Page 55

And so, for three days, Xerxes watched Ryn. He watched her barely eat in her lovely, eye-catching gowns of deep crimson and bright red, decorated in fine jewels. He watched her be paraded around in that hideous veil Xerxes wanted to rip to pieces and stuff down King Alecsander’s throat. He could never stare at her for long though, he could hardly even breathe with how closely he was being watched. Guards pressed in wherever he walked, standing outside his cell at night. Vafat swished by his pedestal in minute-long intervals when he was on display. All of B’rei Mira was on edge with Per-Siana soldiers in the palace, waiting for him to do something. He never got to see Reza or speak with any Division One soldiers. Not one time did Xerxes make it close enough to even whisper to the Per-Siana negotiation team that had come here on his behalf.

“And in the desert, I told you to forget about me.”

Destructive, haunting words. His heart sank back into the shadows of his chest every time he heard his maiden say them in his mind.

Maybe he’d been damaged by Ryn enough. Maybe this was fate. It was one thing when she was betrothed to Prince Mansour—that fool was one Xerxes wouldn’t hesitate to go after. But it was different now that she was promised to Prince Emad. Xerxes couldn’t hurt a Prince who was already so afraid of everything. The poor fellow was dragged around the palace against his will, forced to sit at the head of the table beside Alecsander now, forced to show up for every kingdom affair it was painfully clear he wanted nothing to do with. It was a feeling Xerxes knew all too well.

Sour smells of breakfast filled the stale morning air. Xerxes’s back straightened when he entered the Throne Room and saw Reza and the Per-Siana negotiation team standing at the opening with bags on their shoulders, strapped in their war leathers, his Division One soldiers in silver armour.

They were leaving.

Xerxes’s chest deflated when he realized. Though, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. It wasn’t like the Per-Siana council would have offered anything to trade that would be enticing enough to get him back. It wasn’t like the council would want him back anyway.

“Xerxes…” Norkin fiddled with his chains beside him.

“Not now, Norkin,” Xerxes whispered back. “I want to watch.”

He waited, and sure enough, Reza’s droopy eyes sailed across the room and landed on him. Xerxes closed his mouth as he held his General’s stare, a thousand memories of shared tent space and frustrated conversations and righteous scolds moving between them. Even though no deal had been made to get Xerxes back, the fact that Reza had crossed the desert for him lifted his spirit. Xerxes hadn’t been permitted to join the negotiation meetings. He hadn’t a clue what was discussed, but he knew Reza would have tried everything he could think of to get Xerxes back to Per-Siana.

Xerxes hated goodbyes. And even though he couldn’t stand Ryn’s behaviour, he had to thank her for demanding the freedom of his men, for the gift of being able to see the General leave the palace alive. He gave Reza a small nod, and Reza’s head tilted forward in a subtle return.

“Xerxes,” Norkin said again firmly.

“Quiet!” A guard shoved a spear tip against Norkin’s shoulder, and Norkin’s lip curled—a new expression for the fellow who always smiled about everything. Xerxes lifted to his tip toes to peer over a Vafat in his way, watching the group of Per-Siana soldiers head to the opening. Their silver armour reflected pale morning light as they slipped out of view toward the underground tunnels where Xerxes knew the gates would open to bring them through the Outer Rings into the capital city. General Reza’s green cape vanished down the stairs last, and Xerxes sank back onto flat feet. He held his breath, waiting, pleading that nothing would follow them out. Alecsander was present on his throne, his lifeless, unblinking stare hovering on the opening, or possibly on the city beyond.

Xerxes was tugged toward his pedestal as a hooded priest-magician snarled in an ugly, crackling voice, “Complaints have risen from Pyriwell that a woman in a crimson veil was singing over the city again last night—from within the palace.”

Xerxes’s attention tore back into the Throne Room, searching for his maiden. It was the first morning in days he hadn’t noticed whether Ryn was in the room. He found her by the princes’ thrones, her light red veil turning her into a vision of B’rei Mira elegance. Prince Emad was slowly sinking into his seat at her side, his nervous gaze speeding between Ryn and the priest-magician.

