Chapter 28
My brother dominated this tournament until last night. He almost died in his final duel, and it was the worst twelve minutes of my life. After digging around, I found out the Zem dueler was using blare gems under his fighting leathers. Fucking cheaters. As for the thing about Kathreen, I decided to wait until the tournament is finished to tell him so he could focus on not dying. And now I’m being followed. Okay, five minutes ago, I was being followed. Every time I glanced over my shoulder, a man in white was there. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, nothing is ever a coincidence. I’d bet gold rens Kathreen doesn’t want me to tell my brother about her sleeping around. She’s probably sending assassins after me and having them dress up as Zos so I don’t put two and two together.
Tomorrow, at the preliminary duels, the contestants will be ranked before the tournament officially starts in three weeks.
I’m trailing my guards who’ve informed me of my father’s summons. I should be on my way to the training room at this hour, going over the techniques Sorren has been drilling into me. When he’s here, that is. More often than not he’s mysteriously unavailable. Maybe the Skeeves are gaining ground around our borders again.
Father never talks about them, and his situation room is always locked, warded with the castle’s ancient magic, so there’s no way for me to know until I’m queen and wear the First-Made Vessel.
Instead of heading to the training room, my guards lead me down to Father’s chambers.
Time to face the music from last night.
I knew this would be the cost, but since he didn’t call on me first thing this morning or later this afternoon, I’d hoped . . .
My breathing becomes shallow. He only summons me here for whipping punishments.
Those started last year.
Every time I descend these stairs to the tunnel hidden beneath his chambers, I promise myself this time will be different. I will not be broken. At the bottom of the stone stairwell, lit with white glo stones, there’s a hallway full of closed doors with no end in sight. The hall simply lends itself over to the darkness.
“Be strong,” Liha whispers, then leaves my shield.
I try not to feel so alone when she does that.
The door I’m supposed to go in is closest to the stairs. My steady pulse is the only thing I can hear as I face it. Every fiber of my body wishes to stall, to remain outside of it for as long as possible, but I enter.
Father is already here sitting on an iron stool. Glo stones are arranged in a circle on the ceiling and torture devices of varying shapes are attached to the walls. Father frowns at me, his face contorting into the one I hate most, vein-popping tension through his neck, slicing disappointment in his gaze, and an unmistakable, wine-induced flush in his face. He sets down his goblet, tapping it down to the blood-smeared floor before standing up.
“I don’t like to punish you.”
I clench fists. “Then why do it?”
Before I can blink, he’s off his seat, his hand smacking across my face. A fierce sting radiates from my cheek. He’s every bit as fast as Sorren.
“You know why.”
“Because you’re a drunk.”
He slaps me harder this time and I resist the urge to touch the burning fire where his gloved hand hit. Gold and onyx bleeds into the room.
Father takes a deep breath. The gems on his gloves and boots twinkle, and the golden light around me dulls.
He arranges his face into his “execution floor” smile. “I’ve told you, Nizzara. I am preparing you for the real world and all its realms. I promise, they’re more ruthless than I.”
I clench my jaw shut.
“I know you don’t want a betrothal,” he continues. “I know your little stunt with the Zem prince was to spite it.” The vein in his neck pops. “But I’m giving you what you deserve to have, Nizzara.”
I lift my chin. “I deserve to make my own choices.”
My hand brushes my dress over my thigh where the edge of my dagger pokes the fabric, but my stupid heart won’t let me touch it. Because if I do, I will be no different than him.
Once I have daggers in my hand, in conditions like this, I won’t stop. He and I are the same that way.
“I deserve to marry who I choose,” I say.
Maybe he’s not the only one who doesn’t give a damn about customs.
He hits my face again. The sound of his leather glove smacking my cheek is just as sharp as the sting.
His chest heaves. His fists curl, and his eyes—
He’s teetering on the edge of his control, which only pushes me to the edge of mine. He’s the reason I’m so angry all the time. This depthless pit of lava never leaves.
And I loathe it.
“I deserve a better father,” I say, angry tears forming.
If he was balancing on the edge, I just shoved him off. His hand shoots the gap between us, crushing my throat.
“You are so young, and it takes time and pain to see the world as it is instead of what you wish it to be. But you’ll see it much faster than I did, won’t you?”
I grit my teeth and raise my jaw, not answering. Not breathing.
His hand tightens around my throat. “Won’t you?”
I wait until the tingling pricks my cheeks before mouthing the word, “No.”
His eyes shift, a flash of regret, but he does not release me; he squeezes harder. I pushed him too far. He’s killing—
Spots begin forming in my vision. I begin clawing at his hand. He lets go.
Air surges into my lungs.
My knees buckle and my sore muscles don’t respond in time. I drop to the cold floor.
Sorren was right. I am weak and afraid.
I hate how I refuse to hurt him, even though he hurts me.
He takes a deep breath through his nose, his eyes flickering between black and blacker, before he snaps a whip off the wall. He cracks it on the floor at my feet.
“Remove your dress, Nizzara. It is a fine dress, and it doesn’t deserve your punishment.”
I curse my hands for shaking as I remove my dress, leaving my silk underdress with its open back. My foot slips on the floor. Fresh blood. Someone else’s.
He jerks his chin toward a hook across the room, and I hang the dress on it before returning to the place at his feet where he is pointing. “On the ground, Nizzara.”
I drop where I am, letting my knees meet cold stone with a hard thud, my leg muscles unable to slow the descent.
“Hug your knees on the floor. You know how.”
I lean over my bent knees, allowing my forehead to graze the floor and exposing my back.
“Twenty lashes for trying to ruin your betrothal.”
He releases the whip, cracking it over and over again. I stifle a cry—more from the reality of what my father has become than the physical pain.
The fiery sting buries itself into my skin, deeper with each strike. Lash after lash hits the same spot, slicing further.
Gold spills again, power gliding around me accompanied by that smooth dark energy. I squeeze my eyes shut and it goes away. Agony tears through me, and I do the thing I’ve always done—escape into my books, reciting one of my favorite lines.
Power can only be taken when it is given.
It’s the only thought that keeps my lips from tearing open in cries. I will not give him power over me, even as small as a cry.
Finally, he stops, well after twenty, and orders me to my feet. His black tendrils of magic crawl toward me, about to wipe my skin clean, but stop mid-reach.
“Actually,” he says. “The preliminary duels are tomorrow, and since you refuse to use your vessel, I’m going to make you use your own Mark to cover them. Stop being weak. Stop being scared. And use your power.”
My fists tighten, making the blood run faster down my arm from the cuts on my back and shoulders. “I will not duel, then.”
It’s a lie and we both know it.
A mean smile crinkles his trim goatee, his black eyes a blaze of near insanity. “Oh yes, you will. Because you are my daughter.”
I push up to my feet, “You’re right! I will duel and when I win—”
His eyes are wild as he disappears.
Gone.
Into smoke.
I rub my eyes. Is this a dream? No, blood is still running down my arm and the slashes in my back are excruciating enough to know this isn’t a dream.
He is powerful. I’ve always known that. But I’ve never seen him—or anyone—vanish.
I hurry to dress despite the agony in my back and my trembling hands.
When I emerge into the hall my guards fall behind me, unaware—or maybe completely aware—of what has transpired while they waited for me outside my father’s chamber door.
After I receive an illegal numbing solution and healing salve from the infirmary, I go to the book coves.