“He’s absolutely right,” Vi interrupted, swallowing hard to get the rest of the too-large bite down. She needed water, but there was none to spare in the manor. Everything was rationed tightly; they were given just enough to be kept alive. So Vi bit the tip of her tongue until saliva coated her mouth—a trick Zira taught her. “The people have been defeated, shown the Emperor’s power, made to feel desperate, and now, when he shows them kindness, they will be all too eager to accept it. It’s hard to think straight when hunger is gnawing at you.”
She had been learning as much the hard way these past two weeks. In the process, Vi was finding a new, dark appreciation for Taavin’s time spent under Ulvarth. How readily she’d judged him for his actions back in the Twilight Forest. Part of her still did. Even during the longest nights of hunger pangs, Vi still didn’t think she’d condemn a group of people to slaughter.
But she was only two weeks in. And he’d spent years in such a state. She twisted the watch at her neck, longing to summon the man once more but not having a scrap of privacy to do it with.
“The Emperor. You still speak like one of them.”
“Well I’m in here with you, Luke.” Vi took another bite of bread. “So either I’m not one of them, or I’m really stupid for not getting myself out before now.”
“None of us are getting out of here alive,” Kahrin sighed, her long black hair hiding her face. She was a far cry from the woman who threatened Vi when they first met. “They’ve taken all the generals, and half of the Knights of Jadar… We’re next.”
“We’re not dead yet, so eat.” Zira sat on the other side of the wide windowsill where Vi was perched. The other two remained in their spots on the floor. It was a corner of the room they shared with ten other random soldiers—men and women whose names Vi hadn’t bothered to learn. “The princess will need us.”
“The princess is dead.”
“Shut your mouth,” Zira growled.
“Do you really think the Emperor will be satisfied with just King Rocham’s head? No, he’ll want more royal blood to spill in a glorious display of power. And who better than the youngest child, the woman who led our army against him?”
“Fiera isn’t dead,” Zira insisted in the face of Kahrin’s determination.
“If she was alive, she would’ve come for you of all people by now. You were always her pet.”
“She’s not dead.” Vi tore off another chunk of bread, chewing it over and staring out the window.
“What do you know,traveler?” Kahrin spat. Her tone made plain that she had yet to relinquish her theory that Vi was a spy.
“More than you ever will.”
“How dare you—”
“Enough,” Zira snapped. “You three are exhausting me.”
They all ate their remaining scraps of bread in relative silence. Luke mumbled something about the food sitting heavy in his stomach and making him sleepy, “likely drugged by Imperialist swine.” Kahrin must’ve decided she was bored of being ignored, because when Vi looked over her shoulder next, she was gone.
“Do you know she’s alive?” Zira asked softly, her voice hushed.
Vi gave a small nod that felt like a lie. What did she know? Precious little. The ability to gaze along the Mother’s lines of fate was one thing, but she hadn’t had a vision since entering the remade world. It was like she was trying to navigate a new city using ancient maps. She’d been biding her time, waiting, seeing how things played out. Tiberus and Fiera nearly exchanging blows on the docks had ignited a fear Vi hadn’t expected. What if she messed something up? What if, in trying to improve the future they were now heading toward, she somehow made it worse?
She needed to speak with Taavin again.
“You have the sight too, don’t you? Like she does?”
“I do.”
“I heard what you said to her, at the docks…” Zira looked back to the window. “She told me of her vision before the battle. She knew we would lose. She knew her father would die.”
“And yet she fought for Mhashan anyway.” The meager piece of bread was gone all too swiftly, and Vi’s stomach was grumbling even louder than before. But ignoring angry stomachs had become something they were all quite good at.
“Yes, she fought for Mhashan… but not to win. She wanted to save the people—to prevent as many as possible from dying. I don’t understand the dance of royals, but I must believe that these deaths we hear of, however gruesome they might be, are still part of her plan. Fiera was always good at minimizing losses.”
“The hard part of having royal blood is deciding how you spread the suffering. Who will bear the burden—many, or a few? Who? And how do you choose? Do you spread it as thin as possible, or is it better to absolve some and force others to pick up the weight entirely?”
“Are you certain you’re not a bastard of King Rocham?” Zira chuckled at Vi’s expression. “You speak like a royal.”
“I’ve spent my share of time around them, I guess you could say.”
“In your travels?”
