

Amira swung for the empress, but a shape with claws and teeth and red eyes flickered in front of her. Saan Thii materialized out of nothing and charged Amira, hissing and snarling.

The assassin yelped and retreated to collect herself, almost tripping on a kneeling Kadra’han.

Saan Thii crouched between Amira and Vesha within the circle of Kadra’han. “Do you want to see what a witch’s familiar can do, little sorceress?”

Amira looked between the demoness and the dais where Daindreth was bound. The guard captain’s words echoed through Amira’s memories—Daindreth is her enemy. Enemy of us all if this isn’t stopped.

Vesha was meddling with the cythraul and her Kadra’han knew she wasn’t strong enough to do it. Darrigan had known and had tried to warn Amira.

Yet they were bound by their curses. They couldn’t stop Vesha.

But Amira could.

Amira sprang up the steps of the dais, tearing past the empress and straight for the gazebo. She had enough time to register Vesha’s glare before she dove for the shackled figure at the gazebo’s center. The archduke’s head hung limp and he had stopped struggling. He sat like a forgotten puppet, motionless in his silver chair.

“Leave her!” Saan Thii shrieked. “Complete the rite.” The cythraul paced a circle around Vesha like a territorial cat. “She’ll pay for her folly soon enough.”

“Daindreth!” Amira dropped her weapons as she fell to her knees at his feet, frantically searching for a pulse in his throat. If he was dead—if he was dead—

“You’re too late.”

Amira froze. Daindreth’s mouth had moved, but that voice...

The archduke’s head lifted, and a pair of ruby red eyes stared back at her.

“No!” Amira jerked away, shaking her head. “No,” the word was barely a whisper as a cold hand of failure crushed her chest.

A low laugh rumbled in Daindreth’s throat, a laugh that wasn’t his. “Yes, my dear little thing,” the cythraul sneered. His voice cut like glass shards and burned like brimstone.

Amira pulled back out of reach. “Caa Iss?”

The cythraul smiled with Daindreth’s lips, contorting the archduke’s face into some perverted shadow of the man who owned the body. “One and the same,” the cythraul smirked. “I must say it’s freeing to finally speak to you.”

Amira glared straight into the cythraul’s soulless gaze. “Let him go.”

“Oh?” Caa Iss feigned shock. “After all the trouble I went through for this body? I hardly think so.”

Daindreth was right in front of her and yet he wasn’t there at all.

Caa Iss shifted in the restraints and stretched Daindreth’s head from side to side. His neck cracked. “I admit I might have preferred a different body, but this one is serviceable. Wouldn’t you agree?” The cythraul leered. “It was enough to awaken your lust, at least.”

She clenched her jaw. “Let him go.”

Caa Iss threw back Daindreth’s head and laughed. “I haven’t had a vessel in millennia. Why would I give it up now?”

Amira gritted her teeth and straightened. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to make you sorry.”

At her back, Vesha continued her chant. The Kadra’han remained kneeling and motionless. Whatever the empress was doing, it must not be finished.

Caa Iss grinned. “How are you going to do that, hmm? In a few minutes, the rite will be over, and I will be Archduke of Erymaya, properly. And you can’t hurt me without hurting your dearly beloved.”

Amira slammed her palm against the armrest of the silver chair. The bastard was right.

“Ah, you wouldn’t want to hurt him,” Caa Iss crooned. “He’s so good and kind and generous.”

Amira’s hands fisted, but she managed to keep her face slack.

“You’re such a lovely thing. Really, Daindreth should have swyved you when he had the chance.” Caa Iss croaked a laugh. “Especially after you practically begged him on the dance floor last night.”

Amira wanted to hit the cythraul, but couldn’t, not when he was possessing Daindreth.

Caa Iss grinned, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

If Caa Iss had seen everything that happened between her and Daindreth, if he knew everything Daindreth did, even while he was bottled up and mute, then Daindreth must still be able to hear her now.

“It’s been so long for me, and I think it’s time Daindreth learned about the pleasures of the flesh. The things I’m going to do with you, my dear...” The demon licked his lips. “I can’t wait.”

Amira dropped to her knees in front of Daindreth so she was looking straight into Caa Iss’s serpentine gaze. “Daindreth, I know you can hear me.”

Caa Iss chuckled.

“I just broke into the imperial palace and ran into the arms of death for you because—”

Caa Iss scoffed.

“Because—” She couldn’t say it. Not to the demon. “The least you can do is fight one sniveling cythraul!” she snarled.

Caa Iss shrugged. “It seems not.”

Amira grabbed Daindreth’s face. With his wrists still locked down, Caa Iss couldn’t do anything to stop her. “Come back to me, Daindreth,” she pleaded, her voice wavering with desperation. “Come back to me, please, if only—if only...”

A buzzing came from behind. Amira cast a look over her shoulder. Vesha carried on with her chant. The Kadra’han were doubled over, weakening. It seemed the remaining sorcerers were being forced to overcompensate for their fallen brethren.

Saan Thii had disappeared. Amira hated not being able to see the demoness, but the creature had shown more interest in protecting the empress than attacking the assassin. She’d have to risk it and stay vigilant for signs of the creature’s sooty ka.

“A few more heartbeats,” Caa Iss purred. “And your archduke will be locked away for the rest of his unnatural life.”

Time was slipping. Amira faced Daindreth’s commandeered body, forcing herself to ignore the claret eyes of the cythraul.

“I’m sorry I failed you,” she whispered. She didn’t even know where the words came from as they spilled out. “I should have known something was wrong. I’ve never wanted to hurt you, I haven’t since the moment I met the real you. I...”

Caa Iss winced and the red glow in his eyes flickered.

“Daindreth?” she whispered.

Caa Iss smirked, but it was less confident this time.

“Daindreth...” Amira pressed her forehead to his and closed her eyes. “When my father sent me to kill you, I knew you would be my undoing, but now it’s my choice. I came back for you, and I’d do it again, but please, please come back to me.”

