There it was, the divine trick wrapped up as an innocent question. Liana knew about deals, knew about bargains. She hesitated.
“Not for me,” the queen said so softly only Liana could hear. “For Amron. That’s why you’re here, right? Will you do it for him?”
What was she supposed to say? “I will,” she confirmed, and felt the words bind her stronger than chains.
Amril stumbled out of his father’s room at that moment and grabbed Amron, pulling him away. “Where’s your wife? Why did you send her away?” His anger shattered the atmosphere, mixing fury with grief.
“To tell her father to run away.”
Amril took a swing at him, but Amron was faster, dodging the blow.
The queen caught Liana’s arm, pulling her back. “Don’tinterfere.”
“Did you plan all this with Roderi and your wife?” Amril growled.
“No. I thought she wanted to embarrass you and spoil the wedding. Not this.”
“I don’t believe you,” Amril spat. “All you’ve ever wanted was to take my place.”
He lunged at Amron again, but Amron pushed him away. “Use your wine-soaked brain for once in your life. If you give him chaos, he’ll use it against you, and then you’ll have worse problems than Elmar.”
“He tried to kill Father.”
“Yes. And despite that, he’s not your biggest problem.”
At that moment, a young woman ran into the room. Tall, lean, and blonde, she looked so much like Amron there was no need to ask who she was.
“Where’s Father, what’s going on?” she asked. “Are you two fools fighting?”
“You need to go in,” the queen said.
“We all need to go in, I’m not wasting his time if what Deana said was true,” Princess Amielle said. “Amril, Amron, the Seragian embassy is under attack, Erian just got the news. Someone is spreading rumors that the Seragians have killed the king and are planning to take the throne. The guards are there, fighting the mob.”
“We need to go there,” Amril said, but the queen caught his arm, stirring him towards the bedchamber.
“Not you,” she said.
Amron turned towards Liana, his eyes uncertain. He lingered on the doorstep, the last of his family. “I’ll come as soon as I can.”
“Stay with your father,” Liana said. “I must find mine.”
Chapter 22
Melia
Melia ran.
The night outside was lit by hundreds of torches, the streets crowded with people. In the flickering light, their grinning faces looked like masks of terror, their lurching, inebriated movements and twisting shadows like monsters descending from the black sky to swallow this town and everybody in it.
She couldn’t tell if Abia was celebrating or writhing in agony as panic pushed her through the crowd, where hands grabbed at her fine dress and men wrapped their hungry hands around her waist, slid them between her thighs, their breath sour and hot, the stench of desire and wine choking her. She clawed at their faces, twisting out of their arms furiously, running on, even though she knew it was too late.
It had already been too late when she arrived in Abia. When she married Amron. When her brother died.
Her father’s house at the end of the winding alley, hidden behind the high wall, was—for once—lit up and crowded. The guards at the entrance recognized her, and she ran through the door to find herself in a hall filled with men. She recoiled, sick of the crowds, when a hand grabbed her shoulder.
“Ah, you’re here. Finally,” Ferisa said. “How did it go?”
Melia could barely recognize her, this woman dressed in sleek black silk, filled with a sinister light. When did she change to this? When had she stopped being the lowly priestess and death-guide who’d wormed her way into her father’s household and become this suave, bloodthirsty thing? Finding a lonely,desperate, motherless girl wandering the corridors of Syr must have seemed like a gift from the gods. A path to Melia’s trust and her heart, and ultimately, to her father’s ear.
