Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Dahlia
Her mind scrambled for an escape. She took a step backward toward the exit.
“Ah, ah, ah . . .” the Giver crooned. “You won’t get past my Recurrence. You might as well sit down, for we need to have a little chat.”
Stupid. She knew the guards looked familiar. Lia couldn’t afford to make such mistakes.
“I’ll stand.” She braced a hand on the table in the middle of the room laden with spirits, hallucinogens, and sweet smoke.
His smile widened and he pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket to clean off the bloody garrote. Her stomach twisted when crimson stained the white fabric.
The Giver tsked before tossing the soiled pocket square onto the king’s still chest. “This is why I like black ones. They hide the stains better.” He sighed. “I’ll have to speak to my chamberlain about that.”
He spoke so casually about it, like he murdered kings every day. She needed to get out of here now.
“Dahlia dear, I only have so much patience and you’ve already spread mine exceedingly thin.” He sighed, gesturing a hand to Randa. “I mean look at the mess you’ve made.”
She narrowed her gaze, her heart racing. “Do you really think you can pin that on me? Randa was twice my size. Plus, why would his daughter hurt him? That doesn’t make any sense. You’re grasping at straws, Adder. I came in peace.”
“But did you really?” His lips twitched in amusement. “What would happen I wonder if the Frost King discovered you killed the true princess and assumed her identity?”
Keep calm. “I did no such thing.”
He snagged the crown off Randa’s head and kicked his father off the throne, the body rolling onto the floor. The Giver hopped onto the throne and sat in it, tossing one of his legs over the arm. “What would happen if the Asteran people discovered you killed not only one but two of their monarchs?”
Don’t break. Lia shrugged and adjusted the chair next to her hip.
Turn it on him. “No one will miss Randa. From all accounts he was a brute with a deviant streak leagues wide. There is no love lost between my people and the royals. There have even been rumors about bastard children begotten on very unwilling mothers, some were prisoners in his own dungeon. You were of these, were you not?”
It was a stab in the dark, but it hit its mark.
Adder froze for just a second and his hand twitched.
She’d struck a nerve. While she’d been forced to visit him weekly to repay her debt for almost a year, Lia had been studying the Giver.
He had a tell. His hands clenched when he was surprised, upset, or angry.
He chuckled and arched a brow at her. “And here I was worried you wouldn’t be able to play my games. It seems the Loriian court has taught you a few things. How delightful for us both.”
“Perhaps, but let’s get back to our former conversation. You have every reason to hate him. He might be your father—”
“Sire,” he corrected with an impish smile.
“Sire,” Lia allowed, inching up her skirt so she could move a bit more freely.
“You didn’t know you sire either, did you Dahlia?”
She frowned at him. What did that have to do with anything? He’s trying to distract you. Ignore him.
“But you could hang for this as much as I could if it ever really came to anything which it won’t. The people are rebelling.” She mirrored his expression, arching a brow of her own. “You and I know it is only a matter of time before someone else takes the throne. Like your actual sister.”
“Half-sister, darling. I have many half siblings.”
She frowned. He was being peculiar. More peculiar than normal. “What are you really after, Adder?”
He touched one of the scars on his cheek. The ones she’d given him. “A little payback, a little business, and maybe a little pleasure.”
An explosion rumbled the ground and the Giver sat upright.
That was her cue.
Lia used the chair to get on top of the table.
Adder grinned even though tension had crept into his shoulders.
He didn’t know why there were explosions.
But she did. Mercenaries were only loyal to coin.
She’d offered them more than the Asterans and reminded them they hadn’t been paid.
Mercenaries tended to act like toddlers when they weren’t compensated on time.
“Flower, what do you think you’re going to do from up there?” He sighed, his gaze flicking past her. Who was he waiting for? No one entered the tent. Just where were his henchmen?
The Giver sighed. “My pragmatic flower turning into a dramatic little sister. How unfortunate.”
Lia flinched. Her hand inched toward the longer dagger at her waist, but she hesitated. “I’m not your sister,” she drawled. Was he on drugs?
He smiled. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Secrets are a funny thing, Lia. Did you know your mother used to sing for the palace? Her theater was favorite of our dear deceased Randa’s.”
Her heart beat a little faster. Her mother and father had been travelling bards until Dahlia had been born. Then they’d settled down to harvest maples until her father had died right before Cosmos had been born. Her mum had moved them east into the cold of Loriia.
Adder’s smile widened. “I can see that wonderful mind of yours working. It’s my job to collect secrets and your mother held so many of them. Did you know it is illegal to hide bastard children from the Asteran crown?”
Don’t listen to him. He’s playing games.
Her hand rested on her dagger. Using it would be a last resort. She didn’t want to get that close to the slumlord. She wished there was a wall between them
An idea formed in her mind. Now she just needed the right moment when he was distracted.
Another explosion went off, much closer.
She stumbled on the table but managed to keep her balance.
Lia snatched the large lantern hanging from the ceiling and tossed it in front of the throne.
Glass, oil, and flames exploded everywhere.
The Giver threw his hands up to cover his face as she grabbed more lanterns and hurled one to the left, the other to the right, forming a wall of flames and glass between them.
