A weight lifted off Hasan, the sudden relief leaving him breathless and dizzy. If he’d been standing, he might have fallen to his knees. As it was, he gripped his bedpost hard, the wood creaking from the pressure as he rose on unsteady legs. “Is this real?”
He was aware of how stupid the question sounded when the letter was literally in Zeyar’s grasp, but it was the only thing he could manage. He had lived in the nightmare for so long, he couldn’t believe that there was a way out. Paranjay was still alive. Montrose was willing to return him. By tomorrow, their family would be whole once more.
“It’s real,” Zeyar said.
For a moment, the two of them stared at each other. There was no scorn or irritation on Zeyar’s face, only a deep happiness, one that reflected in Hasan’s heart. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d looked at each other with this kind of vulnerability. With hope.
Hasan rushed forward. Zeyar opened his arms, his steady weight absorbing the impact of Hasan’s embrace. His elder brother closed his arms around him, thumping him on the back triumphantly. It didn’t matter, all those things they’d said before. They might have been brothers at war, but Montrose’s letter had been a reminder of whom they were fighting?—and whom they were fightingfor.
Whatever they did, they did for each other.
• • •
Poppy didn’t try to jailbreak herself again after her first disastrous attempt. For one, she didn’t think she had the energy to summon her unnatural power again. Her entire body had ached from head to toe afterward, each beat of her pulse sending a spike of pain to her brain, reminding her of the way the Jackal claimed to have found her?—looking like a corpse.
She spent a lot of time thinking about their last interaction. Once she’d calmed down, she’d been stunned at the way she’d behaved. What kind of lady resorted to violence? She stared at the bloodstains on the tile, unable to believe that she had been the one who spilled it. The woman who had attacked a beast?—who was she? Even if he had deserved it, it had been incredibly foolish to rush him. At worst, he could have retaliated in kind. As it was, she had all but guaranteed he wouldn’t work with her.
She resolved to apologize, but the Jackal hadn’t come back since, sending Harithi to deliver meals instead. Though she would never admit it out loud, she wished he would. She hadn’t forgotten the last thing she’d said to him:Maybe we can help each other.Admittedly, she had been grasping at straws, trying to get him to talk. But the more she thought about it, the more the idea made sense. If she wanted to overthrow Richard, she would need manpower to match his. As long as Richard was backed by the police, he would always outnumber her. Richard himself had said the Jackal had atleasttwo hundred people in his network. If she allied with the Jackal and his gang, then she would have a force of her own.
The Jackal stood to benefit as well. Once she was viceroy?—vicereine?—of Viryana, they could come to some sort of arrangement. She couldn’t give him free rein to terrorize her citizens, obviously, but it would be in his best interest to ally with her, someone from the upper echelon of Welkish society. He’d be foolish to pass it up, at least without consideration. But for her proposal to be most effective, she needed to knowwhatthe Jackal wanted. He had refused to share what it was he was trying to get from Richard. The only thing he had confirmed was that it wasn’t money, which was a damned shame, given that it was the one thing she had a surplus of.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Her head swiveled toward the door?—could it be Samina again? She hadn’t shared the interaction with Harithi, half afraid that Harithi would tell her there was no such woman here and that she had imagined the whole encounter, isolation driving her mad. She held her breath, but when the cell door swung open, it was the Jackal on the other side. For a moment, she didn’t recognize him. He was outfitted in Welkish formal wear, with a white button-down dress shirt and a dark suit jacket that accentuated his trim waist and broad shoulders. His hair was still wild, falling over his face as he looked down, slipping his key ring into his pocket.
Then he tilted his chin up to look at her. She stifled a gasp. Blue and green half-healed bruises mottled the skin around his nose. It looked far too serious to be her handiwork, and yet it was. The Jackal raised one eyebrow at her, daring her to look away. For a moment, she considered staying silent, but it seemed cowardly.
She steeled herself. “I’m sorry about your nose.”
“Oh.” The Jackal opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he said, “It’ll heal. I’ve had worse.”
An awkward silence filled the room. She dropped her gaze to his hands. Instead of a tray of food, he carried an unmarked shopping bag. “What’s in there?”
“A new dress,” he said. “You’re going back home.”
His words took a moment to register. “What?” Poppy spluttered.
“Your fiancé finally took the time to write back,” the Jackal said, smirking. “The trade will happen tonight.” His smirk faded. “You don’t look nearly as excited as I thought you’d be. What’s the matter?”
All the blood had drained from her face. She couldn’t go back, not yet. She hadn’t struck her deal with the Jackal yet, nor did she know what Richard’s plans were. She would be walking back into the lion’s den blindfolded, with no weapon or armor of her own.
“Nothing.” She forced herself to put on a smile. “Nothing’s the matter. I’m just relieved.”
“You have an odd way of showing it,” he remarked, dark eyes narrowed. “You know what I think? I think you look scared.”
“Forgive me if I ascribe no importance to your thoughts,” she said, trying to snatch the bag from him.
He didn’t release it, holding it firmly between them as he gave her a long, lingering look, searching for something in her face. She closed it off, hardening the set of her jaw. The Jackal already held all the power by virtue of being her kidnapper?—she would not give him the last card she held, not unless he started laying down some of his.
Finally, he released the bag, seemingly finished with his inspection. She hoped it had been inconclusive. “I’ll wait outside while you change. We’ll leave once you’re dressed.”
After the door had closed behind him, she lifted the dress out of the shopping bag. It was an off-the-rack piece, but after her days spent in the borrowed salwar kameez, it seemed the most luxurious thing she had owned in her life. The dress was pure white, cut at calf length, with a fit-flare form and elbow-length sleeves. Small seed-pearl buttons trailed from the collar to the belted waist. The Jackal had also acquired white lace wrist-length gloves, matching patent-leather kitten heels, and a lacy white parasol. It was two seasons out of fashion, but Poppy gave it a content twirl anyway.
When she announced that she was dressed, the Jackal returned to blindfold her. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but he tied a firm knot, preventing her from squinting down at her feet while they walked. His palm burned against her back as he guided her out of the basement. The sun kissed her cheeks like an old friend. Even though she couldn’t see it, she tilted her face up instinctively, gulping down fresh air like she’d been trapped underwater for the past week. The scent of sea brine flooded her nose?—were they near the docks? The Jackal continued to lead her for another minute or so. Then they stopped, and he removed his hand from her back.
He tugged on the knot at the back of her head, and the fabric fell away. Poppy exhaled in relief. She glanced around, surveying her surroundings. He had taken her to a garage behind a stretch of buildings. Above the tin roofs, thick gray clouds marred the blue sky, spiraling from smokestacks. From here, she had no way of telling which way they had come from, preventing her from returning to the Jackal’s den again.
The Jackal unlocked a dark sedan with tinted windows. “Ladies first,” he said, opening the passenger door.
“Where are we going?” she asked, sliding inside.