Amira took a ragged breath, feeling she had spilled her deepest, darkest secrets and shown her greatest weaknesses. Feeling naked.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Can you hear me? I love you, Daindreth.”

Trembling, Amira breathed deeply. She could feel the power cracking and snapping in their air, the rumblings of it in the ground beneath her. Ka pulsed and throbbed through her skin and she could feel it burning through the archduke with every beat of his heart.

The archduke’s neck bowed and his shoulders slumped, like the weight of his head was suddenly too much to bear.

“Daindreth?” Amira jerked back, wary.

“Run.” His voice was different, choked, desperate.

She could hardly believe it. “Daindreth?”

“I ordered you...to go.” The archduke’s head hung limp in her hands. “Please...” he groaned.

Amira lifted his face, but he kept his eyes clenched, as if the light was too much.

“How can you be here?” Daindreth grated, the words strained, like they had to be forced out his throat. It was Daindreth’s voice, not Caa Iss’s. “I ordered you to go.”

Vesha’s chanting became feverish, almost frenzied.

“My curse is broken.” Amira smiled despite everything. She almost even laughed again. “I’m still a Kadra’han, but I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

“How?”

“Every curse can be broken, Daindreth.” She reached for his shackled hands. “Even yours, I know it.”

“No time,” Daindreth groaned. “Go! Please.”

Amira ignored the desperation in his voice. “I’m not going without you.” Her hands flew to the manacles binding him to the chair.

Daindreth cried out and trembled, shaking with the effort of keeping Caa Iss at bay.

Amira realized her mistake and slipped her hand up to cradle the back of his neck, touching as much skin as she could. “Shh, I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. Here...” With her free hand, she loosened the bolts, ripping them out and throwing them aside.

“Amira, no.” Daindreth shook his head. “No, he could...he’s trying to come back...”

“You’d best make sure he doesn’t, then.” Amira tore the restraints off Daindreth’s arms, waist, and ankles. There were no locks, only simple bolts. The bands swung free easily, leaving red welts in their wake. “Come on,” Amira urged.

She had no idea what she planned. Vesha and the Kadra’han were mere steps away, but they appeared busy for the moment and getting Daindreth out of that chair was the first step no matter what was about to happen.

She tried to pull him up, but he collapsed on the floor, doubled over. Daindreth groaned, shaking his head as though to clear it. “No, no, no...he’s still coming...” Daindreth was close to panicking. “I can’t stop him this time. Please run before he hurts you...” He broke off with a low whimper.

Amira squeezed his hand. “I can handle a cythraul.”

“You were supposed to be far away by now,” he said. “You were supposed to be safe. I just wanted you safe.”

“There has to be a way for you to fight Caa Iss,” she insisted. “You’ve done it for years.”

“Amira...” A shudder passed through him. “Not this time. They’re strengthening him. They’re giving him power.”

“Then let me strengthen you.” Amira held both sides of his face, pressing her fingers against his temples. She’d never tried channeling power directly into a person without a spell to guide it, but she didn’t know any spells for this. She had no idea if it would work or not, but she whispered a silent prayer to Eponine and threw herself into it.

Amira pushed away the mutated ka crackling in the air and pulled on the great glowing cloud of it that hung over the city. She drew all of that into her, letting it fill her like an overflowing pitcher.

It ached and burned through her veins—raw, untempered energy. It made her lightheaded and ache like a breath held too long.

Amira pulled in the power until she feared it would rip her apart and then she pulled in more. Amira had never heard of another person being able to receive ka from a sorcerer, but she tried—she had to try—a little at first and then more and more—the same way she infused her power into spells.

Daindreth’s skin heated to her touch, but he didn’t fight her, didn’t show any signs of pain. She kept going.

All at once, Amira could feel Daindreth, truly feel him. He was like a golden sunburst edged with rain clouds. Caa Iss was a fiery maelstrom, angry and burning against the horizon. Amira could feel Caa Iss swooping in on Daindreth like a monsoon, growing and swelling with each passing moment.

Amira pushed against Caa Iss, even throwing the strength of her own ka against him. The cythraul squalled, his fury sparking starbursts of crimson behind her eyes.

Daindreth leaned into Amira, inhaling like a man half drowned. He gripped her shoulders, squeezing so tight she expected bruises later. “Amira...” he gasped.

Amira fed her power into Daindreth, building him up like a tidal wave. Caa Iss battled to take more power from Vesha’s spell, but Daindreth had Amira and Amira had the entire city. The assassin carefully filled Daindreth with as much power as she could bear, taking it in before Caa Iss could take in his own.

Daindreth growled. His grip on her tightened even more and when Amira dared a glimpse, his jaw had clenched, his face contorted as he fought.

“What’s she doing?” Vesha’s voice pierced through the Amira’s concentration, shrill and demanding. “How is she doing that?”

Don’t be foolish, boy.

Amira fought a cringe as Caa Iss’s voice filtered through her thoughts. It was an eerie thing to hear without ears.

Get back. Daindreth’s voice sounded no different inside his head than outside. Amira could still catch the strain coming through.

You will be mine, Caa Iss hissed. You are mine. You think your throat-slitting bedwarmer can save you?

Amira tried to ignore their words and keep on task.

It’s time for you to go. There was a steely resolve to Daindreth’s thought that Amira recognized, one that made her heart leap. He hadn’t given up.

And she will be mine. I will be sure she lives a long, long life and make sure you are awake every time I take her. Caa Iss roiled, bubbling with anger.

You touch her and I will end us both, Daindreth swore. By every power in the Dread Marches and the Eternal Plains, I will find a way.

You cannot fight Moreyne’s will. She made a pact with Vesha. This body was given to me!

It wasn’t hers to give, Daindreth countered.

You can’t win!

Watch us.

Caa Iss squealed like a dying boar, his frustration and rage like fireworks of hellfire inside Amira’s skull.

Now get back, Daindreth ordered. Get back!

