by Frost Kay
Her skin prickled uncomfortably when she entered the room. Sage kept her focus on the doorway to the chamber pot. She quickly relieved herself and tugged off the old shirt, each move stiff and painful. She winced when she lifted her arms above her head to slip on the new one that Zane had left. She blinked, her pain forgotten for the moment. When did she start thinking of him as Zane and not the warlord? Her brows slanted downward as she stared at the swirling stone tiles beneath her bare feet. She couldn’t pinpoint when it changed, just that it had. Her heartbeat quickened at the thought. What else had changed that she hadn’t noticed.
She shook her head and smoothed her hands down the shirt in an attempt to calm herself. Change was a part of life, and it wasn’t something to be afraid of. Her fists clenched in her shirt when her eyes snagged on a particularly wicked bruise. God, that was ugly. Her lips thinned as she began to notice all the other cuts and bruises on her legs. She didn’t even remember how they’d happened.
Without her permission, her gaze darted to the placid pool. Her breath seized, and her heart pounded in her chest. Her friend tried to kill her. Drown her. Her stomach rebelled, and she dropped painfully onto her bruised shins, heaving over the pot.
She trembled as the heaving subsided, then wiped her mouth with her shirt sleeve. Sage panted as the room tilted around her and warped. Her fingers bit into the chamber pot edge as she fought to control the panic that threatened to swallow her whole. She had to get out of there. On clumsy legs, she clambered to her feet and lurched forward, skirting around the pool as quickly as she could and racing for the door.
She burst into her room, and the fist around her lungs loosened. She couldn’t be in there; it made her feel like the walls were closing in on her. Her breath sawed in and out of her chest, and she jumped when she caught the reflection of a girl with wild green eyes. The girl was wild, and on the edge of breaking.
Sage closed her eyes and gulped air. She needed to follow Jasmine’s advice and slow her breathing. Each breath was a challenge, but with every breath, her heartbeat slowed a touch. She opened her eyes and stared at the mirror. The girl looking back at her was her, and yet, it wasn’t. Cautiously, she approached the mirror and lifted a hand to her cheek. The girl mimicked her. She jerked back, startled. How could she reconcile this strange, frightened creature with herself?
She stepped closer to the mirror and touched the cool surface. It was her. She couldn’t believe how much she’d changed. Her eyes were a deep green, her skin practically glowing and smooth; even her nose seemed straighter than it had been. Her brow furrowed. That wasn’t possible. She ran a finger over her nose and gasped when she couldn’t find the little bump from where she’d broken it at nine years old. What was happening to her?
She shrugged her left shoulder out of the linen shirt, and shifted to the side to inspect the giant bruise across the back of her shoulder. God, it was ugly. Purple and green, it just looked angry. The door creaked, but she didn’t look away from the mirror. She already knew who it was. Zane’s reflection moved across the mirror and paused behind her. She watched him watch her, but it wasn’t awkward. His presence brought her a sense of comfort. Despite the horrors of the day before, she wasn’t alone.
Zane leaned closer, his eyes staying on hers as he ran a hand down her arm before clasping her hand. “How are you feeling?”
She gave him a forced and lopsided smile. “Like my friend just tried to kill me.” She gestured to her shoulder. “And like these stupid cuts and bruises are a reminder of that.”
His dark eyes studied her before he leaned over to place a soft kiss on her bare shoulder. “You’re strong. Each of these is proof of that. The scars and bruises are beautiful.” His heated breath slithered across her skin.
She shivered and stepped forward, unease churning in her belly. “But I’m not flawless,” she joked.
His hand tightened on hers, and he bridged the space between them, hugging her from behind. His arms were wrapped around her, and his chin on rested on her shoulder. “You may not be a Scythian beauty, but as I’ve aged, I’ve come to realize that knowing what’s inside a person is just as important as what you see. I’ve seen beauty which disguises rottenness and depravity, but yours isn’t that kind. To me, your beauty is flawless.”
Her throat tightened at his words, and the back of her eyes burned. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Thank you.”
“No need to thank me for the truth.”
She smiled, and her attention shifted her face. “I’ve changed.”
“You have been through much.”
“No…” She gestured to her face. “I mean, yes, but that’s not what I was talking about. I mean, I broke my nose when I was nine, and I’ve always had a bump on the bridge of my nose...but it’s gone now. Why?”
His eyes scanned her face. “You were given some of our special herbs to heal the damage to your body. This is just a byproduct of that herb. Are you angry?”
“I’m not sure.” And she wasn’t. It did feel like a violation; it was just strange to look at her own face and see someone slightly different than she was used to. “I don’t look like myself.”
“Yes, you do. The same luminous green eyes framed with dark lashes, the same heart-shaped face, and the same honey brown hair. You’re still you.”
When she continued to squint at her reflection, he squeezed her, pulling her attention back to him. “If you hadn’t received that herbed broth, you would’ve died.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
They stood there together, simply staring into the mirror. For how long, she didn’t know. It was only when her legs began to tremble with the effort that Zane pulled her away and tucked her back into bed. She stared into his stunning face and reached a hand out to touch his wrist.
