If she answered, he didn’t hear it, because the doors at the end of the hall burst open. In strode a small, dark-haired woman dressed in a rich garnet gown. She walked with a terrifying amount of purpose—her shoulders thrust back and her chin so high, as if she could part the Divide with each ensuing step. Though she wore no crown, Urtzi knew immediately this must be the Queen Mother the guard had mentioned. She was so stunning that Urtzi did not immediately realize that a man—no, a tall boy—trailed in her wake.
Osana was on her feet, snapped out of her trance, face pressed to the bars.
“I didn’t know who you really were,” she insisted. Never blinking. Never glancing away. Her jaw was as firm as her gaze, but all the color had drained from her face. “I swear. I didn’t know. Not until they said Ferdinand’s name at the gate. And even then I wasn’t sure until you walked in this room.”
The regal lady pursed her lips.
“Here you will address him as King Ferdinand. And me as the Queen Mother. Do you understand, Osana?” The girl nodded solemnly, her blue eyes drifting over the woman’s shoulder to the hulking form of the king. The boy’s clear green eyes hadn’t strayed from her face since he’d entered the room, something like sadness glistening in them, in contrast to his mother’s obvious fury. “You did not know we’d gone because you had alreadyleft us.”
“Osana,” Urtzi ventured, joining the conversation from his cell. “I get the sense you know them.”
The Queen Mother’s lips quirked. “AndIget the sense you didn’t tell your new friends exactly who you are.”
“Who…?”
“Osana is a watcher.” This from the king, who suddenly looked like he hadn’t slept in a millennium. “For the Warlord. Or was. Until she escaped with my sister.”
Urtzi swallowed, this new information buzzing in his ears. He tried to read Osana’s face, to figure out whose side she was on now, but she looked away.
“Girl, you are lucky you have information we need,” the Queen Mother announced.And the king’s interest, for what it was worth.“Our soldiers tell us you arrived at the gate looking for Princess Amarande. Why did you believe she was here?”
Osana glanced at the king, but his mother was not having it. “Do not look to him. Answer the question.”
Her throat working, Osana swallowed. Quick as a snake, the Queen Mother’s right hand shot out, snagging Osana’s fingers and yanking her forward until she had the girl’s arm jammed between the bars at a painful angle.
Osana cried out, and the king took a step toward them, reaching out as if he could stop it. But then he abruptly retreated, his eyes pinned on a dagger that appeared in his mother’s left hand. The woman twisted the arm further, revealing the blue veins at Osana’s wrist.
The Queen Mother pressed the tip of the dagger to the constellation of veins until it drew blood, all the while pinning Osana with her gaze. Waiting.
The girl squeezed her eyes shut, tears snaking out the corners. Then, quickly and clearly, she gave away the entire plan. “Amarande was supposed to come here, shore up Ardenia’s defenses against Pyrenee’s retaliation for Renard’s death, and then await a message and meet us.”
“Us?” The blade pressed deeper, the blood snaking rivulets around the steel tip. “Say his name, girl.”
“Us—Luca, the Otsakumea. The resistance.”
The Queen Mother smiled. “You will take us to the Otsakumea. You and this pirate. And we will put an end to that ridiculous resistance once and for all.”
“Wait. Mother, we’re expectingwarany day,” the king argued at her back, an urgency in his features that he did not betray in his voice. “Send a message. Have a team of watchers go. It cannot be us. And we certainly can’t send any of Ardenia’s soldiers to do the Warlord’s bidding.”
“I don’t see why not. We tell them we believe the resistance is tied to King Sendoa’s death. Simple.”
“I believe I’ve made it clear how I feel about lies, Mother.” Here, he took a step forward, and placed a hand softly on her back, his eyes on the dagger still pressed to Osana’s pulse. “That battle can wait, the one for Ardenia cannot. One battle at a time. Send the message; await news from Basilica and Pyrenee. Please.”
The Queen Mother’s jaw worked and she swallowed once before seeming to relent, her shoulders softening. The king’s stiff posture relaxed a touch, too. And then the woman was removing her blade from Osana’s wrist—but not without one final dig.
Osana yelped, and Ferdinand flinched.
The nick was deep, just missing the vein but drawing a fresh crop of thick droplets of red blood. The Queen Mother coolly released Osana’s arm. “When you don’t return with the princess the wolf cub will panic. We will simply wait until Luca comes running himself. Amarande ran after him; there is no indication he will not do the same in return.”
The Queen Mother turned her attention then to Urtzi. He immediately withdrew his hands from the bars—this woman would take a finger without warning. It was strange, facing him, she did look so much like Amarande in size and stature it was disconcerting. “Do you have reason to believe differently, pirate? You were there for the wedding at the Bellringe, no?”
“Yes, I was at the wedding; no, I don’t believe differently.”
The Queen Mother examined every inch of his face, then nodded, satisfied. “Good.” She stowed her dagger and turned on her heel, calling to the king, who had stepped to Osana’s cell and was wrapping her wounded wrist with a clean white handkerchief. “Dinner with the Royal Council, my king. Now.”
Ferdinand made to follow his mother, already stomping toward the exit, but Osana caught his fingers with her good hand. The king paused and flipped her grip so that he was holding her hand just as much as she was clutching his.
“Is Amarande truly dead?” she whispered.