Amira funneled still more power into the archduke, trembling with the effort of channeling so much. The cythraul writhed and spewed curses in unknown languages. The power in the air began to wane or perhaps it was Amira’s own strength diminishing, but Caa Iss lashed out and hissed like a wounded animal.

Amira wasn’t strong enough to keep fighting. She had endless power, not endless stamina, but neither did the cythraul. Something buckled and cracked and the creature’s dark presence rushed back. The weight against Daindreth’s mind evaporated.

Daindreth slumped against Amira, pressing his face into the top of her shoulder. His chest heaved as his arms locked around her waist, crushing her against him. She lost concentration, cutting off her channel of ka.

Amira stifled a gasp. Her strength was drained, but there was no time for respite. “Daindreth?”

“It’s me,” he whispered. He was out of breath, but it was unquestionably him.

“Caa Iss?”

“Still there, but distant for now,” the archduke answered. He brushed his lips against her neck, ignoring the sweat beaded along her skin.

The assassin whimpered, clutching him tighter.

“You are...incredible.” Daindreth bowed over her like he was trying to fold her into himself. “I love you.” He kissed her neck, just behind her ear. “I love you so much.”

Amira didn’t know what to say. She could still feel all the power she hadn’t given to Daindreth, simmering below her skin like a volcano about to erupt. It was ready and waiting to save them, but she didn’t think she could bear wielding it.

“Guards!” Vesha shouted.

Amira yanked away from Daindreth, snatched up her dagger, and whipped her head around to the empress. Darrigan and the others stood at the ready, weapons drawn and eager to spill Amira’s blood. Darrigan would cut her into pieces without a moment’s hesitation.

Amira needed to get Daindreth out of here. She’d interrupted Vesha’s plans, but the ritual could probably still be performed again.

Amira pressed Daindreth behind her, shielding him from Darrigan and the Kadra’han. She clenched her dagger as six unhurt Kadra’han rose to face her, absorbing how truly outnumbered she was. Perhaps she should have killed them as they knelt.

“Get out of here, Amira.” Daindreth spun her around to him. “They’ll kill you!”

“I knew that when I came here.”

He grabbed her shoulders. “Amira—”

“Shut up.” She shoved him off. “And be ready to run.”

Darrigan was frothing as he marched forward. “Seize the archduke and the girl.”

Amira wondered if it wasn’t betrayal on his face. Guilt plucked at her. Darrigan had tried to ask for her help and she had responded by killing his brethren when they’d had no choice but to obey Vesha.

“Darrigan. Hold.” That single command from the empress stopped the Kadra’han in their tracks.

Vesha didn’t even blink. The assassin took up a defensive stance, pushing Daindreth in the opposite direction.

“Let her go,” Daindreth pleaded. “Let her live.”

“She was let go once.” The empress’s predatory glare fell upon the assassin. “She’s the one who chose to come back.”

Amira instinctively shoved Daindreth back further as at least a dozen guards flooded the room. Their light armor flashed in the moonlight, clanking as they surrounded the empress and her Kadra’han, blocking at least one escape route. Amira cast about for her next move.

Amira appraised their retreat options as best she could with her back turned. She might have a chance to outrun the regular guards and the longer she watched, the more exhausted the other Kadra’han appeared, but Daindreth? Could he keep up?

Vesha drew closer until she was several steps away from her servants, too far for them to be of any help should Amira attack. The assassin seriously considered painting the floor with Vesha’s blood, but she wanted to escape. She wasn’t sure she would get past Darrigan if she killed his liege.

Whether he agreed with Vesha’s chosen course or not, she was still Darrigan’s entire life. If she were harmed, there was no telling what he would do.

Vesha circled the archduke and the assassin leisurely, as if she were somehow in complete control despite being unarmed and defenseless. Amira kept the empress in her line of sight, but never showed her back to Darrigan and the others.

Vesha’s footsteps clicked an even rhythm.

“Please don’t die for me,” Daindreth pleaded, gripping Amira’s arm. “Please run. We both know you could.”

True. Without Daindreth, she might stand a chance—a fool’s chance, but a chance, nonetheless. She was still a little winded from using so much ka, but she was quickly recovering. If she’d known the right spells, she was sure she could have brought down the whole palace.

“Be ready.” Amira straightened, bracing herself. “What do you want?” she demanded, snapping around to Vesha. “You must want something.”

Vesha paused. “Power.” Inhaling, she seemed to consider it for a moment. “Power is what keeps this empire safe, its coffers full, its granaries overflowing.”

Amira masked her emotions, calculating an escape route. There was another exit from the water gardens behind her, but she wasn’t sure about anything after that. Either way, they would have to evade the guards.

They would be forced to make a move soon.

Vesha eyed the assassin like a market oddity. “We both know you haven’t won. You can’t. I will win.”

“Amira.” The archduke touched her arm.

The assassin shook his hand off, facing down the empress. “What if I kill you first?”

Chapter Twenty-One

Flee

“So what’s your plan, then? Remove me and instate Daindreth so you can be his consort?” Vesha took a step closer. “You could be so much more, Amira. You could rule this world as a regent without the meddling of men.” The empress glanced to her son. “There are some things we must give up to gain something greater.”

Daindreth squeezed Amira’s shoulder from behind.

“I don’t want your empire,” Amira coldly answered. “I don’t want anything from you.”

The assassin subtly adjusted her grip on her dagger. She had to get to Daindreth out of the palace and to the ships. If nothing else, she needed to see him safe.

Vesha was silent for a moment, though Amira could hardly imagine she was surprised. “No vision.” The empress shook her head in disappointment. “Can you not see beyond your own desires? Your own infatuation?”

“No one profits from deals with devils.” Amira picked her chain off the floor. That made the Kadra’han and the guards tense, but Vesha had already ordered them to stand down. “Trying to buy off Moreyne herself? You think anything she has to offer is worth giving your own son to a cythraul?”

“For peace? For an end to famine and poverty?” Vesha raised her chin. “If that is the price.”

