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I’d made a mistake and underestimated how deep Razak had sunk his claws in my court and its guards, taking control long before he’d arrived. I’d underestimated his insanity too. And my own feelings toward Lark, as complicated as they were. The whole event had been one mistake after another, and I was far from proud of it.
I should have killed Lark. It would have been a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. “Myfatherhosted Razak.”
“Your father was a kind and gracious man who will be sorely missed. You, prince, I have yet to get the measure of. I have given your testimony to the representatives of Justice and will discuss your fate with them.” He clicked his fingers, dismissing me.
“May I speak?”
The man growled low. “Go ahead, then.”
“If you believe for a single moment the Court of Pain is not among you, then they have already won.”
Ogden’s chortle rumbled through the room. The council members chuckled with him. “Yes, well, we have no jesters here, and we are not so easily fooled as those who put their trust in Love.”
They’d always laughed at Love, as though we were the shatterlands’ joke of a court. Perhaps we had been, because now we were nothing. But what had been done to us wasn’t isolated. “They will not stop at destroying Love’s court. Razak wants blood.”
“Why?”
“I…” I didn’t know why, and that was what made all of this so infuriating. “How do you guess the reasoning of a madman? Because that is what he is. He wants to spread pain, to make us all his subjects.” It was a guess and seemed plausible, but there was more to it than that. There had to be.
“What the little prick wants and what he gets are two very different things—and what he’ll get is my sword up his ass!” Ogden surged to his feet. “You have said and done enough, Arin. Your court is ashes. Your family, slain. Your people spill over my borders, desperate mouths to feed. I have half a mind to give you to Pain just to see the matter done—”
“That would be unwise.” A woman in a blue hooded robe spoke up, her tone like ice-water poured on Ogden’s fire. Much of her face was hidden, as Justice preferred, but I saw thin, unsmiling lips form the next words. “Justice will not support such actions.”
“I suppose you’d suggest diplomacy?” Ogden grumbled.
“Of course. Balance is all. We should reach out to Pain, opening lines of communication, instead of barring them behind weapons and talk of war.”
This was insanity. Razak had no interest in talking. I’d seen the rabid glee in his eyes as the flames had raged. He wanted the rest of us to writhe on his hook. “You cannot negotiate with insanity. Trying to speak with Razak would be a mistake—”
“A mistake?” Ogden huffed another dry, dismissive laugh at my expense. “He speaks of mistakes… The only mistake here is the fact you’re not in chains, Arin. Do not make me regret it. Until we can determine your true motives in all of this, you have no voice among the courts. Guards, escort Arin back to his rooms and make sure he stays there.”
Ogden may not have had fools, but he was one. War was blind, more so perhaps than my court had been. He couldn’t see past the tip of his blade, and as I was escorted back to my room, I feared the fate of my court might soon be his.
* * *
Lord Draven leanedagainst the wall outside my room. Gold rings gleamed at his ears, and like most of the desert-dwellers I’d seen about War’s sprawling palace halls, he’d lined his eyes with a sweep of gold paint. A loose black shirt gaped at the neck and billowed at his wrists, while a red sash hung low on his hips. The affect was a dramatic one. He looked like some untamed wild man and nothing like a lord from a civilized court. Which was how War seemed to prefer things.
He nodded at my guards and rasped, “I have him.” His voice sounded like sand grating over rock. I winced. That was also my fault.
“King Ogden says he is to remain under guard at all times,” the guard declared.
Draven nodded. “Very well.” He opened the door to my room and stepped back as I entered then followed me inside. The guard attempted to join us, and Draven held out a hand. “No need, he’s not going anywhere. Wait outside.”
“Regardless—”
“What’s he going to do, leap from the window only to die in the desert?” Draven slipped something into the guard’s hand that gave him pause. Whatever it had been, he left moments later.
I headed for the open balcony window, where the endless desert wind rippled through gossamer drapes. A generous canopy shaded two seats. I gingerly lowered myself into one and waited for Draven. The stab wounds pulsed with dull throbs. I’d been told to rest, but if I’d stared at the sandstone walls a second longer I’d have gone out of my mind.
Draven settled in the chair next to mine, remaining silent. Beyond the palace, an enormous wall dotted with watchtowers separated us from the shifting dunes and turquoise skies of War’s unforgiving desert land. I tried not to think of the cool ocean breeze of home, or the scent of flowers, or the salty mist on my lips. All things I could not go back to. Things that had no place here.
“I thought, if I waited, you’d apologize,” Draven said.
We’d exchanged only a few words before I’d almost severed his vocal cords, forcing his silence. I barely knew the man, but I did owe him my life after almost taking his. It hadn’t been deliberate. I’d lashed out… “I had a plan for Lark. Your reckless gossip threatened to expose him, ruining everything,” I snapped, and winced as a surge of heated pain rolled up my side. “Damn.” I shifted in the chair, trying to alleviate the ache.
“The plan to cut his throat in front of the Prince of Pain? That turned out well for you.”
The wind pushed a fan of sand over a distant dune. I watched it instead of Draven’s arched eyebrow and judgmental glare.
