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She swallowed the impulse to lash out, to see what he’d do if she opened up his skin again. “You want to kill me because I’m the last of the Volta line,” she said. “Your crown prince sent you here to get me out of the way, leaving him an open throne to claim. You want our foothold at the borders of Mekya and Navenie. You want toprotect Rime Ice. Your presence here is a declaration of war.”
Rune nodded sagely. “Fascinating speculation. Truly sensational. You should write books. Works of fiction, though, obviously — the crown prince of Slödava hasn’t told me to do shit. It’s his mother who sits on the throne. Or hadn’t you heard of a matriarchy?”
Elma’s jaw was clenched so tightly it began to ache. She would not let his deflection distract her, as much as it stung. She hadn’t known. Her practical knowledge of Slödava was almost nonexistent. “Why else would you try to kill me,” she said, “if not to take my throne? To take Rothen?”
The assassin laughed, a spluttering, mocking sound. The movement caused a shock of hair to fall over one eye, and in that moment, he looked truly feral. A beast come down from the snow-capped peaks to hunt Elma.
Unthinking, she pulled her furs tighter.
“What could Slödava possibly want withRothen?” Rune said when he finally finished laughing. “My prince has no interest in your decrepit throne. I came to kill your father, Elma. I came for King Rafe’s head, not yours. But you were all that was left, so… I had to settle for the next best thing.”
“You killed my father,” Elma said, almost hoping it was true. She would ride this wave of vengeful ire until it crashed her against a deadly shore. “Poisoned him on the night of my birthday.”
He blinked. “Your birthday? Isn’t that poetic? Now I wish Ihadpoisoned your father. But he died of his own accord, I’m sorry to say. You know, when I found out you were his only heir, that I had to kill you instead…” Rune studied her face. “I was terribly upset.”
“Why?” Elma asked when he didn’t elaborate. Her throat tightened.
“Look at you,” he breathed. “It’s like you’re carved from ice, frigid and perfect. There are so many things I’d rather do to that body than carve it up, but… you being who you are…” a predatory gleam lit his eyes.
Elma fought the reflexive urge to back away and held her ground. He had voiced her own darkest, most perverse thoughts. It was impossible not to notice the curve of his neck where his leather jerkin hung open, the enticing angle of his jaw when he grinned, the undeniably athletic body held captive before her.
“Enjoying?” he said.
He saw her too clearly.
“Enjoying what,” she said, “the brute who failed to kill me? A scarred piece of rubbish blown in from a winter storm?”
Rune lowered his chin, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Perhaps, but at least this piece of rubbish retains some shred of honor. Unlike your father. Unlike you.”
“You know nothing about me,” Elma said, his words cutting an unseen gouge in her flesh.
His lip curled. “Don’t I? What do you think I see when I look at you? Other than a pincushion for my dagger.”
The interrogation had completely gotten away from Elma. What had she hoped to achieve, she wondered, having never interrogated anyone before in her life? Godwin had taught her techniques, of course. And her father had even demonstrated, once, how some of the implements worked — what parts of the body they were meant to slice or stretch or crush — and when to use them.
But in this room with the assassin, the air so cold and the walls so close, all that knowledge fled from her mind. Theory was one thing, but to do it alone for the first time,and do it well…
“What do you think I see?” Rune asked again, tongue pressing against a cut on his lip that had split in the cold. “Is it the Queen of Rothen?”
Elma turned away, realizing her mistake in coming there. She had shown him nothing but weakness.
“Is it King Rafe’s avenger?”
She moved to the door and hammered it once with a fist. The door swung open.
“I see a frightened little girl,” came the assassin’s amused words.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Elma stood amongst her guards for a moment, leaning against the door. She caught her breath, pressing the back of a hand to her nose. It had gone numb in dungeon air.
“Throw him back in the cell,” she said at last. “Don’t bother being gentle.”
Cora helped Elma into bed.She had gone straight to her chambers from the dungeon, unable to keep her thoughts or the thrum of her heart under any sort of control.
“I’m out of my depth,” she kept saying to Cora, who sat on the edge of the bed, nodding. “I don’t know how to be queen.”
“You were attacked by an assassin,” said Cora. “It’s only natural you’d feel… out of sorts.”