“It’s too high.” In a single motion, Amira hurled her dagger at the empress.

She aimed it square at Vesha’s heart. She missed.

Scarlet stained Vesha’s lily-white gown and she let off a cry of pain, clutching at her shoulder. She glared at Amira with a silent promise of retribution.

“Guards!” Vesha shouted. “Stop them!”

Amira whirled around as Darrigan ordered soldiers into the gazebo. Bloodlust and rage glinted in their faces, reminding her of hounds on the scent. If they caught her, they would carve her up like a midwinter boar.

Darrigan shouted for his Kadra’han to protect the empress—exactly as Amira had hoped. The Kadra’han were stumbling, weakened. The regular guards were already leading the charge. There might be a sliver of a chance.

“Run!” Amira shoved Daindreth and he didn’t need another second’s urging. “That way!” She jerked him in the direction of a steepled arch. “Toward the seaward walls!”

A battering ram of steel and muscle slammed into her and she barely recovered in time to block a guard’s sword. She ducked, whirling around to deflect the javelin of a second. Kicking aside the spear, she slashed his ribs, between the armor plates, and snapped up her chain into his jaw. The second guard collapsed with a cry as she was met with three more.

Daindreth snatched up the spear, impaling a guard over Amira’s shoulder as she was distracted with another. She barely had time to nod in thanks before she was caught in the next wave.

Everything was blades and grunting and the ring of metal on metal. Amira’s greatest advantage was also her weakness—unburdened by armor, she moved with the speed of a wildcat, but unprotected, she was vulnerable.

A blade shot for her torso and she had to leap into the path of another to avoid it, blocking and slashing as she did. Another body struck the stone and Amira skirted over it to strike out once more. All the guards soon looked the same. Amira saw only their white uniforms and their glinting swords as she dodged, blocked, and stabbed whenever she could.

She was only lucky that the Kadra’han were too spent to fight. They withdrew from sight, Darrigan supporting Vesha and the others surrounding them in a vanguard.

Knocking aside a halberd, Amira wound her chain around the guard’s wrist and yanked him sideways, into the path of Daindreth’s spear. There was the squelch of flesh and a cry of pain and then Amira was kicking away the dead man to lunge for his comrade. Daindreth snapped the butt of his spear toward the temple of one guard, but the man dodged.

Amira had lost count of how many the two of them put down. Sweat had begun to coat her brow and her breath came in quick gasps. From a practical standpoint, she shouldn’t have lasted this long.

The assassin ignored the throb in her muscles, dropping into a crouch to miss the swing of a saber, then flipping out of the way of another. She shot out her foot and unbalanced the nearest guard, wrapping her chain around his throat and yanking him sideways to shield her back as she faced the remaining six or so.

The survivors eyed her like a viper in the sock drawer. Daindreth backed up and hovered at her side.

Amira gritted her jaw as they all heaved, waiting for the next move. The guard held with the chain struggled, but she yanked tighter, cutting off his air until he complied. There were some lessons to be learned from her curse.

Amira glanced to Daindreth. She tried to communicate her intentions with a pointed look over his shoulder and then to him again, trying to give him some clue of what to expect. He frowned, still clenching his spear.

A grunt came from behind. The guard she had taken captive dropped in a limp pile and Captain Darrigan stepped over the corpse. How had he gotten behind her so fast?

His yell warned her the instant before his sword plunged, aiming for her belly. Amira twisted to the right but a moment too late. The steel bit into her side and the assassin’s vision went white. With a strangled cry, Amira whipped her blade up, aiming for Darrigan’s chest, but she missed and slashed across his cheek. Ivory bone showed for the briefest of moments before blood gushed down his face. Darrigan shouted and stumbled back, clutching at his wound.

Amira whipped her chain around the hilt of the nearest guard’s wrist, jerking it to the side before charging and dropping him. Amira sprang past the body of her latest victim, her side on fire and sweat trickling into her eyes.

Had Darrigan just tried to kill her? Or had he let off that shout to warn her on purpose? She had no way to know and no time to consider it.

“I want her alive!” Vesha screeched. “I want them both alive!”

Amira highly doubted the empress wanted her for anything good. “Go!” she yelled, shoving Daindreth’s shoulder. “Run!”

Every stride tugged at her fresh wound and the pain grew with each moment. Her entire body ached after channeling so much ka. She’d never channeled as much as she had needed to fight Caa Iss. Daindreth grabbed her hand and tugged her after him.

She looked back, certain she would see the guards in hot pursuit, but they were cloistered around the empress, escorting her away as Darrigan ordered them to wait for reinforcements. Vesha offered no protests from where she sat on the ground, the dagger still in her shoulder.

Waiting for reinforcements would buy Amira and Daindreth a handful of minutes, even if it wouldn’t last for long.

For just a split second, Amira wondered again if, just perhaps, Darrigan was trying to help as best he could. If he couldn’t kill the archduke, he might settle for having the man far, far away from Vesha.

Amira spun around and screamed at the gangly, pale figure blocking their path.

Saan Thii reared in front of them, her claws slashing at Amira as she hissed in rage. Her red tongue flicked out between jagged teeth as she snarled.

“You will not escape!” Saan Thii shrieked, her voice like shards of broken glass scraping together.

Amira was startled, but she and Daindreth sprang into action in the same moment. She lashed her chain at the creature as the archduke jabbed with his spear.

Both weapons passed through Saan Thii as if she were no more than air.

“You cannot harm me,” Saan Thii crowed, her tail twitching as the knobs along her spine shivered. “I am not a creature of your plane!”

“Then you can’t stop us either,” Daindreth snarled.

Amira and Daindreth barreled past Saan Thii while the demoness shrieked and snarled to put a speared pig to shame.

Amira didn’t fully understand how the bond between a witch and a familiar worked. Saan Thii might give Vesha power, but it seemed that while the empress was bleeding on the floor and unable to work spells, Saan Thii was reduced to nothing but a specter.

