My encounter with Rehsaye echoed in my head long after sunrise. It lapsed into total silence, so still that
I could only assume that it was still recovering from the day before, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t still loom over my every thought.
I felt ill.
Especially when I left my tent beneath the harsh light of sunrise and saw Max for the first time since everything had changed between us. He had stopped in his tracks and just stared at me, somehow managing to look serious despite a tiny reluctant smile quirking at the left side of his mouth, and my chest had tightened and all I could think about was the way his skin tasted.
But only for a split second.
And then my thoughts had turned to Reshaye and its jealousy. I hated that its fury and its absence both frightened me equally. And above all, I hated the way that fury had latched onto Max.
Selfish. I had been so selfish. Because if Reshaye hurt him because of me— if it hurt him with my hands—
I had managed only to give Max a distant, weak smile before launching myself into logistical preparations for the day. We gathered the camp in early morning, and even
though they were terrified of me, I had to direct the people we had recovered. Zeryth and I were, after all, the only ones who spoke Thereni, and Zeryth’s accent was far worse than I’d remembered.
Halfway through this process, Max snatched me away in a brief quiet moment, pulling me behind one of the remaining tents. His hand remained on my arm, thumb swiping in the hint of a caress. He regarded me with a wrinkle of concern between his eyebrows.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
“Don’t patronize me.” The wrinkle deepened, and he hesitated before asking, “Is it— are you having doubts about—”
“No,” I said, quickly. “No, never.”
He looked visibly relieved, though only for a moment. “Then what?”
I didn’t say anything. The thought of tainting what had happened between us in his mind, too, made me feel even sicker than I already did. And worse was the thought that Reshaye might witness my confession somehow—
“Do I need to start guessing? I’ve always been bad at that, but— “
I swept my fingers over my mind once, twice, three times, checking for any activity before I lowered my voice and whispered, “Reshaye knows.”
Every muscle in Max’s face hardened at once. “What did it do?”
“Nothing. It— nothing.” Checked again. Nothing but darkness. “I will not let it do anything.”
I wish I believed that.
“None of us will,” Max said. I wish he believed that.
He slid his hands around my waist. I wanted nothing more than to sink into that warmth, retreat back to last night and never return to reality.
Instead, I could only barely make myself meet his eyes.
“Listen to me, Tisaanah. I mean that. We controlled it yesterday. We’ll control it again. You’ll control it again.”
I didn’t control it yesterday.
I was silent, leaving my uncertainty undignified.
His arms tightened around me, breath skimming my ear. “We walk in together, and we walk out together.”
He was trying to convince himself, I knew, his desperation merely masquerading as certainty. My chest ached. My hand slid up to his shoulder, and I could feel the raised texture of the scar I had given him through his shirt. Merely a scratch compared to what I could do.
If Reshaye came after him using my hands, my body, would he let it happen?
“You made a promise to me last night,” I choked out. “I need you to keep it. Whatever that demands.”
And before he could say anything else, I yanked him towards me and gave him one long, hard kiss.
Then I pried myself away and returned to the preparations without another word.
 |
THE PREPARATIONS WERE WELL under way and hours had passed — hours of torturous doubts — when Zeryth beckoned to me from across the camp. When we were out of earshot of the others, he informed me, far too casually, that he would be returning to Ara with the refugees.
My heart sank. “Why?” I asked, sharper than I had intended.
“Someone needs to escort them. I speak Thereni.” He slipped his hands into his pockets, breezy and casual. “And, I have Order business to attend to at home.”
He spent almost six months traipsing around Threll, and
now he needed to rush back to his office?
Anxiety had gnawed at whatever was left of my patience. It took palpable effort to control my tone as I said, “You are very respected. It would be helpful to have your skills and reputation with us today.”
He just smiled that forceful, dazzling grin. “You don’t need me. At least, if what I saw yesterday was any indication, you’re more than capable of doing what needs to be done.”
That was with Reshaye, who might not even help me anymore. Who might be too dangerous to unleash so close to my friends.
“But in our pact—“
“Our pact mentions nothing about me. It offers you support. Which, clearly, you have in spades.” The pointed glance that Zeryth shot across the field, to Max, was not lost upon me.
I made my eyes wide, dipped my chin, cocked my head. “But you are important.”
Desperation was making me lose my grip on subtlety. I was certain Zeryth would see my behavior for what it was. If he did, he didn’t show it. He just gave me a dismissive pat on the shoulder.
“You do what you need to do here. I do what I need to do there. And then I’ll see you back at the Towers.” The hunger that glinted in his eye almost made me shudder. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of fun at the estate. In fact, maybe even more than you anticipated.”
I raised my eyebrows in a silent question, and Zeryth’s smile glittered. “I took the liberty of writing to Ahzeen Mikov to tell him of your arrival today. He is always so eager to have important guests, after all.”
Of course. Ahzeen cared about nothing more than status, and hosting high-ranking members of the Orders was certainly an honor — especially if it came at the personal behest of the Arch Commandant.
“In fact,” Zeryth went on, “he was so glad to be receiving such honored visitors that he wrote back with invitations to an event he’s hosting tonight. A celebration of victory, apparently, over one of his enemy Lords. Receiving the generals home, flaunting his great wealth and vast power, all of that.”
I was very familiar with this scene. I had danced at so many of those parties, flirting for silvers at a time. But one particular phrase snagged my attention: *receiving the generals home.*
Serel was a guard. Serel was fighting Ahzeen’s wars.
And Serel, perhaps, would be among those returning.
“This is your mission. It’s up to you how you want to handle it,” Zeryth said with a shrug. “But, if you wanted to attend…”
He reached into the inside of his coat and pulled out two folded pieces of paper. One was a Stratagram, presumably the counterpart to the one Zeryth had laid out at the Mikov Estate. The other was an embossed invitation with words inscribed in elegant Thereni script.
“If I remember correctly, you’re quite partial to dramatic statements at fancy parties.”
He gave me nothing more than a shrug and a smirk before turning and strolling away, leaving me there, staring down at the platinum paper and running my thumb over the raised lily sigil.
Every powerful Lord in Threll would be there. All in one room, ready to witness what one former slave had become. And how poetic it would be, to confront Esmaris’s legacy where it had once consumed me, piece by piece, night after night.
I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t appealing. But Zeryth underestimated me by suggesting that the spectacle itself would be my main draw. The party did offer that, yes. But it also offered something far more valuable: the opportunity for the most exquisite distraction.
A smile began to curl at the corners of my mouth as an idea unfolded.
I could do this.
I could free the slaves of the Mikov estate, and I wouldn’t even have to use Reshaye to do it.
Somewhere deep inside of me, beneath the unease and anxiety that had plagued me all day, a wicked flower took root.
