“A pawn? Who is backing her?”
“There is only theories. No proof. Yet.” Killian turned towards the dungeon where Serua was being kept. Locked behind a thick iron door. “I’ll explain more. After.”
Accepting that, Loran stepped to the side and followed Killian through the door to where Serua sat waiting. He stood at Killian’s back, a silent spectator.
Serua was old, nearing her ninth century and it showed. She sat cross-legged on the wet dungeon floor, her back to the far wall, ignoring the way the cold seeped into her dress. Her back was straight as a board with her hands folded carefully in her lap. She had a strong nose and a heavy brow with dark coloring.
There was a handsome beauty to her, a sense of pride in every movement.
She didn’t flinch under Killian’s sharp gaze.
“This is the second time that I have stood here, in this spot, and accused someone of treason.” Killian’s voice was quiet and deadly. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Serua Baraeth?”
Serua lifted her chin. “I do not.”
“Do you deny the charges against you?”
“I do not.”
“Tell me why. Why would you do this?”
“I didn’t think I would need to tellyouof all people why,” Serua said, glaring up at him. “The king’s attack dog. You were there. I’m sure you played your part in his own bout of treason.”
Killian growled.
Serua swallowed. “Fyar Engarathi and I are guilty of the same crime. And yet here I sit, while he had the throne for a century. No longer. I did my duty.” She nodded curtly and lowered her voice. “Yes. Yes. I did my duty to my kingdom. To my king.”
“He is your king,” Killian shouted, his temper flaring.
“He is not my king!” Serua matched him. “He killed my king!”
The silence was oppressive. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
Killian felt Loran stiffen at his back.
“My king,” Serua wept, folding her hands over her heart. Chains rattling. “King Numar. Murdered by his own son. Oh, my king.”
Killian knelt. “Who told you these lies? Who are you working with?”
“No one had to tell me. I saw it with my own eyes.”
That wasn’t possible. “You lie.”
“I saw how he plotted—howyouplotted—for the throne. No one had to tell me.” Serua’s voice had gone shrill, she curled in on herself and began to shake. “Fyar Engarathi is a disgrace! Hedidn’t deserve to sit where King Numar sat. He didn’t deserve it. So I-I did my duty. I took care of the problem. I did my duty.”
She continued to mumble under her breath, rocking back and forth.
Killian lunged forward, his hands working to pry open her mouth. She fought, shrieking as he held her down, his knee pressed into her stomach painfully. Wrenching her jaws apart, he took hold of her tongue and yanked.
There it was, a black line down the center.Enil. The sameenilthat Killian had seen on Fayren Ulr’s tongue months ago.
A chef in the kitchens and a servant with access to the king’s quarters. The Lords Yvylr had quite the reach.
Releasing her, Killian sat back on his heels, his eyes narrow as he watched her scramble away from him, gagging and choking, tears and spit trailing down her face.
“Fayren Ulr,” said Killian. Serua flinched. “Who else?”
Serua shook her head, her jaw clamped shut.
