A Fate of Wrath & Flame

by K. A. Tucker

  “And that matters? Their approval?” I haven’t seen any signs of a democracy, but I haven’t seen much of anything, aside from the pleasant daily social lives of the aristocrats within these walls and the glaringly harsh situation for those lingering in the rookery, waiting to expire. There must be something in between. “Why don’t you strip his lands from him and give them to someone else?”

  Zander laughs, a mirthless sound. “That is certainly something Neilina would do. But I don’t have cause. Only in those cases where unsurmountable proof of treason is presented is it considered appropriate, and Adley is too smart to get caught. He would raise a daunting army of sympathizers against me just for trying.”

  From our spot on the dais, we can see clearly down the long hall beyond the throne room. A small procession of soldiers marches along it now, the clatter of their approaching boots and armor giving the lords and ladies something else to gawk at besides me, many turning to watch. In the center of the horde are five dirt-covered faces. The woman in leather from that day in the war room walks with them, smeared with blood and mud.

  “Who is she?”

  “Abarrane? She leads Islor’s Legion. They are our elite, our deadliest soldiers.”

  “And she knows?” I give him a pointed look. We’re sitting so close, I find myself admiring his long lashes.

  “She does. Her subordinates do not,” he answers coolly, seemingly unfazed by our proximity.

  I take a deep breath and try to mimic his composure. “So that threat she made to skin me alive was an act?”

  “Not in the least. I’ve seen her do it before. Don’t take offense, though. She doesn’t like anyone. She barely tolerates me.”

  I shudder. “Has she threatened to cause you bodily harm?”

  His eyes flicker to my mouth. “She has suggested doing a few things to my body, but I doubt any of them would cause me harm.”

  My words get caught on my tongue. I don’t know what’s more surprising—that Zander so casually said it or that one of his war chiefs would have the gall to proposition him.

  Zander’s eyes sparkle with amusement as he watches me search for a suitable retort. He enjoys flustering me.

  “And does she know she’s not your type?”

  “And what is my type, pray tell?”

  This is not the time or place to be having such a conversation, and yet I find myself leaning in to whisper, “Smiley, agreeable, meek. Isn’t that what worked for me last time?”

  Zander’s stern attention shifts to the approaching procession. “You’re certainly none of those things anymore.”

  The soldiers stop a few feet from the dais and part, leaving the scruffy men with shackled wrists alone in a line.

  “Come forward,” Zander commands, all hints of his relaxed, playful tone disappearing.

  The prisoners are shoved. They stumble, two of them falling to their knees.

  The rough treatment trips a memory of Boaz pushing me into the tower and my knee smashing against the stone. I wince before I can stop myself.

  Zander’s hand squeezes mine, and I sense the warning in the simple move. Everyone is watching for my reaction. I can’t show sympathy for these Ybarisans, regardless of my reason.

  Only one man manages to stay on his feet, and when he looks up and sees me sitting on the throne, his blue eyes widen with shock.

  “You believed your beloved princess dead, did you not?” Zander taunts. “Unfortunately, you failed to kill her as you failed to kill me. Fear not, the union between Ybaris and Islor will still take place, and Ybaris will receive nothing in return. I cannot wait to see what sort of offspring she will produce with Malachi’s demon.” Zander’s goading him. He enjoys doing that. He’s done it to me.

  “I demand a parley,” the man says in a deep, authoritative tone that makes me think he is more than simply a lackey soldier.

  He’s quickly brought to his knees with a swift kick from Abarrane. “You will not speak unless given permission, prisoner,” she hisses. “And you will not demand anything of the king.”

  “But I am—” His words cut off with a grimace, the point of Abarrane’s sword digging into his nape.

  “Not another word, or I will slice your voice box with my blade.”

  The man presses his lips tightly. He lifts his gaze, not to meet Zander’s but to meet mine. In those eyes is a deep recognition as he silently pleads with me.

  Princess Romeria must have known him well.

  I assume he is the leader of this lot. They look ragged and weak, their wrists bound, their clothing tattered, their faces bruised and bloodied and scowling with pain. Each of them has a gaping wound across their forearm, as if someone methodically slashed them.

  I check Abarrane’s sword. It’s been cleaned of gore and gleams like Zander’s dagger, which was forged with merth. And if these prisoners are all Ybarisans, then it is safe to assume they have affinities to an element. She must have slashed them all to keep them from using those links as weapons, as Zander did to me.

  “How many of you are left in our lands?” Zander asks.

  Silence answers.

  “Where are you hiding?”

  More silence.

  Abarrane presses the tip of her blade into the brunet’s neck. “You will answer. Now!”

  “I will answer when you grant me a parley, and not before,” the man says through a seething grimace.

  “The time for diplomacy ended when Queen Neilina had my parents murdered. We will get the answers out of you, one way or another.” The smile Zander levels the prisoners is menacing. It quickly sours. “And then you will face execution for your crimes against our people. Get them out of my sight—”

  “Your Highness, if I may.” Lord Adley steps forward and offers a shallow bow that hints to how highly he considers himself.

  I dislike him already.

