“The only thing I wanted from you was for you to die. That gash on your face? That was only due to my bad aim. That slash was meant for your throat.”
He yanked the chain around my neck upward, the metal digging into my skin. His gaze was frozen, his hand trembling, and I was sure he was about to kill me. He wanted me to be afraid, and I was, but I also wanted to crush his fantasy first, the way he had crushed mine. There were things I still wanted to say, things that would make him suffer far more than the scar across his face.
“I planned to kill you from the moment I learned that it was you who ambushed my husband.”
His hold on the chain loosened. “Your what?”
“The Patrei was my husband. We were married.”
His mouth hung open. “I don’t believe you.”
“You live in a fantasy world, Montegue. You can believe whatever you want. But I loved Jase, and he loved me. That’s why I desperately fought for his life.” I leaned forward and smiled. “And his kisses? They made yours laughable.”
He let go of the chain and stumbled away like he had been stabbed.
“You will never be loved the way he is loved,” I continued. “Not by me or anyone. Jase is more of a man and leader than you could ever hope to be.”
He whipped around to face me, his jaw rigid. “Yet he is dead, and I am here ruling everything. In the end, I am the leader of it all, and that proves who is the greater man.” His hand swiped through the air. “I am done with you. I have other ways to make you talk. Banques!”
The door opened almost immediately, his lackey always at attention. He instructed Banques to take care of me and procure the information he needed. “But don’t damage her face. It wouldn’t look good for a public hanging. We’re a civilized reign, after all. Let’s keep this dignified and quick. The town is busy decorating for the festival, because I am a great leader. I wouldn’t want to put an unnecessary damper on their spirits.”
He started to walk toward the door.
“You’re a coward, Montegue!” I yelled, catching his gaze. “A weak-kneed coward! A nothing king, and that’s al
l you’ll ever be! A nothing king who never gets his own hands dirty!”
He stopped, his chest expanding with a deep breath. The shing of his sword sliced the air as he drew it. It shook in his tight grip as he stared at me. This was it. This was the moment, and maybe I wanted it to be. I would rather die than be made to talk. But then he slowly slid his sword back into his scabbard as if he had thought of something.
“Don’t touch her,” he said to Banques. “I’ll be back.”
His gaze returned to me. “And, soldier, trust me, my hands will be dirty on this one.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
JASE
We sat on a long bench at one of the tables in the empty kitchen. Dinner was past, and we ate what was left of a big pot of venison soup. My mother insisted. Wren, Synové, Paxton, and I agreed we would make our plans as we ate, but then Mason came and sat down opposite me, then Titus and Samuel, until the whole family, even Gunner, was crowded around the table. Aram brought over a chair cushioned with pillows made from empty grain sacks stuffed with leaves for my mother. He whispered to me that her pregnancy hadn’t been easy. There had been bleeding, and Rhea had ordered her to stay off her feet. It was too soon for the baby to come.
There was awkward silence as we ate. The clink of spoons against metal bowls was the only sound.
“How many archers do we have?” I finally asked. Left. That was what I meant. How many had survived the attack.
“One,” Priya answered. “You may have seen him in the sickroom.”
One? We’d had sixteen archers stationed at Tor’s Watch. At any one time, we had as many as eight posted.
Priya told us about the pandemonium that struck the day the army blasted down the center tower of the main house and then the fortress wall. The posted archers had fought valiantly, and more came to fight beside them, but they had no chance against the powerful launchers. Their fight did buy time for those inside the gates, though. Mother had been in the garden, and had run to each of the houses, ordering everyone into the vault. Aunt Dolise had been in the kitchen and swept pantry staples and medicines into a bag. She and Uncle Cazwin were the last ones running for the vault when they were hit by rubble from another blast. Aram, Priya, and Drake dragged them and the supplies the rest of the way into the tunnel and then the door was sealed. They didn’t know where Trey and Bradach were. Our cousins had been in town visiting friends when the attack began. There had been no sign of them since, and Priya assumed they were being hidden. At least she hoped that was what had become of them.
As we spoke, vault refugees filtered into the room—Tiago, Hawthorne, Judith, and more—perhaps curious about their returned Kbaaki Patrei, or eager to hear news from the outside, or maybe searching for hope. They settled in quietly, sitting on tables and chairs or leaning against walls.
My family took turns telling me details, but Gunner was noticeably silent. When there was a lull, Mason leaned forward and asked, “How? After everything she did to us, how did you end up with her?” His dark eyes skimmed Wren, Synové, and Paxton. And them. But he didn’t say it aloud.
Synové heard it just the same. Her spoon slipped from her hand and rattled against her bowl.
I told them everything, starting at the beginning with Beaufort and what I had learned on our long trek to Marabella. I spared no gruesome detail, especially the ultimate fate Beaufort and his crew planned for us, the details they took pleasure in torturing me with, including what they intended to do with Priya, Jalaine, and Mother once they had killed the rest of us. They needed to hear it too, to know the ugly specifics so they would fully grasp just what we had escaped. Beaufort had played the ultimate game of bait and switch on us, keeping our eye on one prize, while he prepared another one for us.
“There never was a cure,” my mother said quietly. I heard shame in her voice, like some part of her had known all along that it was too good to be true.