“Everything was disrupted, Your Majesty,” the priest went on. He stroked a white-painted finger over the sceptre he carried. “I plead the King to deliver consequences, and I ask you to consider that maybe the Per-Siana Gold Maiden does not truly intend to side with us, or use her powers for us, even if she does marry our Prince Emad.”

Ryn’s veil was transparent enough that Xerxes marked her unwavering expression. She rotated toward Alecsander’s throne. “I was merely entertaining myself out of boredom,” she said, voice carrying authority like she was already their noble. “If the palace is restless this morning because of some mere singing, I’m not sure what that has to do with me.”

“Punish her, Your Majesty,” the priest begged, white lips thinning. “Or she might be driven to do it again, for a fourth night in a row!”

“If you’re so afraid of my songs, perhaps you should plug your ears.” Ryn flicked a crumb off the armrest with her forefinger, and Xerxes huffed.

“You’re playing with fire, Maiden,” he muttered quietly.

“Xerxes!” Norkin tried again, and Xerxes shot him a glare.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” he said through his teeth, nodding toward the tense scene before them. A guard smacked Norkin upside the head and Norkin released a frustrated growl. He dropped to sit and kicked himself back against the wall on his pedestal.

“Fine. Have it your way, Xerxes,” Norkin mumbled. “Later, you’ll wish you’d paid attention to me…” Norkin’s face blanched, and Xerxes whirled back to see Alecsander marching down the dais, his scarlet cape drifting at his back. He grabbed a fistful of Ryn’s veil, yanked so hard she tumbled off her throne, and drove her back against the wall.

“Do you think we don’t know what you’re seeking to do?” It was cracking ice and hissed curses. Xerxes’s skin pulled tight as Alecsander’s frozen lips didn’t move. No one in the room reacted to his words—no one but Ryn. “What reason do you have to try and weaken our defenses if you are wholeheartedly this kingdom’s bride?”

The first flit of fear moved across Ryn’s brown eyes, and despite his resolve, Xerxes couldn’t bear to watch. He squeezed his eyelids shut and squatted, burying his face in his hands. “El Tsebaoth,” he muttered into his fingers, “do something.” Ryn had never looked so small; Alecsander was a giant standing over her.

Norkin’s inhale drove Xerxes to lift his head. Alecsander moved out of the way for a Vafat who took the long scepter from the priest-magician and raised it over Ryn like a whip.

“Remove her veil,” the Vafat whispered. A guard reached over and tore Ryn’s veil away, smearing her eye liners and scuffing her hair. Two guards stepped in and held her arms to the wall.

“Do something! Ryn, fight back!” Xerxes thought he whispered it, but ten heads whipping in his direction told him he’d shouted it at her.

The Vafat brought the scepter down. Ryn’s head flew to the side, a thin trail of blood trickling down her cheek. Xerxes lost his mind—he ripped himself off the pedestal, but a Vafat wrapped its long fingers around his chain and yanked him back. “Ryn!?” Xerxes growled over the room. “Why are you letting them—” A gag was wrestled over Xerxes’s mouth, and he spat curses at the guards. “El Tsebaoth!” he shouted into the fabric. “El Tsebaoth, why didn’t you make her fight back?!” In the wild, chaos-inflicted delusion of Xerxes mind, he thought he saw a shadow of a smile pull at Ryn mouth.

“That didn’t even hurt.” Ryn’s voice was dry. Purple eyes narrowed upon her, and the Vafat raised the scepter to deliver another blow. This time, Ryn tugged a hand free from the guard and caught it as it came down. She pulled, and the force of it brought her off the wall—the Vafat jerked forward a step until they bumped into each other in the middle, and Ryn turned the scepter, aiming the fine point toward her already-broken temple. “You know whom I serve,” Ryn said, not a single vibration in her voice. “If you don’t like whose power runs in my veins, then kill me now,” she invited. Xerxes released a muffled croak and drove his bound hands up to rip out his own hair. “Because my allegiance has always been to the God Original. You chose me to lead armies—” Her brown eyes sailed over to Alecsander back on his throne. He wasn’t even watching the horrid show. He stared out at the city. “—I have not changed my mind about our agreement. Do you change your mind, King?”