“I won’t marry you,” she said. “Your plan will only work if I marry you; otherwise, the succession will fall to a vote.”
Richard scoffed. “Youwillmarry me.”
“Or what? You’ll expose me?” She huffed out a humorless laugh. “You’ll do that anyway. There is nothing you can threaten me with that won’t harm you as well, so long as we remain unmarried.”
He leaned in. She jerked back, bumping her head against the window. “You’ll marry me,” he said, “or instead of being exiled to some idyllic Welkish countryside, I’ll have you swinging from the gallows.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “On what grounds?”
“Treason,” Richard said, his voice laced with venom. “Conspiring with the Jackal, aknownunnatural, to extort the viceroy, not to mention arson. There’s a certain curator at the museum who will testify to seeing you together the night it burned down.”
“You arranged that meeting,” she said.
“Unofficially,” he corrected her. “The curator thought he was communicating with the Jackal from the start. According to official records, the police only arrived after the Jackal did, and so we were too late to stop him, alas. If only the Marnapur police had a better budget, we could have protected the museum.”
Outmaneuvered, again!Rage rendered Poppy speechless. She twisted her head away, her heartbeat hammering against her rib cage. How was he always several steps ahead? He had backed her into a tight corner. But he wouldnothold her there for long. She would claw her way out of this wedding, by any and all means possible.
And then Poppy would see to it that he could never threaten her again.
Chapter Thirty
Hypocritical
Hasan woke with a pulsing headache. Eyes closed, he grimaced. Pain ebbed and flowed from his left temple. Without opening his eyes, he brought his hand up to the side of his head. When his fingers came away sticky, his eyes flew open.
Though it was dark, he knew exactly what the metallic-smelling substance on his hand was: his own half-congealed blood.
He blinked at the sight, dazed. Had he had an accident while he’d been out with Poppy? They’d been in Sanivali Square. She had finally come around, demonstrating excellent control over her power. For a moment, the memory filled him with warm pride. Then he flinched as he recalled what had happened next.
“Zeyar!” Hasan flung away the cotton sheet someone had draped over him, stumbling out of bed. A wave of dizziness washed over him. He staggered into the wall, knocking one of the paintings to the ground. He paid it no mind, lurching toward the door.
He was going to find Zeyar. And then he was going to kill him.
“Zeyar!” he shouted again, tripping into the hallway.
Heavy footsteps pounded up the staircase. Zeyar’s head appeared first, followed by the rest of him. He wore a white button-down shirt and the same gray slacks from earlier, dirtied from where Hasan had kicked at him. The sleeve on his burned arm was rolled up, clean white bandages wrapped around the wound.
Hasan launched himself at his brother without a second thought. The two of them flew backward, crashing into the wall behind the landing, denting the drywall.
“What’s wrong with you?” Zeyar wrenched him into a headlock.
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Hasan said, thrashing furiously. “How could you deal with Montrose? Without telling me?”
All this time, he’d thought Zeyar had gone to the city to take care of Vinay’s family. He’d authorized him to act on his behalf, trusting him to keep his interests at heart, and then he had gone and done the very last thing Hasan would have wanted. He twisted out of Zeyar’s grasp, dancing back before swinging at him.
“There was no point discussing it with you!” Zeyar dodged the blow. “You wouldn’t have understood.” They separated, circling each other like lions.
“Because it was the wrong choice!”
Hasan lunged for Zeyar again. The two of them hit the ground with a heavy thud, each one scrambling to subdue the other.
“You act like therewasa choice,” Zeyar said, his chest heaving as he held Hasan down. “What did I tell you, Hasan? There is no white or black, only shades of gray. Men like Richard Montrose willalwayswin. We’d only be damning ourselves by supporting the losing cause.”
“Poppy could have done it.” Hasan panted, the strain on his old injuries catching up to him. “I spent all week training her. You should have seen how quickly?—”
“You trained her?” Zeyar stared at Hasan. He looked down the remaining flight of stairs, where their ma had appeared, summoned by the sound of violence. “Did you know he was training her?”
“The girl is daivyakt,” Rohini declared, hands on her hips. “She deserved to know how to commune with the gods.”
