“I sensed my commander was lying, you know,” the king continues. “A weakness on her part, wanting to protect a child. We didn’t have an Influencer or a powerful enough Reader at that time to pull it out of her. But there was something off with her emotions, wasn’t there, Axel?”
Axel’s jaw clenches—the only reaction he gives. He must only have been around twelve at the time. Twelve years old, and wheeled out to use his still-forming abilities. She doesn’t want to feel sorry for him, being used like that. But a part of her does. She sees the way Zryan glances at him. The subtle headshake Axel gives Zryan in return—a silent conversation between friends.
“I had the commander killed for it,” the king adds mildly, “just in case. But then you never resurfaced, and I thought maybe my instincts were off. Maybe you had been killed, like she said. And as you were never formally recognized, no harm done either way.”
Ottilie turns away from her husband, her face tight. Skylar wonders if it’s the talk of all the killing that’s upsetting her—or if it’s just the reminder that the king was with another woman before her.
“Well,” the king says, clapping his hands as he straightens, “no dragon, but all may not be lost. This power puts you at an advantage, I’d say. Especially considering that familiar of hers.” Skylar bristles for some reason—almost like she wants todefendBastet. Which is totally ridiculous.
She’s not the only one with a reaction, though. Next to her, Zryan has stiffened, those shoulders of his rigid.
Everyone looks at Zryan—including Skylar. She can’t help it. She’s seen the way Zryan looks at Astrid sometimes. But he still needs Skylar to win, right? He still needs her to kill Astrid.
“You disagree?” the king asks.
“I don’t know,” Zryan says. “This possibly gives Skylar the edge.” The words are reluctant—and he can’t look at her as he says them.
“Not possibly,” Axel says firmly. “Definitely. You didn’t see what she can do. If she can harness that power…” He trails off, and Skylarsees Ottilie’s gaze shoot to him. Perhaps because Axel does not sound concerned about her power. Perhaps because he looks not at the king or queen or even Zryan as he says it. But rather at her.
The king, however, doesn’t seem to notice. “Excellent. Well, then, I think the path is clear. You will learn to use this power of yours,” he says, addressing Skylar. “And you will kill the witch with it.” He smiles around at the room like the rest of them should share his sentiment.
She hates him. No, that’s not right. Hate is not a strong enough word for what she feels for this man—no word is.
“What happens if I win?” she asks, speaking for the first time.
All four of them look at her. It hits her then—the absence of the guards. It makes her wonder if they’ve done it deliberately—keeping the witnesses to a minimum.
“If you win?” the king repeats mildly.
“Yes.” Skylar makes herself look him right in the eye. “What happens after?”
The king cocks his head, a small smile still playing across his lips. “You rule, of course.” He’s lying—she can taste it. She can see it in the way Zryan glances at his father, unsure. But no one else seems to have anything to say.
She tries to keep standing straight, fighting the heat in her blood. She’s known all along it was the king who killed her mother. But hearing him admit it out loud…
She’ll kill him. After the duel, she will use this power—the power he and countless others before him have condemned people for—and she will end him. She looks him in the eye as she makes this promise to herself.
But for now… They’re not locking her up. She tries to hold on to that. Presumably it’s as some kind of incentive, to keep training, to believe in the future she could have once she kills Astrid. And she’s grateful for that—it gives her the time she needs. Because she may not have any kind of future herself, once this duel is over—but she still has a chance to give Cam one.
29Astrid
There’s no sign of Fionn or any other Ulven when she returns to her bedroom’s wing. It’s well after midnight, so perhaps they’ve gone to bed, though they’ve never left her door unguarded before. She tiptoes along the corridor like some comic villain, unease growing the closer she gets to her room. It’s too dark, too quiet. She unsheathes a claw from her wrist when she reaches her door; it’s ajar. She locked it before she left, leaving Bastet inside. Alone. Defenseless.
She bursts through, claw in one hand, a vial in the other, then freezes.
Jessa is leaning against her desk—legs crossed, arms crossed, faceverycross.
“Jess! What are you doing in here?” She quickly puts her weapons away and then pushes the door closed behind her and locks it.
“I think the better question is why the fuck weren’tyouin here?”
Astrid glances at Bastet on the bed, but he averts his gaze. The little traitor.
“Don’t look at him; he didn’t say anything.” Jessa pulls the twin to Astrid’s pendant from inside her white shirt and swings it back and forth. “Did you forget about this?”
Astrid reaches for her own. Yes, she kind of did forget about it.
“I’m sorry, it was just this once—”