  “What is it, Lord Adley?”

  “I think I speak for all in the court when I say we would like to hear what the princess of Ybaris has to say. After all, these are her subjects.” Coal-black eyes that match his daughter’s flicker to me.

  Look hateful, stay quiet. Those things, I can do. Speaking to all these people was not part of the plan.

  “Her Highness has not yet been crowned and is not required to speak on matters of the court,” Zander says coolly, but his body radiates tension, his fingers within mine clenching.

  “But you have obviously placed such value in Her Highness’s opinion, given you have her seated on the throne before her coronation, or even an exchange of vows. A bold move, its first in Islor’s history, I dare say. Surely the court, as your humble servants, could all benefit in hearing from such an esteemed voice in your ear.” He glances around the room, as if searching for support. Numerous heads bob.

  Zander was right. Adley is a beguiling snake. Shrewd too. He’s made it difficult for Zander to deny him without discrediting my opinion, which then begs the question—why am I on this throne today? Besides to look pretty and whisper and hold hands, which is exactly what I’ve been doing.

  A queen without gumption. Too delicate to rule. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Adley or Saoirse who started those whispers, especially given Saoirse now stands behind her father wearing a smug smile.

  My anger flares. They mean to make me look the idiot in front of all these people.

  Beside me, Zander’s teeth grind. “As I’ve already—”

  “What is it you would like to hear, Lord Adley?” My voice sounds foreign as it carries through the massive hall. Zander squeezes my hand in warning. I squeeze back, my heart hammering. As much as I’d prefer to shrink into the shadows, I haven’t survived this long by playing the lamb when a wolf is needed. “That my mother betrayed me? That she has committed atrocities? That she is consumed with her own agenda and will stop at nothing to get what she wants, including sacrificing her daughter?” All things that are true of my mother, and probably also of Queen Neilina. “My mother is dead to me. Is that what you wish to h
ear?”

  “It is … uh … reassuring, yes.” Lord Adley falters a moment. He nods to the line of prisoners. “And what of these men?”

  “What of them?” I throw back, allowing irritation to seep into my tone, even as my hand trembles within Zander’s. Thankfully, we’re too far and high up for anyone to see. “They’ve conspired to commit murders in their queen’s name, and they deserve to be punished for it. Your king has already deemed it so. What more value could I possibly add to that?”

  Adley’s brow pulls together, his surprise apparent.

  “I’m sorry, were you expecting a different response? Or a different queen? Perhaps a witless fool too flimsy for a throne?”

  Lord Adley’s eyes flash wide. “Your Highness. I would never suggest such a thing—”

  “I should hope not.” I’m waiting for Zander to squeeze my hand in warning again, to tell me to shut my mouth, but he remains motionless. Still, I’m probably not doing a convincing job of playing the old Romeria. “I apologize if I don’t sound like myself to those who know me, but I suppose being so deeply betrayed by my people has hardened my heart. I do not feel any love or loyalty for Ybaris nor for anyone who schemes to harm us.”

  I steal a pointed glance at Saoirse, who looks like she’s sucking on an especially bitter pill. “But I do appreciate that you value my opinion so highly, Lord Adley, that you would urge me to speak today, even though I am not yet officially queen. We thank Kettling for their support of this union.”

  Beside me, Zander makes a sound.

  “Yes, Your Highness.” He pauses. “And perhaps you would deem a royal repast at the coming Cirilean fair to celebrate delivering justice to our enemies. And, of course, this coming union.” He gestures toward us.

  Repast. Zander had used that word before. I don’t know what it means, but I understand the words fair and celebrate. I don’t dare look to Zander for approval. “Yes, I believe that would be in order.”

  A buzz erupts in the crowd with conflicting expressions of everything from glee to dismay. It stirs my unease. What have I just agreed to?

  “Very well.” He offers a much deeper bow this time.

  “The Legion will guard and interrogate the prisoners,” Zander says coolly.

  Abarrane’s lips peel back in a sinister smile that makes me struggle not to cringe.

  “Your Highness, if I may suggest …” Apparently Adley isn’t finished, his attention back to Zander. “I’m sure I speak for many again when I say the court would appreciate a public interrogation of the Ybarisans. I believe it would alleviate any concerns that might linger—”

  “The Legion will guard and interrogate,” Zander repeats, his tone sharp as he cuts off Adley. “And anyone who interferes with their work in any way will land themselves in the square by dawn for treason, without a trial. That will be all.” Zander stands and guides me to my feet and down the steep steps by our joined hands to the sound of murmurs.

  At the bottom, we veer left, away from the crowd and toward a small door at a quick pace. The guard opens it for us, and we take the long hallway in silence. Zander does not pull away immediately as he usually does, not until we pass through a second door and enter the round, windowless room with the map. It’s empty, save for us.

  The moment the door clicks shut, he spins me around. “Who are you?” he demands.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Blood rushes into my ears.

  Zander releases my hand, shifting to loom over me. “You don’t remember who you are, and yet you seem eager to play the role of queen.” His tone is thick with accusation.

  “You’re the one who put me up there! I was only doing what you asked me to.”