“Thank you for saving my life. I feel like I’m continually in your debt.”
“There’s no debt.” He hesitated. “But I will need you to attend the execution.”
Bile crept up her throat. “Execution?”
His face hardened. “Ezra attempted to kill you, and he almost succeeded. You are royalty, and you are my friend. He’s earned his death.”
“But execution? It seems so…”
“Barbaric?” he supplied, his body tense.
She bit her lip and answered carefully. “I don’t believe murder is the answer.”
“Really? And Rhys?”
She flinched.
“Was his death okay with your moral code?”
“That was different.”
“Was it?”
Her lips thinned, and she looked away.
“Things here are not the same as in Aermia, but that does not make our customs wrong. If you’re not careful, you’ll let your prejudice color your perception of the world. Don’t judge people by your own standards without considering theirs, or you will give them leave to do the same with you.”
She swallowed but didn’t relent. In her mind, this wasn’t a matter of prejudice; it was right and wrong.
“Think about what I have said, Sage. Even if you don’t agree with it, your presence is needed there. You don’t have to watch, but you need to be there, so he can stand trial. I’ll not let him go free. This is my right as his ruler. You may be willing to forgive everyone, but you must remember some people don’t deserve forgiveness. They deserve judgment.” He placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’ll check on you later. Don’t forget to drink your broth. You need your strength. Sweet dreams, wild one.”
He began to stand, and Sage looked up into his face and squeezed his hand once. “Thank you, again.”
The hard expression on his face softened a touch. “Anything for you.”
Sixteen
Sage
She glared at the curtains covering the window, a single sliver of light having escaped through the crack between them, cutting a swath of light across her room. Every part of her longed to throw back the curtains and see what lay beyond, but her hand ho
vered above the velvet cloth as she wondered, was it worth the risk to her sight? Her eyes had not fully healed yet, and she knew it was dangerous to expose them to too much light until they were. It had been so long though, so long since she’d seen anything outside of these walls. Her rooms had become a prison.
Her hand shook, and she clenched it into a fist. Leaning forward, she let her forehead press into the curtain.
No, she thought, I can't risk it. She might enjoy the view, but it’d be short-lived and the action could irrevocably affect her future. The dark fabric tickled her face, and the smell of vanilla teased her nose. It smelled like its owner: Zane.
With an angry huff, she pushed from the window and shuffled toward a divan piled high with pillows, her thoughts on the warlord. Zane had been quiet since Ezra’s attack on her. He cared for her and was extremely tender, but once his duty was finished, he left rather quickly.
Sage winced as she sat on the couch and got comfortable, tucking her feet up under her. Did he blame her for what happened? Tipping her head back, she stared at the ornate ceiling. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. Ezra had been his friend for many years, and now, because of her, he had to execute one of his closest companions.
The door creaked, and she flopped her head to the side. Speaking of the devil, Zane stepped quietly in, pausing when he caught her staring. “I thought you would be asleep.”
That comment cut her. Was he was sneaking in while he thought she was asleep, so he wouldn’t have to deal with her?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
His dark gaze moved to her face. “For what?”
“For killing your friend.”
His hand clenched on the doorknob, and the door groaned. Again, she was reminded that he wasn’t like her. More powerful. Stronger. The idea should’ve frightened her, but it didn’t.
He glanced at the door and stepped away, prowling toward her. He grabbed an enormous chair and placed it in front of her as if it weighed nothing. He sat down and studied her face.
“Why do you think you killed that traitor?”
She frowned and looked to the side, avoiding his searching gaze.
“Look at me, Sage.”
She stubbornly kept her face turned, giving herself time to rein in her emotions. She was one comment away from crying. A finger touched under her chin.
“Please talk to me.”
“It’s my fault you have to execute Ezra. If I wasn’t here, this wouldn’t have happened.” She looked back at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. He was the one to break our trust. He was the one to attack you. You didn’t force him to do anything. He made his choices.”
“Then why?” she paused. “Why?”
Zane cocked his head. “Why what?”
“Why are you avoiding me?” She blushed at her blurted question and stared at her clenched hands. She sounded like an affection-starved idiot.
His hand reached out and stroked her fingers. “You think I’m avoiding you?”
“It’s just that, you’ve been gone, and you’re not speaking…” Her brows furrowed. “You sneak in and out. I assumed it was something I did.”
He heaved out a sigh. “It’s not you, Sage. I wanted to give you time to process what you’ve been through. I assumed you would want to be alone, that you wouldn’t feel comfortable with me around. You’ve suffered much from men. That sort of trauma doesn’t disappear in days, sometimes not years. I figured you would need time.”
Her gaze flew to his. “I don’t blame you for any of this, Zane. You’re my only friend here. It’s been…lonely without anyone to speak to.”
His smile was blinding, with just a hint of triumph, and just as attractive as everything else about him. She blinked. Who knew teeth could be so attractive? It was distracting.
