“Sire—”
“Gather ten guards you trust and flush out the tunnels. Speak of this to no one.No. One. Do you understand?”
They nod, eyes again flicking to the treacherous woman on my bed.
The guards set to their tasks and I set to mine—scouring my chambers for anything else she might have hidden from me.
Thirty minutes yields nothing except for a large jar of wormbark oil. Poison, then. And she kept the wormbark oil for herself in case she was forced to consume whatever food or wine was meant for me.
Skies, she was plotting my murder. Why did she wait so long, though? She had ample opportunity. Strangely, it doesn’t cause me anymore pain. Perhaps my heart is broken beyond repair. My limbs, senses, emotions are all blanketed with numbness. It’s a small mercy.
I’ve just finished searching every inch of the room when the two guards emerge from the tunnel entrance. Again, they glance at the waterwielder’s prone form.
“Sire, we disposed of the body. We—”
“I don’t care what you did with it,” I snap. “What did your search of the tunnels yield?”
“Toxinnia,” Gregoran says gravely. “Barrels and barrels of it. Enough to take out the entire city, sire.”
My blood turns to ice.
The Equinox Festival. I underestimated her. She wasn’t planning to kill justme. Skies. She was planning to kill everyone.My gaze cuts to her pale face. Even now, she appears innocent. Pure and good. Tormik honed the perfect weapon.
And the waterwielder? She played her part beautifully.
Skies damn us both.
Her for her treachery, me for my blindness.
But there’s one thing I still can’t fathom: how did my truthwielding fail? How couldmy wifeplan a massacre under my nose? Months and months of plotting, right from the start. Without even the faintest prickle to warn me.
She must be immune. That’s the only explanation. I cut my eyes to her still-unconscious figure, laying on my bed as though she belongs there.
She doesn’t.
She never did.
“Send a message to Sulon, then get rid of the toxinnia,” I instruct. “Be discreet. And prepare the prisoners’ carriage for travel.”
I carry Mayah to the carriage myself. I prop her limp body against the wooden bench myself. I shackle her wrists with iron chains myself.
Then I sit across from her.
And I wait.
Every minute I stare at her face, my anger slowly builds. Her tear-stained face flits through my mind, kneeling besidehim, grief twisting her features. The rage in her eyes when she looked at me.
Her lover’s murderer.
The waterwielder remains unconscious for another two hours.
Embarrassing, really. Maybe I’ll tell her when she wakes. She’d always seemed to despise her weakness—unless that was an act, too.
A sharp gasp splinters the silence, and her eyes snap open, immediately rising skyward as if the storm that debilitated her still lurks overhead. Just as quickly, her eyes clench shut, and she braces.
The chains rattle as she shifts, a crease forming between her pretty brows.
Fuck. They aren’t pretty. Nothing about her is pretty.
