A Curse of Blood & Stone (Fate & Flame 2)

My instinct is to lie—to protect Pan—but the truth will come out, anyway, and very soon. “We don’t need Gesine’s testing method.”

He sighs heavily.

“Pan protected me tonight. He tried to convince them to release me, he lied about who I am—”

“He doesn’t know who you are.”

“That’s beside the point. He wouldn’t leave when he had his chance. He even went back for my ring and my dagger, which is how he got trapped.”

“But I gave Rengard my word—”

“I don’t care! You told him you’d pass swift judgment, not necessarily swift execution. We can mark him like Wendeline marked the others.”

“That didn’t work out well for them. Atticus ordered their deaths immediately after.”

I wince, the memory of those terrified children still in my mind. But I can’t help them anymore. I can, however, help Pan. “No one is laying a hand or a blade or an arrow or anything on Pan unless I say it’s okay. I mean it, Zander.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Is that an order, Your Highness?”

I roll my eyes at his mocking. “I’m serious.”

“I can see that.” A pensive look flickers across his face. “Pan, you will not be harmed while you remain with us, as long as you promise me two things. One, you will never allow anyone to take your vein.”

Pan’s head bobs before changing his mind and shaking it furtively. “I won’t. I promise. I only took it because Oswald is a mean bugger who sold off my sister to a horrible keeper. Broke my ma’s heart. And then she died, and a peddler was sellin’ this stuff, and he told me it would make my blood taste bad—”

“We’ll get those details later,” Zander cuts off his rambling. “That’s the first thing. The second”—he considers the crumbled cave—“you never repeat what you saw happen here. To anyone. And if someone should ask, you inform me.”

“Yes, Your Highness. I mean, no, I won’t say a word. I didn’t really see nothing. I was facedown.”

“Let’s get out of here.” Zander jerks his head in the direction Jarek and Loth disappeared, waiting for Pan to catch up. Perhaps thinking he might still bolt.

But Pan trudges along. “What about the guy in there? Should we make sure—”

“He’s dead.” I flex my hand, the feel of crushing bones haunting me.

“Oh. Okay.” But his forehead is still furrowed.

“What is the matter now?” Zander asks.

“No, it’s just, I had some time to think while I was stuck under there, and … you’re not really Lady Diana from Cornwall, are you?”

I chuckle. “You can call me Romy.”