Amira and Daindreth raced out of the water gardens. Amira wasn’t familiar with this portion of the palace, but according to the schematics she had studied, this hall should be the main passage that ran through the castle’s northern wing. If she played it right, they would be able to get to the ground level from here.

Amira gasped, wincing as that tugged at her side. Her entire side was already soaked in blood, even though she hardly felt the wound.

“Amira, are you alright?” Daindreth must not be able to see in the dim light. He reached for her, fear edging his tone.

“Fine,” she grated, looping her chain into a coil. “Come on. We have to move.”

Half limping, she led the way, the throbbing in her side growing worse with each step. She ducked into a doorway and through a small entrance room before finding herself in a study most likely used by some minor steward or other.

“Shut the door and barricade it,” she panted, making her way to the window.

Daindreth slammed the door shut and dragged a small yet heavy bookshelf in front of it. The corner of the shelf caught on the carpet, but he wrestled it in place before the first shouts of guards echoed up the hall.

Amira fumbled to the study’s two sprawling windows. One window overlooked the sea, but the other was angled toward the city and a few feet above a broad, slanted roof. Relieved she had gotten the right room, Amira reached to the second window and undid the latch. She swung it open and crawled onto the sill.

“Good gods, Amira.” Daindreth gaped at her crimson-stained side, the deep gash in her shirt over the one in her flesh.

“Come on,” she urged through clenched teeth, gesturing out the window. “We need to move.”

Daindreth climbed out ahead of her and reached back a steadying hand.

Growing lightheaded, Amira let him help her down onto the roof. “Keep your eyes ahead. Don’t look down. Got it?”

Daindreth nodded, not looking up from her wound.

“Daindreth!”

“Yes.” The archduke turned his back on her and followed her instructions best he could.

Battering from the room behind them belied the guards were hot on their trail. Amira guessed they had mere moments until the men were breaking through.

“Relax,” Amira murmured as Daindreth began to rush. “They can’t follow us out here.”

Off to her side she could make out a steep drop into a cobbled courtyard—one slip and he would be tumbling to his death. He needed to keep calm.

A great crash came as the soldiers made it through.

“Get back here!” one of them shouted.

The assassin and archduke, naturally, ignored him. They stumbled toward the windows at the opposite side of the roof. From there, they would be able to get down to the ground level of the servant’s quarters and outside the walls. Two guards ventured out onto the roof behind them, swords held awkwardly.

Shouts and the clang of metal echoed from the tops of distant walls. The rest of the palace guards must be rallying to hunt them down.

Daindreth reached the next window a few dozen paces ahead of the guards. A cry and the scramble of metal on tile met Amira’s ears as one of them lost his footing. She glanced back to see the others attempting to aid him before he tumbled downwards but didn’t look to see what happened after that.

Stopped before the locked window, Daindreth glanced back to her. “Amira—”

“Lean to the left!” she ordered.

Yanking out her dagger, Amira stabbed the glass as hard as she could, punching a hole in one of the panes. She reached in and undid the latch from the inside before ripping the window open. Daindreth dove through without a second’s hesitation. He spun around as soon as he found his footing and caught her as she stumbled after him. Amira leaned into his arms as she caught her balance. They were in a stark, shadowy passageway lined with narrow wooden doors. Everything reeked of leather, sweat, and rum. They were in the upper levels of the barracks built into the western wall.

Gathering herself, Amira ran as fast as she could down the passageway, Daindreth jogging after her. Her heart throbbed a quick tattoo in her chest and a pain not entirely thanks to Darrigan lanced through her ribs. Her boots thudded against the stone as she ran, stealth abandoned in favor of speed.

The light of torches and the roused shouts of newly awakened guards spilled after them. The fugitives reached the entrance to a guard tower and found the on-duty watchman had already been called away for the search. They retreated down the tower steps, the smell of waste and refuse confirming they were near the servant’s quarters, close to where she had come in.

“Amira, you’re losing blood.” Daindreth’s alarm was hard to miss.

“We can’t stop!” she panted, even as she left a trail of red smears on the walls. “We need to get to the servants’ quarters. The palace wall there is lowest.”

In the distance, guards tore the hallways and passages apart in the search. Amira had gotten Daindreth this far, yet weariness and blood loss would overtake her soon.

“Here. This way.” Daindreth shoved open a door and they ducked into a hall in the servant’s portion of the palace. The nervous voices and agitated whispers of maids and butlers confirmed word had already spread of the uproar in the main portions of the palace.

By now, Amira expected that the palace would be fully sealed. No one would be permitted in or out and those who tried to leave would be met with swords and spears.

Uncannily, Daindreth led her to the courtyard of the servants’ quarters, the same one she had crossed coming in. There was another reason she had chosen this area for her entry—the wall was lowest on this side of the palace. Now, with her handicap, Amira needed all the help she could get. Besides, it appeared this area wasn’t the focus of the guards’ search.

Daindreth caught her arm and half-carried her up the steps leading to the wall. The guard was blessedly—or perhaps suspiciously—absent and a lone torch flickered over the guardroom.

Amira tugged hard on Daindreth’s arm in a signal to slow down, intently focusing on the burgeoning ka of the city, the cluster of power below in the servants’ quarters, and the bright forms of at least three men outside the watchtower on the battlements.

Amira cast Daindreth a weary look. They would have to get past them without raising the alarm.

She smeared her bloodied dagger on her sleeve before shoving it back in its sheath. Here inside the guardroom, there was a pair of chairs and a lone table shoved against the wall along with piles of extra weapons, crossbows, rope, and a dozen other accumulated odds and ends.

They didn’t have time for the rope, and she didn’t see anything that she could use on three guards at once, except maybe...

Grabbing one of the chairs, she lifted it, making sure it was as light as it looked. Even that simple motion made her side ache in protest. The archduke must have noticed her wince.

Daindreth eased the chair out of her hands. “Just tell me what to do.”

