She glanced backwards at Jaxon, who produced a crimson silk pouch from his coat pocket. Inside, the ring that Markam had crafted for the job. She’d been reluctant to team up with the Trickster, as he always had an extra surprise up his sleeve… but this time he’d sworn to be honest. And the ring he’d fashionedwaslovely, with a plump diamond the color of blackest night, its band made of thick gold to match Gutrender.
“From the finest craftsmen and women Soreia has to offer.” Sonara extended the ring, fighting back a tremor of excitement.
Her blood pulsed, hot with the promise of a true prize. The king’s dark eyes narrowed. But he uncurled his fingers from the skull armrest and held out his hand. “Very well.”
It dwarfed hers. Callouses from sword-fighting littered his palms. How many across Dohrsar had Jira killed? Not only enemies, but innocents? How many had been children? How many had held up their own hands in surrender while he brought down his blade?
Sonara smiled.
A real smile, for the girl she’d once been long ago would have shaken as she stood before him. But now, she was not afraid.
“You must be delicate when you make the switch. Swift as a fowl in flight.”The memory of Markam’s voice whispered into her mind, instructions from the countless hours they’d spent practicing this particular sleight of hand.
Sonara had mastered it plenty of times before. It was how they’d bagged enough coin to survive the coldest nights on the run.
“I’d like to see you conquer more kingdoms,” Sonara said, tilting her body so that she could draw the king’s eyes back to hers. Mixed, muddied brown, with the slightest ring of outer blue. She fluttered her lashes. “If you would have me, my king.”
Sonara made the swap, placing the false ring on his finger while she deftly slid another ring off. It was almost like magic, so smoothly the swap went.
Almost.
For just as she was about to release the king’s hand, his grip tightened.
Pain lanced across her bones as he squeezed. “Perhaps I’m mistaken, my Lady. But I believe you’ve just taken something of mine.”
Sonara’s curse thrashed inside of her.
That was the taste offurythat rolled onto her tongue, like she’d swallowed a burning ember. She’d practiced that trick a hundred times, athousandtimes, so how in the blasted gates of hell…
“Who are you?” the king demanded. So soft, so utterly calm, even as his eyes hardened, and she thought her hand might break beneath his crushing grasp.
He leaned forward, his face now so close to hers that she could sense every sinful aura soaring from him.
He tasted like blood.
He tasted likedeath.
Sonara tried to speak, but the mixture of his aura was too strong. Her tongue felt like it was burning to ashes. She took a step back, but Jira yanked her forward again, her useless slippers sliding on the dais.
Murmurs spread throughout the crowd, but Sonara could hear nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat, and her black blood roaring in her ears.
Before she could stop him, Jira dipped his hand into the hidden pocket on her skirts to produce his diamond ring. She stiffened, her mind wiped clean of any believable excuse.
“You’ll have a visit to Deadwood for this, myLady.”
Deadwood.
The prison camp in the north, where blood froze alongside aching bones.
Jira rose, his grip like an iron manacle. He produced a small blade from his gold robes and pressed it to her throat.
“Guards!” he growled. “Seize this traitor to the crown.” His eyes flitted past Sonara, to where Jaxon stood, a guard who’d been forced to leave his weapons at the door. “And her guard, too. Take them both to the north.”
“No,” Sonara said. She winced as the tip of his blade nicked her skin.
Any normal girl would’ve cried out in pain. But Sonara had become one with pain in all her years of outlawing, relished it, even. It wasfearthat she must conquer now, the true traitor, as her blood was drawn.
As not liquid, but livingshadowslid from beneath her skin.
