Page 69 of Queen of War and Ruin

I cross my arms over my chest. “No.”

“You can hide in the stables,” he continues. “In the hayloft. Just for a day or two, until it’s safe.”

“Zarek—”

“You can sneak out at night. Hells, you’re good enough with horses, no one will even notice you leaving⁠—”

“I’m not leaving!” I snap.

Zarek falls silent. He frowns; for a heartbeat I think he’s going to scream at me. And then he spins away from me and lets his head fall against the window. His shoulders tremble. The ghost of his reflection flickers in the murky glass.

For some reason, the hunting lodge rises in my mind. I remember Zarek in the stables, drunk and idiotic, screaming about leaving. And then trembling in my arms in a pile of hay, begging me not to let him go.

I come to my feet slowly. Zarek straightens as I walk to the window, his dark eyes watching my reflection in the glass as the sky turns gray with the approaching dawn. He’s panting, his breath coming in fast little gulps. I stop just behind him, wondering if I should reach for him. If he would want my touch.

No, probably not. He’s angry with me, isn’t he?

Elrick’s words whisper through my mind. Lilias, that man is a walking disaster. My hands sink into my dress, holding the fabric tight.

“I’m not leaving,” I say again, in a voice that’s almost a whisper. “I won’t. Not if it’s going to put Elrick and everyone with him at risk.”

Zarek’s eyes close and his reflection trembles. His breath comes in sharp little gasps.

“I know,” he says, his voice low and tight.

Above him, the first pale pink streaks of dawn begin to spread across the sky.

“I’m sorry,” Zarek whispers, although his voice is so soft that I wonder if I imagined it.

And then, slowly, almost elegantly, the snake of Vsenrog falls to the floor.

Chapter 36

Zarek

FALLING APART

Icouldn’t protect her.

My chest feels tight and hot, like there’s a live coal lodged beneath my rib cage. I try to breathe, but my throat won’t open. My lungs feel like they’ve been packed full of wet sand.

Images flash through my mind. The prince of Lisal with blood leaking from his lips, my dagger in his chest. The general from Aning laughing at my jokes as he drank his poisoned wine.

You learn to carry it, Petrys told me. And maybe that’s true.

Maybe Petrys is strong enough to carry it.

But I have never been strong. Malrik’s voice echoes through my skull.

Weak.

I gasp for breath, trying to fill my screaming lungs. Gerrart’s face rises in the darkness on the other side of the window, his mouth open, flies gathering in the corners of his eyes.

I didn’t protect Gerrart. Just like I didn’t protect my wife.

“You have to be brave,” the king of Dungal told me, and I knew it was important, because the king had never spoken to me before. He’d never even looked at me before. “And you have to be strong,” he said. “Lives will depend on this.”

But I wasn’t brave, was I? I wasn’t strong.