“Shove it at their faces,” Amira panted, clutching at her wound. Sticky blood seeped between her fingers.

“That’s all?”

“Yes.” Amira coiled the chain tightly in her grip. “We’re going to jump over the wall.”

“Jump?”

“It’s not that hard. Fifteen feet down at this point. Grab the edge of the stone and lower yourself as far as you can before letting go. If you relax and roll to lighten the impact, you should be fine.” Amira braced herself. “Keep to the side so I have a clean shot at the guards,” she said, adjusting her coil of chain. “You ready?”

Daindreth nodded once, hefting the chair up higher.

“Now.”

The archduke kicked open the door, surprising the three guards outside.

Amira snapped her chain, sending one staggering back. The wounded guard shouted, hands cupping his dented visor plates. With a heave, Daindreth shoved the chair at the second guard, smashing it into his head before he could draw his weapon. The third grabbed for the horn at his hip, skirting back and sounding the alarm madly.

“Over the side!” she yelled to Daindreth.

Without a moment to waste, Amira dropped her chain and sprang over the top of the balustrade before the guards even finished drawing their weapons.

Daindreth landed with a hard thud. He groaned as he regained his footing, but he seemed alright.

Amira landed softly, but pain rocked through her entire side. Crying out, Amira collapsed, clutching at her wound. The pain throbbed hot and sharp, finally catching up to her.

She could hear locks being rattled, dogs barking, and men shouting. Ka buzzed along the walls as guards swarmed with the mad excitement of a beehive. Like hounds hearing the bays of their companions, guards flooded onto the battlements in twos and threes. Torches waved, armor clanked, and voices overlapped. In moments, word would spread that the two fugitives had leapt the wall and then the search of the city would begin.

Daindreth caught her arm, slinging it over her shoulder. The two of them turned their backs on the palace and staggered off toward the safety of the city.

Epilogue

Caa Iss was silent for now—doubtless licking his wounds in some dark corner of Daindreth’s skull.

Amira had given him a whipping the likes of which the archduke hadn’t thought possible. Daindreth vividly remembered the rush of power into his veins, the searing pain and rapturous delight that had mingled together until he could hardly tell one from the other.

“Left,” the assassin rasped. She leaned against him more with each step. By the glimmer of street lanterns, he caught sight of her wounded side, dark with blood.

Daindreth did as she said, taking them down the street to their left. “We need to get you to a surgeon.”

“After we’re out of this city,” she insisted.

“I don’t think it can wait that long.” Daindreth was sure she was losing too much blood.

“Ship. Need to get us on the ship first.” Red soaked between her fingers.

He had no idea how she was still upright, let alone conscious.

A figure came into view ahead, just outside the light of a painted lamppost. At the sound of their approach, the man raised his head, adjusting the pack slung over one shoulder.

“Thadred?” Daindreth let off a sigh of relief. He couldn’t read his cousin’s expression in the dim light, but he was sure the tongue-lashing of a century was in store for him. Not that he hadn’t earned it.

Thadred straightened, blinking at Daindreth and then Amira. “You got him out.”

“Said I would.” Amira’s gaze slid over their surroundings, checking the perimeter. “Everything quiet on the docks?”

“So far.” Thadred glanced to Daindreth. “Banished forthwith from the palace?”

Daindreth flinched, the words he had used against Thadred. “Amira needs—”

“That way.” The assassin gestured to the ships tethered along the docks.

“Come on,” she croaked, tugging toward the merchant’s carrack anchored a stone’s throw ahead. “This way.” She twisted out of Daindreth’s hold and stumbled.

Daindreth shot out an arm to support her, but she pushed him away.

“The sailors can’t know I’m hurt,” she mumbled, straightening.

“You’re hurt?” Thadred glanced between them.

“Fine,” the assassin clipped. “Hand me that coat of yours.”

Thadred shrugged it off without protest. He was following her orders? That only went to show how truly dire their situation was.

Daindreth helped Amira pull the too-large coat over her wounded side, hiding it from view. The assassin pushed him away again the next moment.

She was on the verge of collapse and he couldn’t even offer her an arm?

Daindreth followed her close behind. Thadred brought up the rear.

“Follow my lead,” she said.

Without waiting for Daindreth’s reply, she marched off in the direction of the tethered ships. On second thought, marched wasn’t an appropriate word. She moved at a meandering pace, head bent and shoulders sloped. The archduke debated if he should carry her despite her protests.

Daindreth cast a glance over his shoulder. He had never been to this part of the city. Darkness dominated large swaths between lampposts and buildings, hiding gods knew what. Broken bits of pottery, puddles of urine, bits of shredded cloth, and other refuse littered the street. He had lived most his life in this city, it shouldn’t have been so unsettling, and yet...

Amira reached the gang plank of a large galleon, limped up it, and stopped before a somewhat surprised collection of sailors.

“Captain Fells,” Amira shouted. “Permission to come aboard?”

A broad, squat man, built like a beer keg with a close-shaved head and face appeared at the edge of the plank. “Mistress Adalaine!” That must have been the false name Amira had given to secure their passage. “We feared you wouldn’t make it in time. Good to see you.”

The archduke sized up Captain Fells and his crew with more than a little apprehension. Hooked symbols had been tattooed to the foreheads and hands of several of the sailors—marks given to thieves. These men were probably pirates or smugglers at the very least.

“I believe this payment is sufficient for passage to Phaed.” Amira took something shiny from Thadred and Daindreth recognized her tiara as she passed it to Fells. The man’s eyes widened slightly as he accepted the gold circlet.

The squat man swept a bow and stepped aside. “Indeed, it is. Welcome aboard.”

“Will we be leaving soon?” Amira asked.

“As soon as you and your friends are aboard, yes, my lady,” Fells answered.

Daindreth had no idea how she’d managed such cooperation from the sailor. Clearly, she had skills he didn’t know about.

The crew set to raising the gang plank and checking the sail riggings, though more than a few chuckled lewdly at their new passengers.

