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Not that excuses will keep me alive.
I spin around as quickly as I can, just in time to watch a shape move in the shadows of the nearby buildings. Even as adrenaline courses through my veins, there’s a small, quiet part of me that wonders if I want to dredge up the energy to fight right now.
And what I would be fighting to keep.
In the end, my instincts win out. I’ve already got a throwing star in each hand before I’ve turned completely to face the new threat.
“It’s just me,” Zaina’s quiet voice stills my fingers, halfway through the motion of launching my stars.
Celestial Hells...
That small bit of adrenaline drains out of me, leaving me trembling with an even deeper exhaustion.
My sister’s eyes—the only part of her visible between her cloak and her veil—flash golden in the stray beam of moonlight as she takes in my stance and the weapons. She steps closer, her gaze roaming over me with a calculating precision that I would have called judgment in our life before.
Only now do I recognize the concern, the way she scans me for injuries.
“New toys?” she finally says with a significant glance at the stars.
She’s quiet, as conscious as I am of eavesdroppers. I answer in the same volume, which isn’t hard for me since my throat is still hoarse from all the screaming.
“She decided I was too useful to risk death by random thug on the way back to the palace,” I explain, tucking the stars back into their holster at my thigh through the false pocket in my gown.
That’s one more thing I’ll have to find a way to make excuses for, why all of my gowns mysteriously have holes in their pockets. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.
“Meaning she left you too injured to defend yourself without them.” Zaina doesn’t sound tired at all.
She sounds irate. Cold and furious.
I wonder if she realizes that for all she despises Madame, she could inspire nearly the same level of terror when she’s angry. She steps closer to me, handing over a vial of pain tonic.
It reminds me of the other vial, the one I can’t bring myself to think about yet. I take it, and she shakes her head.
“I knew you were lying,” she whispers, referring to my promise to tell her when I was returning to Madame’s.
“No, you didn’t,” I scoff, flipping back the cork and upending the contents into my mouth.
“Well, I should have,” she amends.
“Probably.” I shrug, then instantly regret it when my ribs protest. “What are you even doing here?”
“One of us keeps our word,” she bites out, and I get the feeling she’s deliberately skirting the issue of how she knew I was here.
“Remy told you?” I surmise with a sigh, running a hand over my face.
I knew I should have given him a higher dose of the sleeping tonic.
She nods, aggravation flashing in her eyes. It seems he has earned himself a spot on the very long list of people Zaina can just barely tolerate.
“And how exactly did you convince him not to follow you?” I ask as we round the corner into King’s Square.
Zaina grimaces. “I didn’t.”
Does that mean he didn’t even try?
I silently keep her pace as we duck in and out of the shadows on silent footfalls. We’re nearly to the other side of the crossing before a deep baritone slices through the silent night air.
“We should probably have a conversation about your nighttime activities now that we’re married, wifey dearest.” Remy’s voice is as frozen as the coating of frost lining the brick buildings.
