“Your son?” I manage. “Which one?”
Bemmar's nostrils flare. “Daynthazar, of course! I know you had something to do with it.”
Heat radiates from him in palpable waves. My hands tremble slightly in my lap. Should I tell him about Byzu? Keep silent? If Bemmar already knows about his other son's treachery, admitting knowledge could void whatever protection our marriage provides. Dayn had warned me that ignorance of Byzu’s treachery was my only protection right now.
But if the king really doesn't know about Byzu, and I don’t tell him, what happens to Dayn?
I shouldn't care.I should just be focused on fighting, screaming, clawing my way out…
“I… I had nothing to do with Dayn's disappearance, your grace.” I lift my chin. “And obviously it wouldn’t be in my interest to kill him right now. He’s my key to protection here.” I hesitate, wetting my lower lip. “He left our room this morning to speak with Byzu. Weren't you told?” No harm dropping the brother’s name like that, I figure.
“Byzu never saw him. Neither did Arrynth.” Bemmar's jaw tightens. “Anees leads the search party now. They're combing the palace. My son wouldn't simply wander off now. We had court business today.”
“So Dayn just... vanished?”
Bemmar's eyes narrow to slits of flame.
“Many of our kind opposed this union,” he says. “Ifit is indeed a fact that you had nothing to do with it…” His massive shoulders shift beneath his robes. “The threats before the wedding were numerous. Someone might have acted on their words.”
I lean forward, pulse quickening. “I could track him. I know spells that might work if you'd just let me out?—”
“No,” Bemmar cuts me off, retreating toward the door. “You will remain here until our investigation concludes. We cannot yet rule you out as a suspect.”
I spring to my feet. “I'm not some prisoner?—”
The guards move like striking vipers. Steel-tipped spears level at my chest before I can finish the sentence.
“Fine,” I mutter, palms raised.
“House arrest,” Bemmar pronounces from the threshold. “Nyssa will attend to any basic needs.”
The door closes with finality. Guards take position outside while Bemmar's footsteps fade down the corridor, each step heavy with royal fury. I press my ear against the wood, listening until silence returns.
Something has happened to Dayn.
I pace the room, fingers tracing the warding nets. Mentioning Byzu’s treachery would be like playing Russian roulette with five chambers loaded.
“I don't even care what happens to Dayn,” I whisper to the empty room, the lie bitter on my tongue.
But even if I wanted to help him, revealing what I know about his brother would only paint a target on my back. Dead assassins don’t complete missions. Neither do dead spies. And I'd be foolish to trust anyone now, including Bemmar.
I slide down the wall until I hit the floor. Gods, dragon politics almost make our coven's backstabbing look like playtime.And here I am: one darkblood girl with a knife against an entire dynasty of fire-breathing megalomaniacs.Perfect. Truly living my worst life.
24
BRYNN
Time melts when I’m buried in Darkbirch’s oldest journals. Much as I would’ve loved to bolt for Draethys weeks ago, mapping a route there has been a bitch.
Our coven’s spirit stock is still healing, and everyone’s nagging me to drill for the trials, yet here I am, nose-deep in books, chasing any scrap about Draethys.
A battered tome thumps to the table as Chad strides in, a dark mug of moonthorn tea clutched in one hand and bad news stamped across his face.
“Bloodbane Coven got hit again,” he announces, sliding the mug toward me.
I pause long enough to gulp the steaming bitterness. “Perfect, another kick in the metaphorical balls.” I glare at the yellowed pages that’d crumble without our preservation wards.
Chad drops into the chair opposite, eyes flicking to the stacks. “You heard me?”
