“It’ll shred her tongue,” he says, then faces me. “You took it from an Illusion room, then?”
I remain silent, afraid.
“Most likely Kassandra’s,” the executioner says.
The males glance at each other.
Fuck.If she’s caught, if they find out, we will both be severely punished. If I don’t make it out alive, then what will become of Benji?
“Did you steal the oil?” the king asks, his magic yanking my tongue.
“No,” I say, and it is true.
“Did you steal the bottle?” the executioner asks.
“No!” I cry, and I realize my mistake. This time, I could have lied—and I should have. The executioner cannot force the truth from me, but if I go back on my word, they may realize the fault in having two alternating interrogators.
I cannot look panicked—just ashamed.
“Not the bottle,” I amend. “Just a few drops.”
Pressing my knees together, I wrap arms around my waist, my body trembling.
Do not cry,I think.Do not cry.
My vision blurs.
A speck of orange zips past me. A small, floating orb of fire drops into the hearth on the far side of the room. Flames dance in the fireplace, a gentle heat warming the air. In a few moments, some of my shaking has eased, cutting the chill against my back. Maxian is watching me, frowning. He runs a hand through his dark-honey hair.
“You were cold, were you not?”
I look away.
Maxian crouches in front of me. My instincts scream to move back from the large male, but I dare not. He rests his elbows on thick thighs, hands clasped.
“Avery,” he says. “We ask these questions to ensure that the palace—and you—haven’t been infiltrated. Stealing a few drops of body oil from your mistress is harmless compared to treason. So I need the truth from you one last time.”
Do not ask me of Kassandra, please. Not you.
If he does, I will cough up more blood, revealing a hole in their approach.
“Avery,” the king repeats. “Why did you do it?”
I exhale. His forehead is pinched in concern; whether real or not, I do not care. Relief flows through me, for in trying to come across as kind, the king was too vague. Tears pour down my cheeks. The truth magic tugs the words out of me, and I redirect my thoughts to the moment I decided to obey Kassandra and rub the lethal oil into my skin. I just open my mouth, and let the truth tumble out.
“To feel pretty,” I say. “I wanted to feel pretty tonight.”
The executioner scoffs. But before me, the most powerful male in Amyria lowers his head, a gentle laugh escaping his lips. He stands, pivoting to Death.
“I think we’re done here.”
“So the Heir of Illusion almost died because your servant felt insecure.”
The king sighs again, looking my way. “It’s a shame, really. Especially since the oil was never necessary.”
I bury my head in my hands so that they do not see my disgust, my shame that it’s working, that I am getting closer to the murderer of my friend so that I may free his brother. It is the seediest of ways, and the most effective.
“I’m sorry,” I cry. “I’m so sorry.”
