Nymiria tried distracting herself from what might be waiting for her when they reached their destination. She tried going over combat sequences in her head, tried to remember everything that Philter taught her. She tried to remember that she was a trainedkiller—she wasnotdefenseless. As much as the idea of death disturbed her, she had to keep her wits about her. She had to protect herself. Shehad to.
Cursing under her breath, she wiggled and squirmed her way into a seated position. It eased the ache in her skull, which seemingly intensified with every dip in the road the carriage traveled over. She kept as still as possible, listening to the quieted conversation at the front of the carriage. It was a man—a voice she didn’t recognize and another, one she’d just recently learned to detest.
“I don’t see why it would matter what kingdom you marry her in, Everand. A marriage is a marriage.” The man stated, his voice rather high-pitched and shaky.
Everand snorted. “Dorid wants me to marry her in Yaar because he believes that he should be the one to bless our union. He says that it would be a symbol of unity amongst Yaar and Alvaros, but to be quite honest with you, I believe that bugger has quite a few tricks up his sleeve. He thinks his law takes precedence over any other kingdom’s—believes that heownsGaellagh.” A horse whinnied up ahead and another large root made the carriage rock violently. Nymiria clasped at her head, feeling as though its innards would liquify at any moment. “He’sthe type of man who believes that his religion is law, never minding that there arerealgods in the world who will show him exactly what is real and what is fake. Doesn’t bother me, anyhow. He’s in for a grand surprise if he tries to cross me.”
The other man hummed in agreement. “All of this for a girl who has no control over her Grace. It’s beyond me.”
“It’s not what she can do—it is what she iscapableof.” The prince’s tone was sharp. Nymiria could imagine that he looked offended at the statement—at the gall of someone trying to undermine years and years of meticulous planning. “With her power, we will never have to worry about the gold mines, the crops, the vegetation, nor any of our other natural resources. We will never have to worry about repopulation. Hell… we could kill a whole generation of people and bring in a new one in the same day.”
“Your empire will be one of the finest in the world.”
“And I plan to make it so.” Everand said proudly. “I hope to be as revered as the Caddisian warlords—I want my name in history books, I want my story told even long after I have ascended into the ether.”
Nymiria scoffed.
Immediately realizing her error, she slapped her hand over her mouth. There was a creak in the bench in front of her, the sound of Everand and perhaps his companion turning to look at her. “You don’t believe me?”
She really didn’t.
“Oh,” she sighed. “Oh, I certainly believe that you will be very well known and that your story will be told even long after you’ve left this plane. It’s youascendinginto anything that sounds like a fallacy.”
“You don’t think that I will pass on to the ether when I die?”
Nymiria thought of the man she’d left behind. She thought of his anger, the silver gleam in his eyes that warned of imminentdeath. She slowly lifted one shoulder. “I believe you are forgetting who controls the realm you’ll need to travel through in order to make that journey.” She stated simply. “Aziel is not very forgiving. Not towards people like you.”
“Well,” Everand growled. “I suppose I will just have to remedy that then, won’t I?”
“I suppose you will.”
The loud screech of iron gates sounded in front of them, silencing them both as the carriage rolled forward. Nymiria listened for any voices she might recognize, but the palace grounds were surprisingly silent.
She was jerked from the back of the carriage as soon as it stopped, her ankle rolling and her stomach swirling. Though she had no need to fear for her life, there was a fear inside of her—something that nagged at the sharp and tender edges of her memories. The grounds still smelled of rain and dirt and stone, but those memories were so real and so vivid that she could smell the wine on Dorid’s breath. She could smell the coppery scent of her mother’s blood… ofeveryone’sblood as it spilled across the throne room floor.
Dorid couldn’t kill her and even if he could, Everand wouldn’t allow it. Not when she was of such great importance to his plans and the well-being of his empire. But that didn’t mean that Everand wouldn’t allow Dorid to have his fun.
And that was what terrified her the most. All of the ways they could torture her without death as a reward.
She stiffened at the clanking of armor, signifying that guards were approaching. Strong hands took hold of her arms, not even allowing her a moment to fall into step with them before they propelled her forward.
Every step she took, every bit of air that washed in through the sack over her head brought forth a memory, unraveling details she tried her best to forget. She knew it by the soundand the direction they took that they were now entering the lower ballroom. The smell of spoiled wine filtered in through the sack. Nymiria ground her teeth together, digging her nails into her palms in hopes that it would help with the trembling—it didn’t. But the guards hadn’t seemed to take notice of her fear yet, nor had Everand made a statement. So she assumed her performance was believable.
If they had the slightest inkling that she was the least bit terrified, they would surely use it to their own advantage. She refused to let them have it—she refused to let them have her peace.
“Prince Everand Alvaros, your majesty. He has arrived.” The guard to her left bellowed.
Nymiria’s heart sank.
“Hopefully with a chest full of gold—just as he promised.” The moment his voice echoed through the throne room, Nymiria’s knees went weak. She swallowed as the guards released their hold on her, wishing that she could take that moment to run. But then there was a harsh jerk against the chains secured around her.
“I have something far more valuable than gold, old friend.” Everand declared, dragging her forward. Just by the intake of breath she heard coming from the front of the room, she knew that Dorid was aware of what was hidden beneath the sack over her head.
She shouldn’t have felt fear. She’d seen the aftermath of what Aziel had done to his father and knew that the man sitting upon that throne had nothing to show of manhood beneath his clothes. Still, her skin crawled. Her stomach churned and she quickly swallowed down the burn of bile in her throat. Even if Everand had known what Dorid did to her and what he’d attempted in their last meeting, he wouldn’t have cared. Hewould have seen it as a show of power—something he believed Nymiria not to have.
But Dorid knew of her power. And she was certain that the fear she smelled emanated directly from where he sat.
“What have you done with the bastard?” The king asked.
