“Let’s just say Vanzadorians aren’t the most…” He looks up and swirls a hand through the air, searching for the right word. “Forthcoming,” he finally says. “Investigate your sister’s death all you want. It will lead nowhere.”
“Sounds exactly like what someone guilty of murder who doesn’twant me poking around would say,” I retort.
“Tell me, what did I stand to gain by killing Rowenna? Am I free to live as I please?” He gestures to me and the tent with a cruel laugh. “Your sister’s death got me another sham of a marriage—and to the more obnoxious sister. At least Rowenna was smart enough to shut her mouth and keep to herself.”
I shake my head, because there’s no way my sister went quietly to Vanzador. She would have argued and meddled and made Alaric’s life a living hell—just as I am.
“Rowenna was far bolder and more outspoken than I’ll ever be,” I say.
Alaric shrugs. “If you say so.”
I toss my hands with frustration. “How can you sit there and act as if you hardly knew her?”
“Because I didn’t know her at all!” he explodes, eyes flashing. “Do you think I had time to dine with her each night? Or accompany her to social calls and luncheons and however else she filled her days? We were strangers, with separate chambers and beds. Most nights I slept in my study.”
“Did that make it easier?” I ask softly, sounding much calmer than I feel.
“Make what easier?”
“To push her.”
Alaric buries his hands in his hair, and his voice leaks out in a growl. “For the millionth time, I didn’t push her.”
“Then why are you so angry, if you have nothing to hide?”
“Because you’re infuriating!” He rolls to face the wall and adds in a menacing whisper, “I’m far more tempted to shoveyouoff a cliff than I ever was your sister.”
“How romantic,” I coo. “Just what I hoped my husband would whisper on our wedding night.”
“Don’tcall me that.”
“Then what should I call you?”
“Nothing. You have no reason to speak to me. Pretend I don’t exist.”
I’m quiet for several minutes. Long enough to let Alaric think he won. Then I crawl across the tent and position myself directly behind him. So he can feel my breath on the back of his neck when I whisper, “Hopefully I won’t have topretendyou don’t exist much longer.”
Alaric jolts, arms pinwheeling as he yells, “What are you doing? Get away from me!”
But I’m already gone, curled up on the opposite side of the tent, laughing as Rowenna’s boisterous applause lulls me to sleep—the most enchanting lullaby.
Nine
I wake to watery yellow light streaming through the tent walls and agrowling stomach. Not a single robin or sparrow chatters to welcome the day, like they do in Tashir. Even the birds know better than to nest on the Tomb Flats.
I roll onto my back and peek across the tent, secretly hoping to find the Vanzadorian prince with his mouth hanging open and drool dribbling off his chin. It would be so satisfying to learn he’s an ugly sleeper. Though it’s far more likely he’ll be the one perched on his side, sneering at my snarled hair and sleep-lined face.
To my surprise, Alaric is doing neither.
He sits cross-legged and straight-backed, with one hand pressed to the ground beside him and the other covering his eyes like a blindfold. He appears to be quietly muttering something. Probably a curse on our marriage and me.
Except he and Soren need you, Ro reminds me.Never forget that.
I sit up and watch Alaric for another minute before I slam my hand against the ground and shout, “What in all the green hills of Tashir are you doing?”
Alaric jerks from his pose, and his features immediately crumpleinto a frown. “Iwaspraying, until you rudely interrupted.”
“Praying?” I scoff. The thought of our oppressors engaging in something that requires humility seems more unnatural than a fern sprouting from slickrock.