Lia plucked two decanters of spirits and lobbed them into the flames.
The fire expanded, licking up the left side of the tent, hungry to consume everything in its path.
She tossed another and another until it was impossible to get through the fire.
Her eyes watered and her lungs screamed from the smoke, but she didn’t run.
The Giver vaulted over the throne and stared Dahlia down through the flames.
“You’re so troublesome, but I can’t help but admire how you come out swinging every time you’re cornered. It must be genetic.” He smiled but it held a dark edge. “I’ll be seeing you soon, flower. Make sure you pop by Wicked when you’re in the capital. I would love to chat with my sister.”
He disappeared into the back of the burning tent.
She had no intention of going to Florrant ever again.
There was no way she could be related to that snake.
Then why did they choose you to impersonate the princess?
Lia shook her head. It was a coincidence.
She spun and jumped down from the table. Dahlia pulled the blade from her hip and rushed to the exit. She paused, listening for anything, but all she could hear were screams, the shriek of metal against metal, and her own heart in her ears.
Heat licked up her spine.
Get out.
She pushed outside, ready for a fight, ready to find the Giver waiting for her with more lies and a blade. Only to find everyone gone.
Her horse included.
Blood and curses.
Serenity screeched, circling up above. At least, she wasn’t alone in this.
Dahlia tucked the hem of her dress up into her belt, whistled to her astrylle, and ran. She staggered when an explosion went off, knocking her onto the side of the nearest tent. Flames and smoke shot into the sky and she coughed, eyes watering and ears ringing.
Her hip and ribs smarted. She must have hit one of the wooden supports.
Lia wheezed, touching her ribs with her left hand. Her fingers curled tightly around her dagger. Luckily, she hadn’t impaled herself with the wickedly sharp steel or cut herself with it. Loshika was going to kill her for getting hurt again.
And your husband.
Dahlia staggered upright with a groan and limped toward the commotion.
Serenity screeched above as if to tell Lia to get moving.
“I’m going. I’m going,” she muttered through the pain.
Lia swung around the next corner and caught Lord Brandon wrestling with Neve’s war horse. Alastor reared back and kicked at the soldier. Brandon cursed and struck the horse with a switch, just managing to stay out of reach of Alastor’s sharp teeth.
“Bloody beast, you will calm and let me ride you, or you will die.”
Fury ignited inside Dahlia. Those who hurt women, children, and helpless animals were the lowest of the low.
She whistled for Serenity and pointed at the lord. The astrylle dove. She stormed toward the pathetic human, ready to tear him limb from him. Brandon caught sight of her, his face turning an ugly shade of purple.
“You,” he hissed. “This is all your doing.”
“No, but that is,” she replied coldly, glancing upward.
Brandon tipped his head back just as Serenity struck, her talons sinking into his face. He never stood a chance. The lord shrieked and dropped to the ground, releasing Alastor’s reins in the process.
“That’s enough, pretty girl,” she murmured to the feathered beastie.
Serenity hooted and launched into sky, churning the air with her massive wingspan. Lia edged around the sobbing human and approached the war horse with her hands held out. The mount prance in place, tossing its head, its sharp teeth on display.
“It’s okay, beautiful boy,” she said, softly. “It’s just me.”
Dahlia gathered the end of his reins and slowly approached. He snuffled her hand before bumping her in the shoulder with his snout. She ran a hand down his silky neck, a small growl escaping her. His hind quarters had several welts.
“I’m so sorry. You should have bitten his hand off,” she whispered. “Shall we leave this horrid place?”
A little flicker of hope ignited in her chest. She was going to make it out of this. She’d see Cosmos and Loshika off to their new lives. Home was so close.
Screams cut through the air.
Very female screams.
Dahlia closed her eyes, the sound echoing in her ears.
She could leave them to the mayhem. No one would ever know. What was one bard to an army of enraged, starving soldiers?
They think you’re the princess. Do something.
Her fingers tightened on the reins before she dropped them and paced to a smoldering fire between the tents. She ran a hand over her mouth. What would she even say? Would they listen or blame her for Randa’s and Allium’s crimes and lies?
Another terrified scream. One that sounded too much like Lo.
She touched the pendant at her throat and knelt by the fire.
Be strong. Become the mizareth.
Lia dipped her fingers into the ash. She swiped the kohl along her forehead, temple, and cheek, creating the rough shape of a wing.
She was a mizareth. Her wings might be a little scorched, but she could keep going.
Filled with determination, she stood and prowled toward Alastor. She took his reins once again. “Let’s cause some trouble before we go home, shall we?” she murmured to the beastie.
Dahlia eyed the extremely tall horse. The problem was how she was supposed to get onto his back. He was impossibly big. There was no way she’d be able to climb onto him without help. The stirrup was shoulder level for qovving sakes.
As if he could hear her thoughts, Alastor whickered and bowed.
She stared wide-eyed at the fearsome black beast who prostrated himself so she could climb onto his back.
Lia rubbed his pointed ear and hauled herself into the saddle.
She held on for dear life when he straightened, no longer able to touch the ground.
She glanced north where the Frost King was waiting. “I’m sorry,” she said in a hushed tone, before whirling Alastor around, racing toward the sounds of distress.