Page 92 of Queen of War and Ruin

But mostly he uses the silver chains.

Sometimes I’m fast enough to dodge the attack. Sometimes I can block it with a serving tray or a chunk of wood from his table.

And sometimes I stop the attack in other ways.

I’ll feel like I’m about to be sick, like something is getting ripped out of a deep, secret place in my body. And the silver chain will fall to the ground before it hits me, snapping and rattling on the polished stone floor.

I can’t block all the attacks, though, and when it hits me, the chain leaves strange, raised welts on my skin, almost like burns. They fade as the day wears on, although they leave me feeling jumpy and uncertain, like I’ve had too much black tea.

Varitan said he would teach me. And maybe this is what he meant. Maybe hitting me with a chain is what that sadistic bastard considers teaching, or maybe he’s waiting on the real lessons for some reason I can’t yet fathom. Either way, I keep my mouth shut.

Because he also said he would hurt Lilias. And I doubt that was an empty threat.

I sigh, then rock back on my heels. Through the expansive windows, the sun sinks toward the western mountains. These rooms have a view of the palace courtyard, and this evening, the courtyard is buzzing with activity. Malrik is clearly preparing for something. He’s probably going to hold some sort of victory party to celebrate the way he slaughtered everyone who worked in Ethiria’s castle.

I cross my arms over my chest and turn back to the room. I’ve examined it rather painstakingly, starting with the massive table holding a mess of mysterious items. Shit, Varitan called those things when I first woke up here. Stage dressing.

But it’s not all stage dressing.

There are four daggers on the table, including one that’s so similar to the dagger I was wearing when Varitan abducted me that I’m certain Varitan left it here as a test. If I take it, I give him a reason to punish me.

There are also half a dozen unopened wine bottles, pushed against the wall on the side of the table, almost as if whoever set this particular stage wanted it to look like the wine wasn’t really part of the display. Like it was here for whoever wanted to drink themselves into oblivion.

I shiver, then turn away from the row of bottles. If this is an attempt to manipulate me, it’s rather transparent. I can almost hear Malrik directing whoever set this place up, trying to fill it with things that would tempt the snake.

I turn back to the window before my eyes can catch on the strip of red silk coiled between a collection of rough clay bowls.

I haven’t dared to touch it. I haven’t even dared to look at it too closely.

There’s no way it’s the same ribbon the priest used during the wedding ceremony to tie my life to Lilias’s. But the very fact that it’s here, that Malrik knew me well enough to choose something that would torture me that effectively⁠—

Gods. It’s enough to make me want to break open those damn wine bottles.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

I turn back to the table. I’ve avoided the obvious traps, and I’ve still managed to find several things Varitan probably intended to keep hidden.

There’s a secret compartment in the desk, for one, that holds sheaths of parchment covered in a language I can’t read and a leather bag filled with what looks like fist-sized lumps of gold.

And there are two drawers at the end of the table. They’re locked, but the locks were almost insultingly easy to pick. Those hold promissory notes from King Malrik granting Varitan a jaw-dropping sum of gold, a massive estate on the coast, the title of Lord Varitan, and control over an armed platoon of Vsenrog soldiers, to be granted “once our operations are satisfactorily completed.”

The platoon piqued my interest.

I went through the platoon’s list of supplies carefully. At first, I thought Varitan just wanted a shitload of guards to take him to his new estate on the coast. But the supplies look more like he’s planning a trip to the mountains. I thought of Dungal first, but I can’t imagine why Varitan would want to attack the shattered remains of my kingdom.

No, he must be interested in crossing the Vederill Pass.

But why? I can’t imagine him setting up shop below the pass, harassing smugglers and collecting tolls. Gods above, with the gold King Malrik gave him, Varitan could probably buy that entire road and all the farms along it.

So does he want what’s on the other side of that pass? But what could that possibly be? The Iron Mountains? The kingdom of dragons? The long, dangerous road to Silver City?

I shake my head, then pinch the bridge of my nose. There’s something else on the other side of Vederill Pass, isn’t there? It’s like a shadow on the edge of my mind, something I heard about and then forgot.

The door creaks open. My body pulls tight, ready to fight; my skin crawls as Varitan steps into the room. He turns toward me. I hold my breath.

“Your king wants to torture you,” he announces.

“Well, good evening to you too,” I reply.