“I’ll make sure to bother you more often.” His smile slipped a bit. “On a more serious note, though, we do need to discuss the execution.”
The air flew from her lungs. She pulled her hands from his and smoothed the dressing gown across her thighs. “What about it?”
“Are you prepared?”
She’d had time to think about it over the last few days, and had come to a conclusion. “I’m not going.” Sage met Zane’s gaze as steadily as she could. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re going.”
She blinked at his stern tone. “Excuse me?”
“I told you four days ago that I need you there.”
“You told me to think about it,” she pointed out. “And I did.”
He pursed his lips. “That was more of…‘think about it and get used to the idea,’ because as I said, you have to be there.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“And I understand that, but there’s no other option.”
“Murder is wrong,” she said.
Something angry flashed through his eyes. “You’re right. Murder is wrong. So is attempted murder. Did you forget that Ezra tried to kill you? That he tried to take you away?”
Pain, and her lungs burning, and watery silence assaulted her mind. Ezra’s betrayal wasn’t something she’d soon forget. She traced one of her jagged fingernails with the pad of her finger. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Then why are you being so difficult?” Exasperation colored his tone.
“Because something is not right!” She stood on shaking legs and ignored the hand he held out to steady her. “Ezra never acted like that. Not once. Something was wrong with him that day. He was speaking nonsense, and he was so sad.” The look on his face still wrenched her heart. She paced the floor, leaning her hand against the wall for balance. “We shouldn’t be executing him, but examining him.”
“There’s nothing wrong with him.”
“How?” She spun and walked back to Zane. “How do you know?” she asked, staring at his upturned face.
“Because he was interrogated, and I know crazy.” He sighed and pulled her down to sit on the divan. “It was another plot to kill you.”
“No.” She wilted in her seat.
He squeezed her hand. “Yes. You’re different and unwelcome to some of my people. You’re a threat. One they will do anything to eliminate. I’m so sorry.”
She went numb. “This was his plan all along? Ezra planned to kill me the entire time?”
“Our intelligence says yes, this was the plan all along.” Zane stood up and then sat next to her. He pulled her into his arms and held her. “I’m sorry, but he was never your friend. He was a spy and a murderer.”
Sage stared vacantly at the fur rug beneath their chair. “Murder does not condone murder, though.” The arms holding her tightened. She peeked up at Zane from under her lashes, and her breath caught in her throat. It was as if Rhys was looking down at her with his disturbing, soulless eyes. She blinked, and it was Zane staring at her, lines between his brows.
“Are you alright?”
She shuddered and pulled from his embrace. Zane was nothing like Rhys. She couldn’t keep comparing every man she met to him. “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t. Not even close.
“I’ll send a dress for you tomorrow and have the women help you with your bathing. Then, I’ll fetch you for the execution.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and tipped her chin up. “It will be okay, love. I promise.”
It was not okay in the least. Actually, it was awful.
When the women came in to help her bathe, she nearly punched one in the face when they tried to force her into the bathing room. She had been avoiding the bathing room since her attack, and there was no way she was going in there. She had kept the door closed all week with the hope that it would stop the memories from bothering her. It didn’t.
After some heated debate, Maeve barged in and ordered a bathing tub to be brought into her room instead. Quickly thereafter, the women got her scrubbed and into her dress. It was a black silk dress that sat off the shoulders and dipped into a low back.
A black fur and a leather belt hugged her waist with a sheath for her dagger, and the skirt followed the swell of her hips, which had finally begun to fill out again.
Sage sat on the stool in front of the mirror, staring at herself. The Scythian women hadn’t even applied any cosmetics, yet she still barely recognized the woman before her. She pulled her gaze from her own face and looked over her shoulder at Maeve.
“What should we do with my hair?”
What was one supposed to do for an execution? Her stomach cramped.
Maeve frowned and dipped her head. “The warlord has something special planned. I’ll take my leave.” A shallow bow and she was gone.
She returned her gaze to the strange woman before her. How had she changed so much? Surely, the broth couldn’t have changed her this much?
“Lovely,” Zane’s deep voice purred.
She slowly turned to him. “It seems like too much for…” She swallowed. “An execution.”
He sauntered toward her. Part of his hair was braided back from his face, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw, and he had an earring made from obsidian and ruby in one ear. She scanned the black shirt, leather pants, and boots he’d donned, noting the numerous daggers strapped in various places on his person. She had to admit, she was impressed. He looked good. Better than good—he looked perfect.
He smiled at her perusal and placed the parcel he carried on her bed. Stepping behind her, he laid his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Not too much for a consort.”
She twisted back around to stare at the mirror. “This feels wrong, like I’m celebrating his death.”
“No, it would be a dishonor if we wore rags.”
She gestured at her hair and joked, “Well, my hair is enough of a dishonor.”
Zane pulled a shiny lock from her shoulder and rubbed it between his fingers. “Nothing this beautiful could ever be a dishonor.” He caught her gaze and kissed the lock of hair.
