A Fate of Wrath & Flame (Fate & Flame 1)

The mental energy it’s taking to navigate a conversation with Zander while avoiding pitfalls is wearing on my fatigued body. As the silence drags, I allow myself to shut my eyes. I’m moments from drifting off when his voice drags me back.

“Annika claims you were as surprised by the daaknar’s presence as she was.”

“Like I said …” Up until now, they’ve only existed in my father’s cracked mind.

“Yes, well, you’ve proven that we can’t take anything you say or do at face value.”

Right. Of course.

He sighs reluctantly. “But whatever your intentions were, you saved my sister from a grim death. For that I am grateful.”

I replay his words, unsure I heard them correctly. Was that a thank-you from the king? How grateful is he? Enough to cancel my death sentence? I’m almost afraid to ask. “So, what happens now?”

His focus is transfixed on something far in the distance. “The guards and servants who accompanied you from Ybaris have already been punished for their treason. You didn’t miss much. It was swift and, dare I say, merciful.”

Zander went through with the execution? He ordered it? Did he watch?

I cringe with the gruesome image that stirs, the wood assembled in piles waiting for a match or flint or whatever they use around here. The smell of burning flesh in the air.

“You seem upset for people you don’t remember.”

I look up to find him watching me. My horror must be splayed on my face. “How is being burned alive merciful?” The screams carry on far longer than can be considered humane.

“They were barely alive by that point.” His jaw clenches. “And it is far more so than being poisoned.”

I didn’t poison your parents! I want to scream, but it’s no use. How did Princess Romeria do it? What did she use? Ricin? Cyanide? Anthrax? Do those even exist here? Did she slip it into their drinks? Their food? Did they choke over their dinner plates? Was Zander there when it happened? Much of what he said to me in the tower cell about my supposed duplicity remains murky. The bits I remember don’t offer any coherent clues. But I don’t dare ask for specifics now. Making him relive the details can only raise his ire with me, if that’s possible. And it doesn’t matter, anyway. All that matters is he believes I killed them.

“Tomorrow, the king and queen will be laid to rest as befitting their status”—he swallows, the only sign that speaking of his parents’ deaths is difficult—“and then Islor will move forward, and we will never again entertain an alliance with your kind.”

My kind. He means these Ybarisans.

My thoughts veer to a blue-eyed woman with envious blond curls. “What about Annika?”

“Your continued concern for my sister baffles me.” He shakes his head. “She betrayed me and yet, had she not, there would be a daaknar running loose in my city. The harm would have been catastrophic. I have not determined how to punish her.”

I force myself to ask, “And what about me?”

“What about you …” He reaches up to smooth the tassels on the window curtain. “Somehow you managed to tear apart and save Cirilea in a single night, and you claim to not know how you did any of it.” He sighs heavily. “The people believe you to be dead. I do not feel the need to correct them yet. And holding the future queen of Ybaris prisoner could prove far more beneficial to me than executing her.”

So, prisoner it will be. Not Annika’s preference for an escort and a release, but far better than the alternative.

I allow myself the faintest sigh of relief.

The corner of his mouth curls, as if he caught it. “I do not care to lay eyes on you ever again after today, or give you another moment’s thought.”

Likewise.

“You will remain in these rooms, alone, now that all your servants are gone. I will grant you a kindness by allowing the priestess to tend to your wounds so they don’t fester, though her talents would be far better used elsewhere. Don’t expect any more from me, though. You will spend your days here with no friends, no allies, no one to count on.”

Alone and with no one to count on, I can do. I’ve been doing it for years. “For how long?”

“For as long as I deem it so. Certainly, until you give up playing victim to this convenient fog you claim to be stuck in, not knowing who you are or what you’ve done.” He pulls away from the door to face me, that hard mask firmly in place. “Or until you do something foolish, and I decide it is no longer worth the effort of keeping you. The tower square isn’t going anywhere.”

The threat hangs in the air. A pyre will be there, waiting for me, and he will dangle it as an option.

He continues in that cold, harsh tone. “You will cause no trouble. You will not plot against Islor. And if you ever harm another hair on any Islorian’s head, I will kill you myself. And I promise you, I will ensure you never return.” His eyes glide over my neck and my shoulder before drifting around the bedroom. “I do hope you enjoy your accommodations. You’ll be spending a lot of time in them.”

I watch his back as he strides out, drawing long breaths to calm my racing heart.

An open-ended prison sentence. Will that mean weeks? Months? Something Sofie said triggers in my mind, and I feel the burden of her words settle. He could hold me here for years as his captive. At least it doesn’t sound like he’s sending me back to that horrid tower room, though.

As precarious as my situation still is, it’s far better than the one I found myself in three nights ago. The king may despise me, he might still wish me dead, but it sounds like he won’t execute me unless I give him reason.

That’s progress.