I know my brother well. What he’s capable of. This is not the place where Ayda and her youngling have a flourishing future.
This is the place where serpents choke happiness while it sleeps. Where young princesses are ripped from their pallets in the middle of slumbertime, forced on the back of foreign beasts, and flown to a distant city. Treated like a lump of bloodstone.
Likecurrency.
This is the place where new mahs die on their bloody birthing sheets. Where secrets fester until they’re rotten enough to poison the world.
Teeth gritted, I lean forward and set the vial of moonlight on a shelf between stacks of polishing cloths, then get to work loosening my bodice,yanking it free with a heaving breath. Filling my lungs properly for the first time since I fastened the Creators-damned thing in place.
I pull my leathers on before gently unbinding, ungagging, and redressing Ayda, just easing my cloak from beneath her head when the hairs on my arms lift.
My gaze snaps to her face, straight into bold-blue eyes staring at me.
My heart drops so fast I almost forget to breathe, half expecting her to open her mouth and scream. To bring my fucking world down with a simple sound.
Except she doesn’t.
There is no fear in her wide eyes. No panic or anger. No confusion. Just two probing orbs behind a sheen of tears, leading me to wonder if we shared more than justresemblancewhile I wore her skin.
If part of her soul traveled with me on that heartbreaking journey, too.
Her gaze drops to where Elluin’s diary is bound against my ribs, turning my blood to ice.
Guess that answers that.
She closes her eyes, a tear slipping free as she lifts a hand, resting it on her abdomen like a shield. “You don’t have to kill me,” she whispers, lashes lifting. “I won’t say anything.”
I know she won’t.
Nobody in their right mind could absorb the words in this diary and not choose the moral side of the coin. Tyroth may be the pah of her unborn child, but Elluin was The Shade’s blood-born queen. History notes a postpartum bleed was the reason she never got to see Kyzari grow, but I don’t believe that.
I doubt Ayda does either.
The entire fucked-up situation has a taint that sticks to the male who currently holds the obsidian throne.
“I could never.” I reach into the pocket of my cloak, retrieving a hefty pouch of bloodstone. Enough to purchase a small tavern in this part of the world. “But I must insist you leave,” I implore, taking her cool hand to curl her fingers around the pouch. “Get out of Arithia. Find somewhere safe, far away from Tyroth Vae—”
“I can’t.” She untangles her hand from mine. From the pouch.
I frown. “Can’t … orwon’t?”
A long silence passes as more tears slip free. “You should go,” she finally whispers, causing a shiver up my spine.
Right.
I stand, dash my cloak around my shoulders, and flick up the hood, pinching the buttons shut to ensure my leathers are well-concealed. “Then you will likely end up dead, just like Elluin,” I mutter, tossing the pouch of bloodstone.
It lands on the floor with a heftythudthat makes Ayda flinch. Or perhaps it’s my words sinking in.
Good.
“This world is not kind to females, bastards, or those who wear no beads,” I continue, passing a pointed glance at the clip in her ear. I grab my vial of moonlight off the shelf and stuff it into my pocket, casting us in darkness. “Remember that.”
I open the door and leave.
Iswing my arm back, then thrust itup, smashing my fist against the ice thatjust
won’t
