Page 127 of Queen of War and Ruin

Zarek nods and turns his horse. And then, riding so slowly it almost hurts, we turn toward the Barrier Mountains. Petrys clears his throat as Zarek leads his horse away from the stables and into a tight alleyway that threads toward the city walls.

“It might look better if we talk,” Petrys whispers. “Normally, I mean. Like we’re travelers.”

“Travelers riding in the middle of the night,” Gerard says. “Away from the wreck of the palace. That’s not suspicious at all.”

“Fuck you,” Petrys scowls.

“Not a chance,” Gerard replies. “You’re not my type, sweetheart.”

“Stop it,” Zarek says. He sounds exhausted.

I nudge my horse, Ebony, until we’re riding next to Gerard.

“What are you doing here?” I finally manage to ask.

Gerard smiles. His teeth flash in the pale moonlight filtering through the low haze of dust that’s slowly settling over the city of Vsenrog.

“Rescuing you,” he replies. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Petrys huffs.

“Holy hells,” Zarek mutters under his breath. “This is going to be a long trip.”

“If we make it out of the city at all,” Petrys adds.

Chapter 65

Zarek

WHAT ARE YOU FEELING GUILTY ABOUT NOW?

Someone clears his throat behind me.

It must be Petrys, then. From the weight of the footsteps, I thought it was either Petrys or Gerard coming up behind me as I watched the valley. But only Petrys would be polite enough to warn me he was coming.

I turn away from the sunlit meadow that slopes down toward the road to see my brother walking up the hill behind me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” I ask him.

He sinks onto the grass beside me. “You should have woken me up hours ago. We’re supposed to be taking turns keeping watch, remember?”

I shrug, then turn back to the meadow. Wind ruffles the flowers, making the butterflies dance and the aspen tree tremble against my back. We traveled all night, riding slow but riding hard, then collapsed in the thickest grove of pine trees we could find when dawn began to stretch her rosy fingers across the slate-gray sky.

And, yes. There was some talk about taking turns keeping watch. Which I ignored.

“I got enough sleep back in the palace,” I tell my brother.

“Bullshit,” he replies.

I shrug again, then pick another blade of grass to twirl between my fingers. I’ve spent the whole day leaning against this aspen tree, staring at that meadow, and trying to understand what in the nine hells I did to Malrik’s ballroom last night. I don’t particularly want to talk about it, but knowing Petrys, I doubt he’ll just let that go.

Petrys clears his throat again; I brace myself for what’s coming.

“Here,” he says.

There’s a low rustle as he pulls something from his vest. I turn and see a dagger in the palm of his hand. I open my mouth, but the words don’t come.

“Take it,” he says. “It looks weird to see you without one.”