Chapter 81 The Question
The Question
Ido not send word ahead.
Kiss refused to nap again, crying until it became clear she would not tolerate anyone but Colsar or me. Colsar was in the palace’s southeast wing with General Rorin, receiving a military briefing update.
The quiet stretch of time I thought I would have to myself disappeared, leaving me with a restless child in my arms instead.
The more I look at her, the more the question of Morrath burns in my mind.
She is heir not simply to Veynar but to something we do not understand and might not be able to control.
The thought eats at me until I decide I need answers. Colsar will probably be at least another hour, and by then he will be mentally exhausted. We need answers, and soon.
So I go, with Wyn trailing a careful distance behind us.
The corridors are quieter at this hour, the court pulled elsewhere, the air carrying only distant movement and low voices that never fully disappear.
Kiss presses against me, warm and alert despite her exhaustion, her small hand fisting in my gown as though she refuses to let go of the day.
Sevrin's study door is closed. I knock once.
"Enter."
I nod at Wyn, who takes position outside the door. I push the door open. He is at his desk, papers spread before him, one hand braced against the wood. His attention lifts the moment I step inside, something passing through his expression before it smooths into something controlled.
"Asharin," he says.
I close the door behind me and remain near it. "I want to know about Morrath."
He studies me for a moment, then leans back slightly, as though deciding how much to give me.
"You want to understand it," he says.
"Yes."
A brief pause. "It is not what you think it is."
"Then tell me what it is."
He considers that, then exhales slowly. "Morrath is not simply a place. It is a system. A controlled environment designed to contain and direct what most kingdoms cannot afford to manage."
"Morraks," I say.
"Yes. And more."
My hand tightens slightly at Kiss's back. "More?"
“There are layers of control. Power that predates me.”
"And you control it?"
"To an extent."
"That is not an answer."
"The gate limits what I can call upon," he says. "Without it fully opened, what I can access is restricted. Contained."
I hold his eyes, weighing what he is saying against everything I have seen.
"Then I want to see it. If my daughter is to inherit this kingdom, I will not rely on what I am told."
His attention lingers on me longer this time, something quieter moving beneath it. "You could pass through the wards," he says.
"Explain."
"They are not keyed to rank alone. They are keyed to blood. Not lineage in name. In substance."
My fingers tighten slightly around Kiss.
"Feeders," I say.
"Yes. The deeper layers of Morrath respond to feeder blood. It is how control is maintained. How the system recognizes authority beyond title."
I absorb that.
"Your daughter is young, so it is likely her blood is still in you. You carried her. There would be enough of it lingering to be recognized."
I let that settle, the logic aligning in a way that feels too clean to ignore.
"Then I want to see it," I repeat.
A pause.
"Come and see it," he says. "Decide for yourself."
"Morrath calls to you," he adds.
I look at him. "Why?"
"I do not know," he says.
The answer is not what I expected. For a moment I study him, searching for the angle, the part of this that benefits him. What I find instead unsettles me more. He is being reasonable. And honest.
Kiss shifts in my arms, a soft irritable sound pressing out of her. I adjust her.
"You look pale," he says.
"She insisted on blood this morning." I exhale lightly. "She has mostly adjusted to milk. But Colsar spoils her. If she gets even a taste she remembers."
He lifts his goblet from the desk without comment.
I do not move to take it. My hands are full.
He steps closer.
He brings the goblet to my lips.
I hesitate just long enough to choose it.
Then I drink.
The taste is immediate. Iron and something warm and deeper that spreads and does not leave quickly. I pull back slightly.
A thin line of red remains at the corner of my mouth. His thumb comes up, dragging slowly across it before I can move. I catch it from his skin, my tongue following the line he left behind.
He watches it, and our eyes linger for longer than needed.
Then Kiss jerks in my arms.
A furious sound breaks from her, her fingers tightening hard against me as she twists toward the goblet, reaching, demanding, entirely certain the world has been unjust to her.
"She wants it," I say.
His mouth moves. "I gathered."
He lets out a short laugh, unable to stop it entirely. Kiss makes another outraged sound, twisting harder, as though I am the one who has wronged her.
I pull her back against me as she protests.
The laugh fades. Something quieter comes after it.
"I want to apologize," he says.
I lift my hand. "Don't."
Something in me surges, but I force all of it down.
“I don’t have room for the past right now. Not for you. Not for any of it.”
Silence holds.
"I won't promise forgiveness," I add. "I can promise you're not on my list to kill."
A small pause.
"Right now."
Something moves through his expression.
"I never said I wanted your forgiveness," he says. His voice lowers. "Of the things I planned to apologize for, wanting you near me has never been one of them."
I laugh. It comes out bitter before I can do anything about it.
