“No.” Tavin felt the ugly fire in him bristle and hiss at that. “I won’t do that to either of them.”
“Then do itforboth of them.” Khoda looked genuinely unhappy. “This is all still purely hypothetical. But we both know what Fie’s capable of. What she and the prince can do together. And we know what lengths they’ll go to save what they love.” He grimaced. “So if it looks like Rhusana’s going to win, if it looks like there’s no way out… Think about it. You could be what we need to take her down from the inside.”
Tavin didn’t answer. He didn’t want to think about it; he wanted Jas on the throne, and Rhusana in prison, and to stay with Fie as long as she abided him, which was hopefully the rest of their lives. “I’m going,” he muttered.
“Just in case,” Khoda called after him. “If you think it’s a good idea… might want to get a haircut.”
They were in his mother’s tent, Rhusana gloating and sauntering around like she did when she was sure of victory. He hated it, hated her, hated how easily she’d done it.
And now she was gripping his chin, whispering in his ear, and offering him the throne on a white-gold platter.
It was just as Khoda had said. There was no way out.
There had never been a way out. This was what he was supposed to do. This was sacrifice. This was love.
He just hoped that when Fie killed him, it would be quick.
He just hoped this was enough.
The Owl clerk’s voice broke through the fog.Is this enough?she asked.Or would you like to see more?
More, Fie answered.
Whoever had nearly broken into Jas’s prison was smart, but they were a terrible spy.
Then again, if Fie hadn’t just yelled that the only Sakar child was dead a few days ago, he wouldn’t have known. He suspected the person wearing her face now was banking on that.
“Is there an exit over here?” the spy asked, stepping toward the back of the statue. “I’ll just leave this way.”
“No—!” He seized her arm, reading the caste in her blood to know what he was dealing with—
A Crow.
A witch.
It hadn’t even taken her seven days to break into the royal palace and find a prince hidden in a secret prison known only to Phoenix monarchs.
She was absolutely going to murder him by the end of the week.
He’d never been more delighted.
Then he realized: if she had so much as a notion—if she knew the danger he was in, spying on the queen—she would kill herself trying to bring it to an end.
She already had to hate him for the choice she thought he’d made. He had to make sure she kept hating him.
It took everything in him to let her go.
The firebird roared over Tavin’s head, smashing into the wrought-gold sun behind the thrones. He liked to think that somewhere, Fie was laughing. He’d made sure she had the best view possible.
It had been a risk, giving Khoda the schedule for the coronation, but the Black Swan had assured him that whatever happened wouldn’t be traced back to him. He’d been right.
Fie had made it look like the work of an angry god, of Ambra’s ghost. For all he knew, it was.
It was night, and he was alone. Not in that hideous bedchamber—when his escort had hurried him up there the night before, after the disastrous coronation, he hadn’t precisely been able to sneak away. Tonight was different. He was in his own room, the one he’d spent the last nine years of his life in.
And he was lying on his own bed, face buried in the blanket he’d made sure to take with him from Draga’s camp, because it was the only thing in this entire damned palace that still smelled like Fie.
Rhusana had tried to make him kill her today. Not that the queen had known; she’d just tried to make an example of a dissident, with the added bonus of reminding him he was as much on a leash as her ridiculous pet tiger. But he’d seen it, the look in Fie’s eyes, when she realized how easily he could end her life at the edge of that terrible well.