“One swain not enough for her, eh?” One of the sailors grinned and slapped Daindreth’s shoulder as he passed. “Guest cabin’s that way.” He conspiratorially motioned toward the galleon’s stern with wiggling eyebrows before striding off.

“Come on.” Amira beckoned to the archduke.

The guest cabin was easy to find as it was labeled in the gold, flashy lettering. Amira grabbed a spare lantern from the deck and shuffled inside.

Daindreth skirted ahead and opened the door for her, helping her down the three steps into the guest cabin before shutting it after Thadred.

“Lock it,” Amira mumbled, fumbling to hang the lantern from a hook not far from the door.

Daindreth complied without question.

Thadred glared from beside the door, his eyes like skewers, ready to roast Daindreth on his fury.

The guest cabin was clean if a little cramped, Daindreth supposed. A single window overlooked the view from the rear of the carrack above a pair of bunks bolted to the floor. The walls were decorated with runic symbols etched with black charcoal. There was what appeared to be an empty liquor cabinet between the bunks, but no other furniture.

Amira stumbled to the edge of the nearest bunk and sat down.

“You son of a bitch!” Thadred bellowed, fist connecting with Daindreth’s jaw.

The archduke careened into the wall. Before he could recover, Thadred was advancing.

“You stupid, stupid son of a bitch!” Spittle flew from Thadred’s mouth and his hands flexed back into fists as he bore down.

Daindreth rubbed his jaw, straightening. “You have every right to be angry.”

“Of course, I have every right! You were just going to roll over and give up after all those years of—”

The assassin crumpled to the floor in a heap, legs buckling. She lay unmoving.

“Amira!” Daindreth dropped to her side.

Thadred stiffly shuffled across the room beside them.

“Amira?” Daindreth scooped her off the floor and she gasped.

Thadred spotted the bloodstained tear in her shirt and carefully inspected the wound in the lamplight, his anger temporarily forgotten. “We need to tend that,” Thadred said. “Get her on the bed.”

Between the two of them, they laid her on her uninjured side on one of the bottom bunks. She went limp, offering no resistance.

“We’re going to have to clean this,” Thadred muttered, motioning to the gash on her side. “We have some basic healing tools in the pack.”

“Alright.” Daindreth leapt at something to do, fumbling through the contents of Thadred’s satchel. His cousin was right, it looked like a small apothecary. The archduke picked through green vials and paper envelopes of dried herbs before he pulled out a spool of thread with a needle sticking out of it and a flask of what smelled like wine.

Working together, the two men managed to remove her weapons sheaths and lay them at the foot of the bed.

She was as unresisting as a corpse and the thought sent shudders down Daindreth’s spine. If she died—

Thadred reached to her collar, but Daindreth shoved him away. “What are you doing?”

“We have to take her shirt off or unbutton it at least,” he said. “We can’t tend her wound with it in the way.”

Daindreth raked a hand through his hair. His cousin was right, but...

Thadred reached toward her again.

“I’ll do it,” Daindreth interjected, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

Thadred arched an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “Hurry up.”

Daindreth leaned over Amira, hating himself for this, but more hating the idea of anyone—even Thadred—touching her. His fingers fumbled with the buttons as he hastily exposed her chest, grateful she had wrapped herself in a snug bandeau beneath her shirt.

It felt so wrong—even if he kept reminding himself that it was necessary.

Amira’s eyelids fluttered, barely a flicker as she lay prone on the thin mattress. She was too weak to move, but awake. He passionately wished she wasn’t as Thadred tore off a strip of the bunk’s blankets, splashed the contents of the flask on the rag, and began scrubbing at the wound.

Amira’s hand fisted in the linen coverlet, then went limp. For a moment, the archduke froze in terror. Then her ribs rose with a shallow breath. She’d only fainted.

As Thadred worked with martial efficiency, Daindreth’s eyes wandered to Amira’s exposed torso. There was already a scar across her ribs, below this fresh wound. It was clean and precise, forming an almost perfect curve.

From his guard’s spear that first night she’d tried to kill him, he realized.

“Daindreth!” Thadred snapped. He must have called more than once.

The archduke snapped out of his reverie.

“You need to sew it,” Thadred repeated, shoving the thread and needle in his cousin’s face. “You have more practice than me.”

“I used to help with the horses and kennel dogs, that’s all.”

“Still more practice than me,” Thadred shot back.

Daindreth took the implements. Replacing Thadred at her side, Daindreth carefully threaded the needle.

He examined Amira’s cut, judging the best way to close it. She already had so many scars. He didn’t want to give her another one, but he wasn’t sure how he could avoid that. After a few moments, he pierced both sides of the wound and pulled them together. The archduke worked carefully, tying off each stitch individually so that if one broke, the others would still hold. Amira lay with her cheek pressed into the musty pillow. She didn’t move and Daindreth became unspeakably grateful she had fainted.

Thadred stood aside and watched him as the ship shifted and began heading out, away from Mynadra. The galleon rolled and bobbed with the waves. The archduke’s work was slowed as he tried to keep a steady hand.

Daindreth’s neck cramped and his knees ached by the time he finished. He tied off the last of the stitches and wiped the sweat out of his eyes before storing the needle and extra thread back in the satchel, unable to face Thadred.

His cousin watched him with his arms crossed, glaring swords and daggers. “I plan to beat you into a pulp come morning,” he growled.

Daindreth clenched his jaw. “I deserve it.”

“By the Dread Marches, you do,” Thadred muttered. “You have your lover and crippled cousin chased out of the palace. Roll over and take whatever it was Vesha had in store for you.”

Daindreth shook his head. “I wouldn’t have been myself, Thadred. Caa Iss would’ve—”

“And we could have helped you!” Thadred hissed, keeping his voice down, probably for Amira’s sake. “If you had told us—!”

“My mother has been planning this for years. She would never let you—”

“You’ve known about this for years?!”

