Did the king of Delletina know about this woman? How she played kings and countries against each other? Yarif heard her mention “when we get to Wren” to the man who appeared to be her top lieutenant—a Cormiran deserter based on overheard conversation.
The campfire crackled at Yarif’s back. He tuned out the moaning of at least two people coupling on the ground, reminding him of his one night with Draylon, though Draylon never strayed far from his mind.
Yarif and his captors entered the mountains proper yesterday, and the air grew chilly at night. Those from Cormira used to the heat of their homeland complained about what they considered cold, the rocky, uneven terrain that forced them to lead their horses rather than ride, and the thinness of the air, prone to cause headaches.
At least Yarif wasn’t draped over a horse now, shaken until his guts ached, though his thin blanket smelled of horse and unwashed brute
His guts now ached for different reasons. Commander Illa ordered her underlings to feed him and give him water, which he only received if she watched. When she turned her back, the jeering would-be soldiers divided Yarif’s portion among themselves, leaving him parched, hungry, hurting, and weak.
Or perhaps it was Commander Illa’s intent to make herself appear to be helping. standing between Yarif and those who would take his life. He’d read of fighting units using such tactics to capture a person’s mind as surely as their body.
Beat them, then offer comfort, breaking their spirit. Then send them home where they’d be tattooed, viewed with suspicion. Or even disowned.
He must hold on. While he’d never met the king of Delletina that he recalled, if Commander Illa intended to turn Yarif over to the court there, he’d possibly receive much better treatment.
But what if there’d been a coup and King Niam, known as a compassionate ruler, no longer sat on the throne?
Was Draylon pursuing, trying to get Yarif back? Yarif scoffed at his fanciful notions. No, Draylon and the emperor had accomplished what they’d set out to do—put Draylon on the throne and have Yarif willingly give up control of Renvalle.
Yarif stared at the stars. Deities lived among the shimmering lights, or so he’d been told while still in the nursery. If only they’d look down, see his misery, and help him.
Why would they? He couldn’t possibly be important enough for a deity to concern themselves with, not even the Goddess of Misery.
“I know you’re awake,” Illa said, laying her bedroll beside Yarif’s.
Yarif remained quiet. What game did she intend to play now? Couldn’t she sleep anywhere else?
“You know your husband isn’t coming for you, don’t you?” she purred.
Yes, Yarif did, deep in his heart, yet he still hoped.
“The emperor forbade him. You’re on your own, little princeling.”
King consort,but Yarif didn’t correct her.
“You’re only alive because of me,” Commander Illa boasted. “My men would sooner kill you than see your arrogant face one more day.”
Arrogant?
She laughed. “This time next year, I’ll be seated on my own throne, beholden to no man. Never again will I have to pretend some foolish man is wise and powerful to get what I want. Or have your pig of a father grunting over me. Though he was so easily swayed by a pretty face.” Illa paused, likely giving the suggestion time to sink in.
Father and Illa?
“Women shouldn’t be subject to men,” Illa continued. “We serve in the military. I’m a commander!” Grumbling from around them at least made her lower her voice. “You don’t know what it’s like to be treated as a pawn, coming from a once-powerful family, constantly reminded of your ancestors’ failings.”
Don’t I?
“I will be queen without a king and never have to serve anyone again.”
Why did she insist on telling Yarif her wild delusions night after night? Illa rambled on while Yarif lay in the darkness, planning.
Lack of food and water left him too weak to run and nowhere to run to anyway, not knowing his surroundings. Though even if he fled and died, he’d take pleasure in denying this scheming commander her prize.
Once more, he pretended to sleep when a nightwatchman approached Illa.
“What is it?” she snapped, sitting up in her bedroll.
“Our scouts spotted a camp behind us.” The man spoke in Cormiran
