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Lark took the cap, spilling scarlet wine over his fingers.
“Drink it,” Razak said. Lark sighed and eyed the cup.
Razak bared his teeth. “Drink. It. Brother.”
Oh no.Lark had poisoned the wine. That was why he’d brought the cup with him to the temple. He’d planned to give it to Razak this whole time. Perhaps not here, but at the celebration.
“You don’t have to drink it,” I said. Razak couldn’t force him to. He wasn’t holding a blade to his throat. “Lark—”
Razak flung a hand out at me. “Youneed to be quiet. You still need the antidote. You still need me to cure your soon-to-be very sick people. So you will stand there, Arin, and you will watch as my treacherous brother drinks the fucking wine!”
“Lark, don’t.”
“His name is Zayan!” Razak flew at Lark, tore the crown from his head, and kicked Lark’s legs out, dropping Lark to his knees. “Drink it, or I willmakeyou drink it in front of your precious Prince of Hearts. Is that the last memory you want him to have of you?”
Lark shuddered a sob. “No,” he whispered.
“What?” Razak demanded.
“No,” he said, louder.
“Stop.” I moved in. Draven’s arm crossed in front of me, barring the way. Then his fingers closed on my arm, holding me back. “Lark, don’t drink it, please… You don’t have to obey him.”
“He must drink, or hundreds die,” Razak said. “Or is that what you want, Arin? A repeat of your own court? More dead because ofyourmistakes?”
“You vicious prick!” I snapped. “You have the crown, just give us the antidote and go!”
“No,” Razak snapped, but his gaze softened as he looked down at his brother. “I want him to drink it, and die a slow, agonizing death, like all the rest of you courtly fools. Princes and kings, it means nothing. These crowns aren’t even crowns. And you’re all so tangled in your own lives you don’t see the truth, the potential!”
Razak grabbed Lark’s chin.
Lark hadn’t lied, he’d told Noemi the truth in the bruises on his body—on his neck, his hand, the scars. The body didn’t lie.
“Do something,” I growled at Draven.
Draven shook his head. “I can’t… I need that antidote. Laslo, me, you, we all drank the wine.”
Lark tore his chin from his brother’s grip, but instead of begging or pleading, he lifted his head, still on his knees, and he smiled into the storm of his brother’s fury. “Draven, you don’t need an antidote,” he said, staring at Razak. “I switched your poison, Brother, for water.” His smile twitched. “The only poison in the entire Court of War is the poison inthiscup. All of it, in fact.”
By Dallin, Lark had played his brother.
Razak backhanded Lark so fast, Lark almost fell. Then Razak had him by the jaw again, and he tipped the cup against Lark’s mouth, forcing the wine between Lark’s lips. Red spilled down Lark’s chin. He spluttered, choked.
I freed my dagger and tore from Draven’s hold. “Unhand him!”
But Razak only had eyes for Lark.
I sprinted forward, slashed the dagger toward Razak’s neck, but he saw my attack, shoved Lark toward me, and danced away. The cup clattered to the temple floor, spilling the remains of its poisonous contents. I stumbled into Lark. He collapsed, spluttering, onto his hands and knees. The poison was in him…
Razak bolted—Draven chased him—but Lark was down, choking. I went to my knees and reached for him. He coughed up wine and clawed at his throat.
“Lark, I’m sorry…” I said, helpless. “I didn’t know—I don’t know what’s real around you. I should have seen it—”
“Stop,”he wheezed, head bowed and shoulders heaving.
I held his back, saw his gloved hands, a lie to cover up his pain.His body did not lie.He’d been tortured, put through agony, and I’d ignored it, because I’d thought him like his brother. But none of that mattered now. He was sick, the poison in the wine was already inside his veins. “Where is the antidote? If there is one. Was that true?”
“Don’t know,” he rasped. His tremors rippled up my arm. “In… his room?”
