And she knew she was the only one capable of securing that deal.
This would be her home.
By every means necessary.
The thought sent her heart shredding to whispers of muscle and evaporating in her bloodstream. Sobbing until she couldn't feel her face or her body. Until she forced herself up off the floor, chest heaving, clutching her broken arm to her stomach, and she met her own eyes in the mirror.
The fire her sister always told her to exhale was now consuming her, and she wasn't sure she'd ever stop choking on the smoke.
Etta escorted her to dinner in the Great Hall a few hours later. Every person stood to greet Etta, and the new men who had joined them all stared at Nyssa. The ones that already knew her merely leered at her.
Etta told her she would be serving she and the Noble just as she would be tending to the Prince when he arrived until the Prince decided otherwise. Nyssa served the wine with her good arm and stood to the side while the rest of them ate, and she listened to the things Etta said still needed 'correcting' on her.
The list wasn't long, and by the time they wrapped up dinner, Etta and Bechmen were cheers'ing to a well-accomplished partnership.
Nyssa was taken back to that same room for the night and given a couple bread rolls and pieces of meat as her dinner. She waited until they left to scarf the food down.
Sitting back on a bed made her nauseous. It had been so long since she'd been in one, minus the scratch of a cot she'd been allowed in the room when Nadir had bartered for her. But this was abed. One as plush as the one she'd had at Magnice.
She hated it.
She hated every scrap of luxury around her.
She hated the manipulation of it and how it made her feel. She hated the faux comforts of their trying to make her feel like she wanted this.
She hated it so much that she dismissed the bed and curled up in the great tub instead. Pretending its high sides were arms around her and the tuck of the blanket was body heat.
She was able to count the stars for the first time in six weeks that night.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
TRADERS CAME THROUGH Bala's kingdom as scheduled, but Nadir was not with them this time. Bala inspected all the goods as she usually did, leaving her people to distribute and pack them away as she checked on the things they were sending back. One of Nadir's men gave her a letter from him. The letter burned her pocket the entire day, but she couldn't rest. Not when her people were on the verge of unrest still, and they'd had a group of the rebels come in the night before.
Stress gripped her. Bael could sense it, and he'd hung a little closer to her in the weeks that had passed. Most nights, she didn't sleep. She sat up at Draven's desk and poured over the letters and maps, memorizing his writings in the journal he kept.
She had been under his watch since her being marked Venari—the first woman in fifty years to be marked a King, and he had taken to her quickly. They were both so young when Parkyr died, she almost felt like she was learning it all with him.
But Draven had had a presence about him that she was still learning. The dangerous, all-knowing aura exuding from every pore of his confidence. Most days, she could fake it, and on the days she didn't know how to, she did it anyway.
It was after nightfall by the time the traders left, though some stayed overnight for rest and games. Bala welcomed them just as she always did. Bael brought her dinner up and stayed with her for some time. He spoke with her about the goods and the next day, and gave her an update on the rebels that had decided to come home. One of their own had been badly injured on the road, and they'd brought him back in the hopes of healing him.
"Are they talking of vengeance?" she asked him as she sat at the desk.
Bael shook his head, leaning against the table. "Nothing. They seem only to want Gail healed."
Bala's mind went to the injured Venari male and the memories of how he'd challenged she and Draven over the years. The mere presence of him back in her kingdom made her fists curl.
"Is it bad that I'm hoping he'll just die?" Bael asked, and the first smile she'd felt all day rose on her lips.
"Don't let them hear you saying that," she muttered. "I didn't get a good look at his injuries. What were they?"
Bael ran a hand through his hair. "He looks as though he's been mauled by something large," he told her. "But the wounds are a few weeks old. Four, five weeks maybe. They should be readily healed now, but whatever they've been using in his wounds has festered and infected his entire body."
The rebels had said nothing more to her about where they had been or how Gail had received the injuries when she'd questioned them. She wasn't happy about their being back in her home, not when her people were just starting to respect her as a leader.
"What's that?" Bael asked with an upwards nod to the desk.
She'd nearly forgotten about Nadir's letter.
