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Razak’s face softened, like it did sometimes, as though there was a thinking, feeling soul inside the monster. He was more dangerous like this. Every time he gave me that smile, a small, hopeful piece of me believed it—the piece that needed to be seen, to be loved. He pulled the sheet up my chest and laid a soft kiss on my forehead. “Don’t get cold. I’ll be back soon, after I’ve dealt with Justice.” His skimmed his fingertips down my face, and the swell of emotions shuddered through me. He mistook the reaction for lust, and his eyes widened, but it was more than lust. I despised him, hated him so much that it choked me as readily as his hands had. Hate wasn’t a strong enough word, neither was loathing. What I felt for my brother came from deep inside my soul. It was dark, oily, and vile.
He left the chamber for his room, to dress. The door lock snicked.
The sound of my thudding heart accompanied that of his footfalls as he moved away. Drawers rumbled, boots clunked, and after several minutes, another door closed. Then there was silence.
If I was going to find Justice, talk to them, then I didn’t have long.
First, I had to escape the cuff.
I grabbed the lamp off the nightstand with my left hand, shook off the shade, and used my teeth to try and twist its wire frame apart. It bent and buckled but refused to snap. Breaking it for the wire, and then molding the wire into a lockpick, would take too long. I needed to be out of this room,now.
I rolled onto my front, knelt, and tugged at the cuff. The links clattered. I tugged again, trying to snap it. But it didn’t give, not even a little.
“Dallin, give me strength!”
If I didn’t get to Justice now, there might not be another chance.
I had to get out of the cuff.
I snapped at it again, and again, until my wrist was bloody and raw.
I slumped and stared at my trembling, mutilated right hand.
Razak had taken the little finger long ago, but more recently he’d taken its neighbor. I was down to two fingers and a thumb. At least it wasn’t the hand I used to press the strings on a violin. If he’d known me at all, he’d have known to make it so I couldn’t play…
My remaining fingers twitched. Two fingers, one thumb. I folded them together and smiled. Razak had given me the key to escape.
Tucking my thumb into my palm, I pulled. Sharp metal dug into the back of my hand, trying to peel off my skin. I leaned back, levering all my weight at the point where my hand was stuck in the cuff. Just a little more, and I’d have it. Blood dripped onto silk sheets. Damn Razak. I was getting out of the cuff, the room, getting away, if I had to break every damn finger to do it!
My hand tore free, and I sprawled flat on my back, breathing hard. I’d done it! I raised my bloody digits. “You are good for something after all.” I was out. No cuffs, no collar, no leash. This was my chance, probably my only chance to be heard. I flung on a pair of trousers and a waistcoat, forgoing a shirt and boots.
Now the locked door… The door was easier. Razak always left the key in the lock on the other side, never taking it with him.
I grabbed a rug, crouched by the door, and slid the corner of the rug through the gap between the door and the floor. I grabbed the warped lampshade, molded the bent wire into a point, and jabbed it through the keyhole. The key plunked onto the rug. I tugged, and there was the key.
Everything else happened in a blur. Razak’s bedchamber, the corridor beyond, draped in the dark and quiet. Nobody was about. They were all likely in the council rooms, especially if Justice was questioning Razak.
I had to get to the guest rooms.
I darted down the corridor, bare feet fast and silent. Razak’s court ran on a small number of staff, all of whom were loyal to him. If any saw me, they’d alert him. There were no discreet corridors here, like at Arin’s. Nowhere to hide. Hopefully I had some luck left.
The sound of voices sailed down the corridor.
I ducked through the next door, pushed it almost closed, and waited in the dark for the people to pass by. My heart boomed like a drum inside my head and chest. If caught, Razak might grow tired of taking fingers. He’d take my whole hand, and then there would be no more music.
It didn’t matter. I had to get word out, I had to explain who I was, to try and redeem myself, try and balance Justice’s scales. But above all of that, I needed them to see me, to know me…
And maybe they’d get word to Arin that I was sorry, even though he despised me. They could tell him I was sorry for us both.
CHAPTER22
Arin
A breeze rolledover the flower meadow, making the flowerheads ripple like ocean waves. I strode among colorful blooms, stroking them, and my palms tingled with the thrum of life. This was a dream, surely, as my palace, my home, shimmered on the headland by the sea. The towers sparkled under the sun like jewels in a crown. A pang of regret or grief cloaked my heart. I stopped, and as I watched, flames boiled from the palace’s foundations, climbed its white walls, turning them black. But the fire wasn’t red or even blue. It burned purple, the color of twilight or an approaching storm.
I watched, stranded among a sea of flowers, until there was nothing left of Love, just ash raining down from clear, starlit skies.
As the flames receded, another sound rose. A violin’s swift rhythm. I knew its tune. And when I turned toward the edge of the cliff in the distance, where the meadows gave way to endless ocean, I knew the man playing too. He skipped the fiddle’s bow across its strings, and behind him, the full moon hung like a lamp in the star-speckled sky. He spun with the instrument tucked under his chin, hair fanned out. So beautiful, like one of his stories, too magical to be real.
