My entire body tenses. My mind screams to attack and take it from her, but my battered limbs don’t rise to the call. “What questions couldyoupossibly have?”
“What is the generál trying to accomplish?”
The laughter that explodes from my mouth is sharp and cynical. “He sent you in here to trick me into saying something he can use against me, didn’t he?”
Hadassah shakes her head furiously. “He’s hurt me, too.” She unfastens the tie of her colorless blouse and wiggles one shoulder free. She turns to show me the long, raised scars cutting down her back. As if I care. As if it will foster some sort of camaraderie between us. She could have gotten those scars anywhere. They’re probably an illusion! If Kartok did make them, she already knows everything she needs to about him.
“Is it your power he’s after?” she presses. “Rumor has it he’s been obsessed with capturing a Kalima warrior for years, but it’s next to impossible, since they never leave their comrades behind.”
“Enough!”
The blood drains from her already pale face. “Sorry if that’s a touchy subject, but—”
“Even if I knew his aim, do you think I’d tell you anything? I don’t see why any of this matters to a servant.”
Her lips pinch into a scowl. As if she honestly expected her sweet-faced simpering to soften me. It wouldn’t have worked before, and it certainly won’t work now. I’m heartless, soulless, friendless. Nothing but vengeance and fury wrapped in skin.
“Be gone!” I yell, raising my palms. There isn’t a breath of cold left within me, but the girl doesn’t know that. She cries and sprints for the glass tunnel while I laugh and wish her good riddance.
It’s only after she’s gone, when the walls of the fabricated throne room are hardening between us, sealing the only exit, that I realize my mistake.
The wasted opportunity.
I didn’t try to escape. I didn’t even get the key to my manacles.
The Sky King’s laughter refills the echoing hall, taunting me, mocking me, driving me closer, every second, toward the cliffs of insanity.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ENEBISH
MURTAUGH ANDYATINDRA STORM OUT OFKINGIHSAN’Sstudy, thin lipped and tight jawed, dragging Ziva behind them. As if the Marsh King’s decision toconsiderour proposal personally offends them. Ziva, on the other hand, pumps her fist and throws a triumphant smile at us as they tug her through the door.
“I don’t understand why they’re so angry,” I murmur to Serik as we follow them out into the muggy morning. The sun is already stabbing through the canopy, and a horde of ravenous mosquitos flock to us like the hummingbirds buzzing around the flower boxes. Serik smashes one of the long-legged insects between his palms and proudly opens his hands to show me the mangled carcass. Then he blows it toward Murtaugh’s and Yatindra’s backs.
“They’re like children, throwing a tantrum because they didn’t get their way. That vice chancellor, Murtaugh, thinks quite highly of himself. I doubt he’s ever supported a plan he didn’t come up with. And I doubt the king disagrees with him often. I almost feel sorry for Ziva’s aunt, being shackled to such an ornery narcissist.”
“Why do you thinkshe’sso upset? You’d think she’d be grateful that Ihsan is considering lending aid to Minoak and Verdenet. Her brother and her country.”
“She’s probably just worried and overwhelmed,” Serik says as we start down the nearest rope bridge. It sways beneath our feet, and I grip the woven railing, terrified the flimsy thing is going to collapse. “Her brother was nearly assassinated and lies motionless in the infirmary, she must care for her strong-willed niece, and she just learned her home country is in peril.”
I nod as we watch the three of them vanish into another mansion several trees over, slamming the door behind them.
“Murtaugh’s a lost cause, but I think Yatindra will come around with time—and perhaps a little encouragement.” Serik peers over at me.
I narrow my eyes. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing much. I just think now would be an excellent time to start training Ziva. Show the Namagaans the strength we have to offer as allies. And our willingness to share those advantages.”
I shove past Serik, purposely knocking him against the flimsy railing, and stomp to the next platform.
“Does that mean you’ll consider it?” He chases after me.
“It means your suggestion doesn’t merit a response. I’mnottraining Ziva. You saw how rash and unpredictable she is, throwing starfire when she doesn’t have the slightest idea how to control it. I won’t be responsible for that.”
“If you trained her, she would know not to do such things.”
I spear him with a death glare.
