“So you find Mestyla and play sardines?” Isla deadpans as we stride into the game room.
“I wasn’t playing sardines,” Ksenia scoffs. “I wasn’t playing at all.”
Isla leans forward to look my floating sister in the eye. “You’ve been MIA for almost three weeks.”
“I was attempting to reason with her.”
I tilt my head. “Forthreeweeks?”
“I had to nurse her back to health first. She was dehydrated and starving from her slapdash excursion.”
“Open your mouth,” I command.
“What? Wh-Why?”
“One of you, feed my sister salt.”
Ksenia flushes. “You think I’m lying?”
“Open up.”
Her lips stay sealed.
“I said,open up,” I snarl as we reach the library.
She parts her lips and a guard upturns a pouch of salt hooked to his belt. She gags.
Once it’s taken effect, I ask, “Do you want my crown?”
“No.”
“So you don’t want to be queen?”
“No.”
“Would you like the monarchy to be abolished?” Isla’s more general question makes my sister grimace.
“N—Yes.” Ksenia licks her lips. “But I don’t want my brother killed.”
“Did you stay in the bunker to give the Volkovs a chance to arrive?” I ask.
Her lashes click wildly, and then she’s writhing, wriggling, trying to break free. I flick my fingers, tipping her body until she hovers horizontally. “No. I didn’t even know they were coming. Whyarethey coming?”
“How about you tell us?” I snap.
Her lashes sweep so high they knock into the gash above her eyebrow. “Because they had a sleigh delivery?”
My molars clench.
“Those brutes are armed to the teeth,” she hastens to add. “And you cannot start to imagine the reach they have. The support… You have to find them before they find you.”
My sister cannot lie under the influence of salt, but can she fake dread? I glance at Isla, trying to surmise her thoughts.
“Did one of them father Mestyla?” Isla asks.
Ksenia’s forehead pleats. “Alyona never told Olena who the father was.”
Here, I had been so certain their hasty departure from the north had been spurred by Mestyla’s disappearance. “Did you stay in the bunker for three weeks?”
