Regret.
Asher is sitting on his heels, his breathing shallow, his jaw clenched. Rage and betrayal are all over his face, but it’s his fear that’s pulsing like an undercurrent in the room.
I still have no idea what to believe about his killing orders, and I won’t believe Nikko is alive until I see him myself. But every word Asher said about the slavers was genuine. Hisfearis genuine. He had the king of Incendar bound and powerless, but he didn’t want money or influence or even the handful of coins from my pouch.
Of all he could have demanded—of all I could haveoffered—the promise of sanctuary is what made this man yield.
And I used it against him.
I have to shove the regret away. It’s hardly the worst thing I’ve ever done—and it’s possible he deserved it. We’ve been gone most of the day, and people are surely looking for us. One thing is clear: I disappeared with the princess. Even if she would speak in my defense—which is questionable right now—I have no idea what anyone wouldbelieve. Too much is at risk, and I don’t trust Prince Dane. Asher is the only proof thatIhave.
At least he’s being quiet, though his eyes are flicking from the princess to the fire to the door, seeking a way to escape. His bitter desperation fills the air, and it pricks at me the same way her accusations do.
I tamp it back down. I can’t let these emotions affect me. I need to send up a signal to my men, and I need to find a way back to the palace.
When I tie off the cord with a sharp tug, Jory gives another gasp.
I tell myself not to care about that, either. It doesn’t work. “Sit, Princess.”
She wrenches at the binding and speaks through clenched teeth. “I absolutelywill not—”
I scoop her into my arms, the satin and lace of her skirts swirling around her legs. Before she can protest, I set her on the ground. “Sit.” I glance at Asher, who’s still on his knees, glaring at the floor, his jaw set. “You too,” I say. “Don’t move.”
He’s glowering at me. “Fuck you.”
Idefinitelydeserve that, so I ignore him, then sketch a sigil in the air to pull another palm full of fire from the stove. Then I head for the door.
As before, the cold is shocking, biting my cheeks and making the cut from Jory’s hairpin sting even more. It’s begun to snow again, fat flakes drifting down between the trees. The sky above is obscured by clouds, but the light has grown even dimmer since Asher led me out here. It’ll be full dark within the hour.
A low murmur of whispered conversation sounds from inside the hut, and I frown. But I can’t stop them from talking, and they can’t go anywhere anyway.
I hold out my hand, and the glow from the ball of flame doesn’t light up much. It flickers, threatening to burn out altogether. Without fuel to burn, the magic has to draw from my energy to keep the flame lit. The long night of riding—followed by a long day of kidnapping—is beginning to catch up with me. I can’t remember the last time I put a bite of food in my mouth. I feel the strain of holding the flame, like forcing a fatigued muscle towork.
Hopefully I can manage enough power for this. I put my hands close together, then pull the ball of fire into two, until I have one on each palm. Despite the cold, sweat blooms on my forehead from the effort. I feed the twin flames energy until they burn bright. Once they’re blazing, I throw the first one high, quickly drawing a sigil with my empty hand. My magic sends it higher, until the sphere of flame bursts into a spray of sizzling sparks above the trees, sounding with a loud crack that echoes.
I’m gasping from the effort, and the remaining ball of fire flickers and threatens to die. I won’t be able to do much more. But if my men are out looking, they’ll hear it. If I’m lucky, they’llseeit. Every one of them knows what it means.
But I have to throw up another, just to be sure. I wait a moment, listening, but the snow muffles everything. The remaining fire in my left hand flickers again, so I throw this one high as well, sketching another sigil. I try to feed this one more energy, and the shower of sparks is bigger, the crack even louder. But my vision goes fuzzy for a moment, and I fight off a wave of vertigo. I have to take a breath to steady myself. I can’t afford to look weak. My soldiers won’t be the only ones to see my signal. Anyone looking for me—including these assassins, if they’re real—could follow the sound and light right to me.
When I walk back through the door, Asher and Jory have shifted closer together, but they’re staring at me, their chests rising and falling quickly, their eyes wide.
“What did you do?” the princess demands.
“I sent up a signal to my soldiers,” I say. Wind swirls through the opening at my back, but I don’t want to close the door again. I need to hear if anyone approaches. “Once they arrive, I’ll determine how to proceed.”
Jory clenches her jaw, and she’s glaring at me with such...suchindignation.
Clearly I’m not the only one affected by hunger, exhaustion, and outright aggravation.
I look down at her. “The look on your face, Princess. Am I to be your villain now?”
“Asherfreedyou,” she says. “You swore to him. Youswore.” Her eyes are full of recrimination. “You could have acted with honor. You could have kept your word and let him go.”
“Honor! You speak ofhonor? I asked for truth between us. I yielded my magic. I disarmed for you. Twice! Yet you still took me by force.” I stand, letting every ounce of my own betrayal fill my voice. “Have you considered that this Hunter’s Guild could already be pointing fingers atmefor what happened here? That your brother could blame Incendar for your kidnapping?” I think of my sister, and what would happen ifshewere forced to take the throne. The fire in the stove burns hotter, the flames flickering wildly, responding to my anger. “Do you have any idea what my disappearance would mean for my people? For my kingdom? Foryours?”
She’s still staring up at me, but my words have an impact. Her expression flickers into a frown.
I don’t linger. Instead, I take a breath and drop to a crouch in front of Asher. He’s a ball of tension with his hands bound, sitting on his heels, the firelight from the stove turning his white-blond hair to rose gold. His jaw is set, and he doesn’t even look at me.
