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“Here you are.” She brought a stack of clothes to my bed and laid them out: trousers, a waistcoat, and a smooth silk shirt made of the deepest purple. The silk was so fine it spilled over my fingers like cool water.
This was too much, this was wrong. “Are you sure these are for me?”
“Yes, the prince was very clear. You’re to wear this. I wonder what the special occasion is? I’m sure it will be exciting.”
Razak’s idea of exciting involved spilled blood and screaming. “I have no idea.”
“Would you like help with dressing?”
Again with the pleasantries. It was unnerving. “No, I can manage.”
“All right, I’ll be just outside.”
I eyed her as she left, and when the door closed, I waited for the snick of the lock. But it didn’t come. Something was wrong.Nicein the Court of Pain was a prelude to agony.
I fumbled with the clothes and dressed, although the limited movement in my right arm made every motion awkward. A wispy fog lingered in my head. I’d been drugged to dull the pain and my thoughts. Not my first time, and just as unpleasant as before.
My reflection wasn’t as ghastly as I’d been expecting. A little pale, but I’d likely lost a large amount of blood before Razak’s physicians had saved me. I wet my hands in the basin and smoothed my hair, then tied it back in a loose tail. The man in the mirror laughed, as though this was all some joke to him.
The nurse knocked. “Come in.” I adjusted my sleeve cuffs, tugging them down over the savage bruises mottling my right wrist.
“You’re looking well,” Razak said.
Not the nurse then, and so much worse. He was dressed in matching purple and black, but without his usual crown. He looked like the man in the mirror, like me.Brother.
The room—or my place in it—shifted, trying to unbalance me. I gripped the washbasin. Heat throbbed up my bandaged arm and through my chest, followed by the sickly wash of nausea.
“Out of respect for you, we will never speak of your mistake.” He stopped behind me, and in the mirror, his face loomed over my shoulder. Side by side, our clothes similar, the resemblance was unmistakable. “I promised you the truth.” He tugged on my shoulders, straightening me. “And so I will give it.” His head bowed, and his hot mouth skimmed my neck, his breath fluttering. “But first, a gift, dear brother.”
He swept away so suddenly my head spun. With me cuffed to a bed, I knew who he was, who I was. But this niceness from him was so much worse than any torture. Every word was a potential plunge of a blade, every touch like acid. And I couldn’t see them coming.
“Come along,” he said, already at the door. “You’re expected.”
I walked two paces behind him, dressed almost like a prince. Nothing made sense, and the drug dulled all the edges. Perhaps I was still dreaming. Around us, the building was nearly empty. Any staff we encountered stopped and bowed their heads. Razak didn’t acknowledge them. They were of no more interest to him than ants. Outside, a carriage waited in the rain. The same carriage that had collected us from the Court of Love. Black horses snorted and pawed at the wet cobblestones. Rain drummed on the carriage roof, and my shoulders, soaking into my hair.
Perhaps this was some new kind of punishment.
“Zayan,” he snapped, holding the carriage door open. He flashed a smile. “You’re getting wet.”
I climbed inside, and the carriage jolted into motion. It clattered and bounced, churning my frayed thoughts.
Razak gazed from the windows, not interested in me. This was some kind of punishment; soon the pain would begin. Razak’s punishments were as inevitable as a ticking clock. But taking a finger wouldn’t suffice. Whatever came of this, I knew one thing: I’d survive, if he allowed it.
* * *
The carriage rockedto a halt on a winding mud-soaked track, far outside the city. The guards that had traveled in a second carriage opened our doors. I stepped down into puddles and accepted an umbrella. Wherever we were, there were no houses nearby, no other people, just trees and the track, continuing up a hill.
Razak stomped through the mud, and with no other option, I followed.
As we passed under trees, large drops of water plinked onto our umbrellas. Rain washed mud from the track on the hill, revealing jagged stones underfoot. This was familiar. Not the place, but the feeling of dread settling in my gut. Up ahead, atop the hill, a large oak loomed, its branches spread.
I knew that tree. Ihadbeen here before.
A figure stood on a stool beneath the largest outstretched branch. I stumbled, and Razak caught my arm. “Come along now.” He pulled.
Several guards stood around the hooded woman on the stool. In the dark and the rodlike rain, I couldn’t see their faces. But I saw the noose looped around the woman’s neck.
Thunder rolled.
