Page 42 of Bride of Ash & Dust

Zarek

NOT WHAT I EXPECTED

“Trouble with the missus?” Alia asks me, with a smile.

I run my fingers through my hair, trying to dislodge some of the hay that’s tangled in there. I spent the early hours of the morning trying, and failing, to get some sleep in one of the few safe places I have in this godsdamned palace: Alia’s hayloft.

“I figured she was a firecracker,” Alia continues. “Quiet at first, but I bet if you push her hard enough⁠—”

Her voice trails off as she shakes her head with a rather salacious grin.

“It wasn’t that,” I mutter. “I’m— I mean, she’s⁠—”

Alia snorts. “Come have a cup of tea,” she offers.

A few moments later, I’m sitting in the converted stall that serves as Alia’s living space, kitchen, and office. She shoves a stack of parchment to the side before putting a steaming mug in front of me. The liquid inside is black as a grave, with an oily sheen on top. It’s hardly the kind of tea they serve in the royal court.

“Perfect,” I say.

I take a sip as Alia regards me with her lips pressed together.

“She’s not what I expected,” Alia finally says. “Your new wife, that is.”

I put my mug down and drag my fingers through my hair. A piece of hay falls to the floor.

“No,” I reply. “She’s not.”

Alia glances over her shoulder, as if she can see the looming palace of Vsenrog through the walls.

“At first, I figured they’d just eat her alive,” she says. “But now⁠—”

“She’s too young,” I snap. “And too godsdamned innocent.”

Alia raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think she’s as innocent as she looks.”

I snort. Alia lifts a stack of parchment off the chair opposite me, drops it on the floor, and sits down.

“Why do you think he did it?” she asks in a whisper. “Why you and not Prince Lucian? I mean, marrying that princess to his own son would give Malrik a stronger claim to that damn mine.”

I shift on the hard chair. The thought of Lilias marrying Prince Lucian does uncomfortable things to my insides.

Shit. If this marriage is a trap, it’s working beautifully.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “And I don’t like it. Malrik never does anything without a reason.”

Alia grunts in agreement. She knows almost as much about Vsenrog’s plots and schemes as I do. Hells, she’s the one who guided me through my first few years. Alia taught me everything I needed to know to survive this damned place.

She was there when I found Gerrart. If it weren’t for her, I might have followed him into the Howling Plains.

I shake my head, trying to knock that memory back down to the pits of the nine hells.

“Until I figure out what he wants from this, I need to stay away from her,” I announce. “Being linked to me is going to paint a target on her back.”

Alia rocks back in her seat and crosses her arms over her chest.

“You like her,” she says.

It’s not a question. I don’t bother to answer it. Alia tilts her chair back against the wall and bites her knuckle.