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She flinches. “I did not see another way.”
“And sacrificing the lives of your fellow sisters in the sanctum?”
“I told Boaz they were innocent—”
“They’re all dead. The sanctum sits empty now.” A decision I abhorred, but one I had to make all the same. Perhaps that also fuels my anger toward this caster.
A tear rolls down her cheek. “They had no part in this,” she whispers.
“You left me no choice.” I nod toward the letter. “But perhaps you see a new choice in front of you. One that will offer some shred of redemption for all your treachery.”
Wendeline’s focus shifts to the bottom of the page. “Will you spare them? The tainted mortals?”
“Why? Because Romeria has asked it of me? Zander acquiesced to her requests and look where that got him.” I will not make his same mistakes. But I will also not be too big a fool not to use this caster to my benefit. “Can you mark the mortals in the way she suggested?”
“It should not cause me difficulty.”
“Then it seems keeping you alive might serve a purpose after all.”
She looks up and in her eyes is a tiny spark of hope. “Yes, I would be happy to. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to serve Islor again.”
I push aside any twinge of regret for what she must have gone through under Boaz’s blade. She truly believes her actions were necessary. “In exchange for that service, I will have you moved somewhere more comfortable. But you will not move freely.”
“I would never expect that much leniency, Your Highness.”
“Good. And listen to me very carefully, Wendeline …” I move in, crouching to her level. “If you do not mark every single mortal accordingly, if you do anything that suggests betrayal, it will be the mortals who accept punishment on your behalf. Any mortal. I will make you watch, and you will beg for your own death by the time we are finished.” My easy smile clashes with my promise. I will not make the same mistake as my brother did.
Her throat bobs with a hard swallow as she passes the letter back, her hand trembling. “I have never wished you or your family harm.”
“And yet your actions have told an entirely different story.” I move away, turning to leave.
“She is not Princess Romeria.”
I falter. “Who is she, then?”
“A pawn, as we all have become. But she is someone who does not wish to see Islor fall, and who loves your brother dearly.”
“Neither of those things matter.” I move swiftly from her cell. “Take her to the east wing. Have the servants clean her up. Do not leave her unguarded for even a second.”
“Your Highness.”
A single cough sounds, somewhere in the depths of this misery. “How many prisoners do we currently hold?”
“A dozen.”
“Have them loaded into a wagon and readied for travel to front lines where they may be of more use.” We will need these cells soon.
“And the tainted tributary? Should I send her to the block?”
Yes. I know that’s the right order, the only one that should suffice. But Gracen’s request fills my thoughts. Between that and Romeria’s claims—however wild they may be—I cannot utter it. “Bring me to her cell.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
GRACEN
“You are drunk, little one.” I chuckle as my nipple slips free of Suri’s mouth, her eyes rolled back in her head as she drifts off, sated. I place her into her basket to sleep and set to washing my skin at the basin with a cloth and soap. The smell of sour milk—however faint—always curls my stomach.
A gentle knock sounds on my door as I’ve just finished up. “Come in,” I call out, expecting one of the staff girls or Corrin.
I turn to find Kazimir standing in my doorway, his attention locked on where my fingers work at my buttons.
After a moment of stupor, he clears his throat, drops his gaze to study his boots.
“Why are you here?” My cheeks blaze as I quickly finish.
“Why else? The king wants you.”
“Excuse me?”
Kazimir’s lips curl with a devious smile. “He wants you to be tested.”
“Tested. How?”
The smile slips off. “You follow the king’s orders. You don’t question them.”
“Of course. I wasn’t questioning him. I just …” I let my excuses fade.
“Bring the baby. Where are your other children?” He looks around as if they’re hiding somewhere in our tiny room.
“In the cellar, helping sort for the winter.” With trepidation, I collect the basket and follow Kazimir out.
“I wish I could sleep like that.”
“I’m sure you did once, long ago.”
I feel his gaze on me, but I ignore it, my cheeks burning again at the thought of what he saw of me. Kazimir is attractive, there’s no denying that. But if I’m going to pine secretly for any Islorian male, it’s not him.
A guard stands in front of the servant dining hall.