“No, only since we got back from Hylendale, but I knew she would kill whoever stood in her way.” Daindreth didn’t want to fight with his cousin, not tonight. He also didn’t want to disturb the injured assassin. Gods knew she needed rest.

Thadred was still livid. “So you—what? Thought you’d give us a warm sendoff into the night?”

Daindreth shook his head. “I knew Amira wasn’t going to leave me, and you certainly weren’t.” Daindreth breathed a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face.

Thadred glared at the archduke, unforgiving.

“I’m sorry,” Daindreth amended, though he knew that wasn’t going to even begin to make up for it. “I did what I thought it was best for the two of you.”

“So you were going to just surrender to the demon?”

“No,” Daindreth quietly replied. “No, I had no intention of doing that.”

“What then? A one-man war?”

“Caa Iss needs me alive, Thadred.”

Understanding his implication, fresh anger came over his cousin. “You—you were going to—you—” Thadred stammered in rage. “You what!”

“Think about it! Without a vessel, the cythraul would be sent back to the Dread Marches.” Daindreth had been ready to do the right thing. There had been many times over the past years when he had considered it, but yesterday it had seemed his only choice. “If Caa Iss takes me, he will unleash a reign of terror to put the greatest despot to shame.”

Thadred opened his mouth but was cut off as the galleon hit a swell and had to scramble to catch his balance. Righting himself, he shot his cousin a glare. “You were going to kill yourself?”

Daindreth blinked, tempted to turn away. “Taylan agreed to help me with it.”

Thadred made an incoherent wheezing sound. “He...what?”

“Darrigan caught him and he was cut down where he stood.” Daindreth closed his eyes. Someone else who had proven loyal unto the grave. “After that, I was put under guard to keep me from trying again.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Thadred said. A moment of silence followed. “He was a good man—even if he was apparently an idiot. But if you ever think of doing something like that again...” Thadred added something barely intelligible and doubtless obscene. He softened as he looked to Amira, something that surprised Daindreth. “She almost killed herself to come back to you.”

Daindreth shook his head. “How did she do it? In the palace, I commanded her, and she ignored it.”

Thadred smeared a hand over his face. “Damned if I know. She spurred her horse in this direction and kept coming until the curse had to kill her or let her save you.” The knight glanced back to Amira. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever had to watch.”

Daindreth studied the floor. It was worn smooth by years of wear, practically polished.

“You’re lucky to have us both.” Only Thadred could have made the words as guilt harping as they were. “And you better not ever do anything like that again, or I’ll kill you myself!” Thadred hobbled toward the cabin door.

“Where are you going?” Daindreth recalled Amira telling them to lock the door, did she want them to stay hidden?

“To watch that thrice accursed palace fade into the distance,” he spat. “I’m too angry to sleep. Look after Amira.” He slammed the door without letting Daindreth speak.

Daindreth glanced over to the unconscious assassin. He’d toyed with poetry his whole life and still hadn’t found words to properly describe her. She was madness and peace, chaos and serenity. Being near her was at once like stepping into a foreign land and coming home.

She was his and yet she wasn’t. He was hers and yet he couldn’t belong to anyone, not really, not while the demon tainted his mind. Amira didn’t care about the cythraul, but she didn’t know the full depths of the demon’s depravity. Only Daindreth did.

He brushed a stray strand of coppery hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry you’re suffering because of me,” he whispered.

Rummaging through her bag, Daindreth located a water skin in their pack and carefully wetted her lips. She was sweating so much, he feared she could become dehydrated.

Amira took a few swallows and after that Daindreth didn’t want to risk choking her. He returned the water skin and wiped the spilled water off her chin with his sleeve.

He straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. Like Thadred, he doubted he would be sleeping tonight, but for different reasons. The power Amira had poured into him hummed through his veins like an army of bees. His bones shivered with life.

Daindreth made to rise. Amira’s hand shot out and clamped around his wrist.

A bleary, half-conscious gaze met his. “Dain...” Her hoarse whisper barely reached his ears.

He leaned over her, covering her hand with his. “Yes?” He spoke softly, though he wasn’t sure why. Something caught in his throat and he choked it down.

“Don’t...” She broke off and started over, as if she needed momentum for her words. “Don’t leave.” Her fingers wrapped around his wrist like a vise.

“I won’t,” Daindreth promised, giving her what he hoped was an assuring smile. “I’ll stay.” He brushed his knuckles over her smudged cheek.

Daindreth fingered her hair as she went still, her breathing the only sound above the ship’s creaks and groans. “Amira,” he murmured, smelling the faint hints of jasmine and sandalwood in her hair, remnants of the perfume she’d worn to the ball.

He pressed a kiss against her forehead. Her skin was warm and clammy. He prayed she was sweating from exertion, not an oncoming fever.

He didn’t know what they would do or what Amira thought they should do now, but in the moment, he didn’t really care. Vesha, her Kadra’han, and Caa Iss could wait a few hours.

He sat down beside Amira’s bed on the floor. He held her sweaty hand and listened to the creaking of the galleon as it carried them into the open sea.

“I love you, Amira,” he whispered. “Please get well.”

He didn’t doubt that she would. She was strong and the amount of power that she’d wielded a few hours ago was beyond anything he had thought possible, much less seen.

Amira would recover, but then what?

She’d come back for him. When it should have been impossible, she had come back for him, saved him.

They had a signed marriage contract and should have been married before the end of the month. Amira wanted him and the gods knew he wanted her—had wanted her since the moment he caught sight of her across a crowded room in Lashera.

But nothing could come of it.

Daindreth kissed the backs of Amira’s knuckles again.

Amira had broken free of her curse. Perhaps he could break free of his.

Daindreth leaned back against the side of the bunk, watching the rise and fall of Amira’s breath.

They were safe. Thadred was safe. They were together.

For now, it would have to be enough.

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Coming November 9, 2021

About the Author

Elisabeth Wheatley is a fantasy author because warrior princess wasn’t an option. She loves tea and asking questions.

You can find her at elisabethwheatley.com