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The fiend! “Justice came to me.” I started forward, heading straight for Lark. “Noemi, you know her, she’s Ines’s aide—”
Lark smirked some more. “We’ve met.”
“I thought you’d worked your magic on her, I thought you’d manipulated her, but she convinced me you were good, that you were—” I stopped, almost toe to toe with Lark. “—an unwilling victim.”
“That is generally the definition of a victim? They’re rather unwilling.”
“Fuck, I hate you, all of you, every word that comes out of your sugar-coated mouth.”
He arched an eyebrow, lifting his smirk with it. “Yes, but do I look good in a crown?”
I pointed at him, wanted to wrap my hands around his slim throat and choke him. The only person I hated more stood next to him, the pair of them so alike in their black and purple silk they could be twins. The hate boiled, and it was all I could do to step back.
“The crown.” Razak beckoned Lark. “Hand it over.”
Lark cocked a hip and began to circle me, sloshing more wine from that wretched cup. The urge to knock it out of his hand surged within me. Why was he even carrying it? Everything about him was some kind of lie, some kind of performance. I knew that. I’d always known it. So who was he performing for now? Who were his lies directed at? Me… Draven? Or Lark’s own brother?
Razak still held his hand out. “Zayan, the crown. Now.”
Lark sighed theatrically, sauntered toward his brother, and offered him the cup, balancing it between his fingers. “Hold this for me, will you?”
Razak frowned at the cup, then Lark’s face. “No more jests. Give me the crown.”
Lark smiled, but a flicker of fear skittered behind his eyes, a flicker so brief, I may have imagined it. “Let me wear it a while longer? I’ll certainly never get another chance. I’m sure, when we return home, I’ll be back on your leash, bent over your bed, no?”
I knew, didn’t I? I’d heard… what Razak did to him. But having it confirmed tore the breath from my lungs and squeezed my heart.
Razak’s eyes narrowed as he considered Lark’s request, then took the cup. “Fine, then. Have your moment. You certainly deserve it.”
Lark beamed and raised his hands. “We should celebrate the victory, brother!”
This act wasn’t meant for me. But it was a game. Everything I knew about Lark slipped into place in my mind. I drew closer to Draven’s side, watching Lark’s performance unfold.
“Neither of you will leave this court with that crown,” I said. “There are a hundred warriors in that feasting hall, each one eager to run you through.”
“And all those warriors have refilled their cups from the poisoned pitchers countless times,” Razak said. “They will all be dead very soon, unless I safely walk away.”
“You have an antidote?” I asked.
“I do. And it will be yours, as soon as I go free.”
He’d ensured his escape, but how could we trust him? “If you’re free with the crown, why would you give us the antidote, why not let all of War die like you didmycourt?”
He folded his arms, resting Lark’s cup against his sleeve. “I suppose you’ll have to trust me.”
“Trust?” I snorted. I stepped forward. “Only a fool trusts the Court of Pain.”
“What’s done is done,” Lark said, abruptly drawing all our gazes back to him. “We have the crown, and we have yours too, Arin. With Pain’s crown, that’s three. One more to go. We should definitely celebrate.” He turned to his brother. “A toast, to my brother, soon to be the king of all the shatterlands.”
Razak smiled, soaking in Lark’s appreciation. “I don’t want to be king. Kings are so easily overthrown. I’ll be a god.” He raised the cup, tilted his head, and licked his lips, then paused, the cup poised at his mouth. A glimpse of some complicated expression, and a flicker of darkness, crossed his face. He wet his lips again, huffed a soft laugh, and lowered the cup. “Oh Zayan, you were so close…”
Lark’s thin grin fell away, taking all his bluster and confidence with it.
Razak laughed harder and held the cup back out. “Take it.”
I glanced at Draven, but his face was as puzzled as mine must have been. What was this?
“Take it!” Razak yelled.
