The Deceiver's Heart (The Traitor's Game 2)

“We’ve honored our half of the agreement,” I said, facing him. “Now honor yours.”

Basil smiled. “I already have, days ago. Before we left the Lonetree Camp, I asked one of the Coracks to give Tenger a message. It will tell him everything he needs to know of where I hid the Olden Blade. He’s probably on his way to retrieve it right now.”

“Where is it?” Trina asked, sounding far too eager.

But Basil shook his head. “It’s better if no one else knows. If you’re captured in the coming battle, I don’t want that information tortured out of you.”

I’d been wrong about Basil. He was neither the fool nor the villain I had made him out to be. More likely, I’d been wrong about nearly everything thus far.

I showed Basil and Trina the storehouse of saltpeter and together we loaded it into a wagon while Harlyn fetched other supplies I’d asked for, namely salt, sugar, and any food that was easily available.

Once we were ready, Harlyn invited me to ride along in the wagon with her but I made excuses to go on horseback, claiming it was safer. That was true enough. My emotions were brittle and fragile, and Harlyn was eager to heal them. I knew what would happen if I spent too much time alone with her, what had almost happened back in that shop. So I accompanied Trina and Basil out on horseback, following the wide path of destruction torn by the oropods and carnoxen.

We’d stopped a good number of them, but not enough. Far too many had gotten past us, and surely the Dominion had another wave still coming, which meant by morning, the planned devastation of Reddengrad would already be under way.

It was dark when we arrived at Brill’s capital city of Osterran. I wasn’t sure what the buildings here were made of, but the walls were as white as Brillian hair and glistened in the starlight. Rather than the cobblestone or hardened dirt roads of Antora, the Brillian streets were like glass, slightly translucent, appearing almost as if water flowed beneath them. The homes were equally smooth, with no clear seams in the corners. Instead, one home connected fluidly to the next.

The only exception was the palace, which sat alone in the center of a large and rolling field of grass, still green despite the late season. The palace was made of the same smooth material as the houses, but the gold Brillian flag with the black circle in the center flew from every spire. It was entirely unlike what Endrick had made of his palace back in Highwyn, which felt as foreboding and cloistered as Endrick himself was.

Thinking of him, of my responsibilities against him, I shuddered in my seat. “I shouldn’t have come,” I murmured.

At first, I didn’t think anyone had heard me, but then I noticed Wynnow’s eyes had narrowed sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“The Dominion will seek revenge for my rescue,” I said. “They’ll bring war to the Halderians, or to Reddengrad or the Coracks. I’ve got to go back to Antora, do my part.”

Wynnow shook her head, suddenly in the role of a stern governess. “Your part is to learn magic! Don’t you see how vulnerable you are right now? Your memories are incomplete, your magic is nonexistent, and you do not have the Olden Blade. Where is it?”

“I don’t know! But I can still help in that battle.”

I’d spoken more sharply than I should have, and Wynnow’s tone now reflected mine. “Your purpose is bigger than that battle! Learn magic. Nothing else matters, because without the Olden Blade, magic is your only chance to stand against Lord Endrick. Until you can use it, his terrible reig

n will continue.” She leaned forward. “If you can’t learn to stop him, then every death, every burning village, every prisoner filling your father’s dungeons will be your fault.”

Her words hung in the air like a dense fog. I nearly choked on them, unable to offer any defense for myself.

“That’s unfair, Wynnow.” Loelle put a hand on my arm and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Kestra is not responsible for Lord Endrick’s crimes.”

Imri leaned forward, her eyes on me. “No, not for the crimes, but if she does not learn magic, the crimes will continue, and she must accept blame for that.”

“She will learn it,” Loelle said. “With my help.”

“Or ours.” Wynnow spoke as if that were the end of the matter, timing her words exactly as the carriage door opened for us.

Four men in long gold robes awaited us on the steps to the palace entrance. They bowed low to Wynnow as she passed, and after they straightened, one man stepped forward.

With a voice of confident authority, Wynnow asked, “Where is my mother? I have good news for the queen.”

The spokesman simply said, “The queen sent us.” As if that was enough of an explanation.

Wynnow sighed before saying, “Counselors, this is Kestra Dall—Kestra, the Infidante of Antora. With her is a physician in service of the Coracks.” Who apparently would go unnamed, and I knew from Loelle’s clenched jaw that she felt the insult. Wynnow had no need of introducing Imri, who took her place at their side, facing me with an expression of disapproval far worse than anything I’d seen when she served me at Woodcourt.

I decided to mirror them. It seemed appropriate. Or at least, equally rude.

“What can you do?” the spokesman asked.

Already irritated, my brows furrowed. “Do?”

“You are tasked with killing Lord Endrick, correct? What skills do you have to accomplish this? Can you use a sword?”