  “I asked you not to say a word. That back there?” He points to the door we just passed through. “That was more than a few words.”

  “What else was I supposed to do? Smile and nod like a fool? Which would make you look like a fool, too, in case you didn’t realize.”

  He shakes his head and mutters something under his breath that I don’t catch. “You have been off since you arrived in the throne room.”

  “Maybe because I wasn’t prepared for this ambush.”

  “No,” he says resolutely. “It’s the way your pulse races. You are worried about something.” He searches my face. “What was it about your conversation with Wendeline today that unsettled you?”

  “Nothing. I don’t … I’m not … I just …” I fumble for an answer, all while I try to process his words. “What do you mean, the way my pulse races?” Is that a figure of speech? “You can read my pulse?”

  His head falls back with a humorless chuckle, showing off a long, columnar neck and pristinely white, straight teeth. “You are so naive. Sometimes it is delightful to watch.”

  “I’m not naive,” I snap. “What are you talking about?”

  His eyes are alight with dark mischief when they meet mine again. “I was never able to read you before. You veiled your emotions so well. But since you were brought back from the dead, your ability to do that is slipping, and quickly. Today, on that throne, your heart was a steady, hard thrum that flared every so often.” He drags a fingertip along my jugular, sending shivers through my body. “See? Just like that. You can’t hide that from me. So, I’ll ask you again, Romeria, what are you concealing?” The calm in his voice prickles the hairs on the back of my neck.

  He may be able to read my pulse, but at least he can’t read my thoughts. If he could, I assume he would have the answer to that. “Nothing.” It comes out hoarse. Everything.

  He steps forward, forcing me backward until I hit the wall. This feels like the prison tower all over again as he leans down, his mouth inches from mine, our stares locked. “Do you know what else I can sense, besides the way your heart beats when I am this close to you?” he whispers, his breath skating over my lips.

  I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

  “The way it beats when you’re lying,” he hisses. Resentment flares in his eyes as he stares down at me.

  “The happy couple,” a male voice cuts in from somewhere behind the wall of Zander.

  Zander peels away and moves for the table, revealing a smug-faced Atticus standing in the doorway.

  One … two … three … I take deep breaths as I count, regaining my composure. Meanwhile, Zander has seized the back of the chair in a white-knuckled grip, as if trying to choke the life out of it. Whatever semblance of trust I’ve been gaining with him—however small—I sense it slipping away.

  If only I’d had time to myself to sort out my thoughts and worries before being thrown into this circus.

  “It’s foolish to let the Ybarisans live. If I were king, I would make a point of executing them where they stand.”

  “But you are not king,” Zander retorts through gritted teeth. “We will do this my way.”

  Brushing off his brother’s brusque response, Atticus makes a grand display of bowing for me. “I suppose formal reintroductions are in order? It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Your Highness. I’m Atticus, Zander’s much younger brother. Certainly not the king, as I’ve just been reminded.” They have the same deep timbre in their voices, though Atticus has a youthful charisma, and that edge of disdain that laces Zander’s every word is missing.

  I struggle to force away the panic Zander stirred. “I remember you from that day in this room.” When he looked ready to cut me down with his sword.

  “Yes, I apologize if I wasn’t myself. I was having a difficult time accepting this theory the priestess concocted.”

  “But you do now?”

  “Let us just say that version back there?” He points behind him, toward the throne room. “I have never met her.”

  Does he wish that version dead too? Elisaf said Atticus is hard to read. I see what he means. His steely gaze is so contrary to his light mood.

  “Neither have I,” Zander mutters. “Who knew she had such reckless pride.”

  “Lord Ad
ley annoyed me.”

  “Clearly.” Atticus folds his arms over his broad chest, a playful grin on his lips, even as his eyes drift to my neck where the daaknar’s teeth marks are no longer visible. “I liked this phony version of you, though. Has more bite than the other phony version. And it was effective with Adley. He’s been known to drone on forever. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him retreat so quickly. You were convincing.”

  “Maybe too convincing,” Zander says. “I doubt anyone conspiring against me will be in a rush to approach you anytime soon after that spectacle. I hope you are ready for a marriage neither of us wants.”

  “You can always marry Saoirse instead.”

  Atticus snorts.

  Zander’s responding glare is lethal.

  “And nothing I said out there will deter anyone. Whoever helped me must know it’s all an act, because they were part of it,” I counter. “They know I’m guilty. But no one with half a brain would come forward right now, anyway, and this person isn’t stupid or they would have already been caught. They’re going to sit back and watch for as long as possible. Figure out how I tricked you into buying my victim story.”

  “Listen to the little conspirator. She’s right.” Atticus strolls over to his brother to give his shoulder a squeeze. Standing next to each other, I see they’re the same height, though Atticus has a wider build. He drags a chair out to settle into it, his powerful legs splayed. “You’ve given this until Hudem to play out. Now you must be patient, brother. I know that’s not one of your strong suits.”

  Zander pinches the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t effortless for me.”

  Atticus’s blue eyes skitter over my frame. “No. But I could think of a far worse situation.”