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“Zayan?”
My name on Razak’s lips drew my gaze toward the door.
He stood there, blurred and misshapen through my tears.
“Do not…” He raised his hands. “Zayan, don’t…”
Strange, he seemed… concerned. He hadn’t been concerned in the Court of Love when Arin had threatened to kill me. But then, he’d known Arin wouldn’t. Razak had no such guarantee now.
I blinked and loosed the tears. But I didn’t sob, just stared at the tip of the blade indenting my wrist.
“Where did you get that knife?” He inched forward. I glanced up, and he stopped. He even tried to smile. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Put it down?”
A question. I’d expected orders, rage, madness. Not this… softness. I hadn’t known him capable.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”
A bead of blood welled under the knife’s tip. I shifted my grip on the handle, bringing it close to the inside of my arm, poised to slice up the vein. Vertical was better, would bleed faster.
He was moving closer again, but it didn’t matter, it would be over soon.
“Zayan, you are the only thing in my life that has meaning.”
I wanted to askwhat meaning,but that was his game, to draw me into a conversation, to delay. No, the time for words and meaning was gone.
“Did you hear me? We are brothers, we are kin, the same blood. If you want me to tell the council who you are, I will allow it. You can be my brother to them too.”
I looked up and found him at the bedside, almost close enough to reach for me.
“I’ll tell them all,” he said. “Just put down the knife.”
He lied with his every breath. But he seemed so sincere.
No, every time I fell for his kindness, but it was an act, like my time in Arin’s court had been an act. He wasn’t capable of good, he didn’t care; I was a tool, a toy, a plaything, and I’d never be anything else. But I could do one good thing in my life.
I could do this.
I flicked the blade upward, and dark blood flowed.
CHAPTER25
Arin
The dream came again,but this time the Court of Love had already burned, and all the flowers were scorched on their stems.
Lark stood on the cliff, staring out to sea. And I knew I was too late. He lifted his face to the moon, arms spread, and tipped over the edge.
Grief choked me awake and panic crushed my heart. I spilled from the bed, threw on a dressing gown, and ran from the room, down the hall, passing quiet servants and flickering torches. I hammered on Draven’s door. “Draven… It’s Arin, please open the door.”
His room was silent. But I had nowhere else to go. I couldn’t go back, not with the nightmare stalking me. “Draven, please… I need—”
He tugged open the door and stumbled aside as I pushed in. “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I just… A dream, it was a dream, but…”
“Arin,” Draven croaked, shoving the door closed and yawning into his hand. “Calm yourself. What’s happened?”
Calm myself, yes. That would be wise. But the dream still burned in my mind. “It’s Lark.”
He brightened at Lark’s name. “You have a message?”
