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“No . . .” I dug in hard enough that she winced. And I said, with all the hatred I had always reserved for the Capewells, “I am something worse.”

48

“It’s in your interest to speak quickly.” I pitched my voice low and sweet, my grip on the pin adding a new shade of threat to my usual courtier’s lilt. “We highborns are known to get easily bored.”

Mara squirmed against the wall, her hands chained behind her. “I’ll be dead soon anyway.”

“Hmm, and is this really how you want to spend your final hours? At the mercy of a filthy Wielder?”

Her pulse juddered, and I knew she could see the truth in my warning. Could see that although I may have been a thorn on the Capewell family tree, I’d always shared the same roots. And like the Hunters of Daradon—like Mara herself—I wouldn’t only spill her blood . . . I would relish doing so.

At last, Mara’s body untensed. She gulped, the hairpin bobbing with the movement. “What do you want to know?”

I didn’t waste time savoring the victory. I kept the pin pressed to her throat as I asked, “Why did you come to Ansora? I know it wasn’t for me.”

“Is that what you thought? How typically self-centered.” She sneered, her voice beginning to sound strangled. “I’m here because Erik is still picking us off in Daradon. It’s revolting. Having to live in dread, never knowing which of us will be next. Having to submit to a punishment we don’t deserve.”

My grip tightened on the hairpin. “I can’t imagine what that’s like,” I said darkly.

She swallowed again, seeming to realize her hypocrisy. “Toward the end of Rose Season, Garret told us that Carmen’s mother, Lady Nelle, may have stolen our compass.”

I blinked, taken aback. Garret must have directed the Capewells toward Nelle after we’d cut ties, using the evidence I’d gathered. Even now, the betrayal stung.

“When Nelle discovered we were tracking her, she realized we had a common enemy in Erik . . .” Mara wetted her lips, gave a crooked smile. “And she offered us an advantage.”

I frowned, suddenly lost. We’d been right in believing that the Hunters were trying to stop Erik from killing more Capewells. But they would need a bargaining chip to do so, and I had not been that bargaining chip. So what advantage could Nelle have possibly offered them—

I drew back, my breath catching. I’d once believed that Nelle would do anything to get Carmen on the throne. Perhaps I hadn’t been completely wrong.

Because, as Perla and I had theorized, Nelle might very well know that Erik wasn’t the legitimate heir.

“Nelle told you her suspicions about Erik’s lineage,” I breathed.

Mara’s smile widened in confirmation.

Nelle had once joined forces with Perla’s mother in the Games Hall, choosing an ally based on who would help her win. Handing this information to the Hunters was no different. Nelle didn’t have to approve of them. She only had to use them to get her daughter on a throne that should have been Carmen’s from the start.

Now, as I looked Mara over, the realization fully took root. The Hunters had never been trying to find a bargaining chip to use in negotiations with Erik, because they hadn’t wanted to negotiate with him. This had been a Hunt all along.

But Erik had been the target.

“Nelle had never found enough evidence against him,” Mara said. “But we could.”

I shook my head, still reeling from the revelation. “And you thought to search for it an ocean away?”

“I was following one of the only leads we had left. Erik had already wiped out everyone in Daradon who possessed a connection to his secret—old governesses, nurses—making their deaths look like accidents. Or at least, he believed he’d wiped out everyone.”

My eyes narrowed. “Zeke’s uncle,” I said. The Hunters had never been questioning him about me after all. He must have possessed a connection to Erik’s secret.

A connection that had cost him his life.

“You killed him,” I bit out.

“Not intentionally. But still, Nelle wasn’t happy about it. She wouldn’t offer us any more information unless I made an oath that I wouldn’t kill again during this Hunt.” Mara looked over her shoulder, toward her manacled wrists. “Check for yourself.”

I searched her wrist with my free hand. And there, under the iron manacle, was the distinct circlet of an oath band. I’m not allowed to kill you, Mara had said when she’d pinned me in the warehouse. This band must be the reason why.

But then I looked closer. While this appeared to be a traditional oath band—formed of plain, symbolic steel, without the sadistic mechanism of Perla’s band—something dangled from its locked clasp like a charm: a little disk of amber, containing a preserved insect.