"Do not talk to me about wanting me near you," I say, "when the woman who almost had me killed not only breathed air but roamed this palace freely before I arrived."
He does not flinch from it.
"Yvara is in the dungeons now," he says.
"Yes," I reply. "She is, because I put her there."
A pause.
"I promise you, the day you arrived was the first time she was brought out of the dungeons,” he says. “The Yorali princess requested it. I allowed it because I wasn’t done using the arrangement.” His voice does not change. "It will not happen again."
“That is the thing with you, Sevrin,” I say. “There is always some politically practical reason you use to justify fucking people over, isn’t there?”
“I wasn’t finished.”
“I don’t need you to be.”
“It is never political,” he says.
That stops me.
His voice lowers. “It is always for you.”
“The Princess of Yorali is a means to an end,” he continues. “One that will always end with you.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. “And I don’t even want to.”
“She is in the dungeons,” he repeats.
“And if I decide to kill her?”
A small pause.
“She still has use,” he says.
I smile slightly. “As do you.”
He stiffens. Then—
“I won’t stop you.”
I let that sit exactly where he put it and do not touch it.
"I killed Mysin last night," I say.
"I suspected you would."
"The soraka poison was a nice touch."
"I thought you might like that."
A brief pause.
"My council has raised concerns about the Baron," he continues. "His ships have not docked. His coffers remain sealed." His fingers tap once against the edge of his goblet. "And somehow all of his holdings now bear your name."
"I do not wish to discuss matters of record without Colsar present."
A slight movement at his mouth. "His name is not on the documents. Yours is."
Silence holds between us.
"And I cannot help but wonder," he says, quieter now, "if you read through them carefully. There was a reason I tolerated him as long as I did. It is not simply coffers the Baron holds. It is power. And if he is dead, it is yours." A pause. "If he is not—"
He lets it trail off.
I hold his eyes. “Then I suppose he should be careful.”
Something moves through his expression that I don’t entirely dislike.
Sevrin watches Kiss in my arms. "May I?" he asks.
The question holds between us.
I hesitate only briefly, then step forward. I place her in his arms. He takes her carefully, far more carefully than I anticipated, his attention fixing entirely on her. His posture changes slightly, as though the rest of the room no longer matters.
She studies him, her eyes curious. Her small fingers curl against his chest. Something in his expression moves in a way I have not seen before.
His hand shifts slightly, as though he might reach for me.
He doesn’t.
Then the door opens.
I feel Colsar immediately. The air pulls tight with his presence.
Sevrin goes still.
I turn. Colsar’s eyes move from me to the child in his brother’s arms, and whatever control he walked in with fractures immediately.
He crosses the room in three strides and takes her without a word.
She does not cry. She turns into him, her small hands gripping his collar as though nothing has changed.
His jaw locks hard enough that I hear the grind of his teeth.
“Asharin,” he says. My name is low, edged, leaving no room for delay.
I follow him out. We walk down the corridor in silence until we reach our chambers. The door closes behind us, and the moment it does, he turns. “Why the fuck would you let him hold our daughter?”
“Because he asked,” I say.
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one that matters.”
“That is not how this works,” he snaps. “You know what he is.”
“I do,” I say. “Which is why I need to understand what he controls before we decide what to do about him.”
“There is nothing to understand,” Colsar says. “We destroy Morrath. We remove him. That is the end of it.”
“It is not that simple.”
“It is,” he says. “You are choosing to complicate it.”
“I am choosing to understand it,” I correct.
A brief silence passes between us.
“I am going to Morrath,” I say.
“No.”
The answer is immediate.
“You did not even—”
“No,” he repeats, sharper.
“You cannot get in,” I rush to say. “But I can.”
His expression shifts. “What are you talking about?”
“Kiss’s blood,” I say. “It is still in me. Enough that the wards will recognize it. Enough that I can pass through.”
“Absolutely not.”
“We just named her heir,” I say, my voice tightening. “Which means Morrath is hers too.”
His jaw tightens.
“If you take the throne without understanding it,” I continue, “you are not taking power. You are walking into something he already controls.”
I pause. “And what if he doesn’t control it as well as he thinks he does? What if it doesn’t answer to him at all?”
Silence.
“It is the only thing he has that you don’t,” I say. “And you want to move on him blindly anyway.”
“I am not arguing the need,” Colsar says. “I am telling you I will not send you into it without me.”
“You can’t go,” I say. “That doesn’t mean I don’t.”
“That’s exactly what it means,” he snaps. “You don’t walk into the one place he controls alone and expect me to agree to it.”
“Colsar,” I say quietly. “You do not have to agree in order for me to do it.”
He doesn’t answer.
That is answer enough.