“No.”
Night, Ed, and Zi looked on. Their faces, which had been placid enough while we’d sprinted across the castle, tightened now with alarm.
Félix placed a hand, meant to be calming, on Baz’s shoulder, and with a sharp shrug Baz tossed it off. The broadswords that crossed against his back squeaked in their leather harness.
Aziza circled in front of him and smacked a palm flat to his chest. He pointed a hard warning glare down at her. I forced myself to step aside and tried not to, but still proceeded to, glower at Aziza’s hand against Baz’s chest with enough fury to sizzle her flesh to a crisp. As if she felt the heat of my gaze, she squeezed her fingers. It only caused them to glide against his vested chest, further igniting my ire.
Aziza tipped her head up to meet Baz’s eyes. “By the Ethers and all the Fuerin…” she whispered throatily—the cunt. “…I want to kill the bitch as much as you do. But no matter what we encounter on the other side of this door, you can’t do it.”
Baz just growled.
She pushed on his chest. “You can’t.”
“She’s right,” Night said.
“Your father will exact the price of his mate’s death from as many as will hurt you,” Félix said, both hands at his sides, though even he seemed to be struggling against the instinct to draw his bow. “Despite how much you try to hide it from him, he knows you care about the beings of the Opalese.”
“It’ll be bloody,” Night said. “Really fucking bloody.”
More somber than I’d seen her yet, Ed nodded.
When Baz finally spoke, his words were cutting as glass shards. “My father is possibly dead.”
He had better not be. He was my way out of here.
Félix said, “But he also may still live.”
Baz stood there until his bulging muscles calmed by a fraction. “Fine.”
Aziza patted his chest, as if to say, That’s a good boy. Without my permission, my feet slid my body between them.
Aziza harrumphed. This time, I remained where I was. Good boy, my ass.
Around me, and with a bitter scowl, Aziza said to Baz, “‘Fine’ like you were fine before you mowed down those soldiers in Montressón?”
Montressón was my birthplace. What had he done?
Baz only grunted. “Get out of my way. I’m going in now.”
Aziza hesitated but stepped aside. I shuffled to stand beside him, all too willing to see this empress, who’d joined her husband in pilfering the Opalese, die a final death.
“Stay back,” he told me while already guiding me behind him.
For fuck’s sake, I can take care of myself, nearly burst from my lips. But a fresh reminder that I was at least as competent as any of the Bazrians wouldn’t encourage him to let his guard down around me.
An empress probably should have had guards stationed outside her chambers in a foreign castle, but this one didn’t, and Baz opened the door without knocking. I glanced at the others, but none of them seemed particularly surprised that he wouldn’t announce himself first. Blood from the handle rubbed off onto his palm. I waited to watch him lick it—he was a sänglure, after all—but he wiped it off on a wall.
Thanks to the Rillis rope, I was second inside the room, and I soon met with Baz’s broad back. Once again, he tried to shield me, but his efforts were half-hearted, and he dropped his hand to his weapons belt, where it fidgeted. With how little I yet understood Baz’s motivations, it was evident he was considering murdering the empress, no matter what his friends had cautioned.
I didn’t know the woman, and her death wouldn’t particularly benefit me. But at the sight before us, even I was wishing I could drain all her blood, rip her head from her shoulders, and kill her for good.
Ed, Night, Félix, and Zi piled up around us.
“By scorches,” Ed murmured.
“Why would…?” Aziza began but trailed off, probably because the empress had noticed our entrance.
She wore no crown or diadem atop her long, unbound hair. Every one of the multiple windows was shuttered behind deep shadows. Lumoonlight dispelled only some of the glumness, and in that dimness, the empress’ curly strands were the color of caked blood.
