Chapter Forty
CHAPTER FORTY
Mira
One month later
‘You’re covered in blood.’
I didn’t answer, twisting to remove my dark fitted armour. It resembled Zandri’s, though without the feathered mantle. And much grimier, thanks to the messiness of my spy missions.
‘Is it yours?’
‘No.’ My voice was flat. ‘No, it’s not mine.’
Aric chewed on his bottom lip, the way he always did when he was upset. ‘What did they ask you to do?’
‘I can’t tell you that,’ I said, unzipping my boots. ‘Order business.’
He glared at me – downright glared . ‘Since when do you care about following the rules?’
I looked at him blankly. He was trying to bait me, just like he’d been doing for weeks – trying to draw out some emotion in me, if only anger and frustration. He hadn’t succeeded so far, and he wouldn’t succeed now.
‘Zandri’s pushing you too hard,’ Aric said darkly. ‘It’s like . . .’ He paused, searching for the right words. ‘Like she’s trying to turn you into a machine.’
‘It’s not Zandri’s fault.’
Aric didn’t look like he believed me, but it was true. It wasn’t Zandri’s fault – it was mine. I was the one who wanted to be worked hard, and if I transformed into something cold and mechanical in the process, all the better. I would be one step closer to achieving my revenge.
He shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. ‘Even guards have rest days, time to ourselves.’ There was a fierceness to his expression, something burning and angry. ‘What happened to you, Mira? How did you become . . . this ?’
‘Am I truly so unrecognisable?’
Aric averted his gaze, as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. He motioned vaguely in the direction of the dressing room. ‘See for yourself.’
Then he turned and strode off, slamming the bronze behind him. I had a brief glimpse of the Warriors outside before I was alone once more.
Billowing steam drew me to the bathing chamber, where my attendants had already prepared a bath – gloriously hot and perfect for my aching muscles. I took a breath as I sank into the claw-footed marble tub, revelling in the lack of people . If there was one thing that exhausted me more than anything else, it was unnecessary interaction. I didn’t have the time or energy for it, and Aric was by the far the hardest to interact with. But I never had the heart to turn him away. Maybe I never would, even though we were on two separate paths – paths that would probably get us killed.
When I was done, the bathwater was pink with blood and my skin was clean. I couldn’t say the same for my conscience. Today had been particularly awful – a brave rebel, who had refused to cooperate even under torture. Zandri had ordered him put down, and while I had done it quick and clean, the hatred on his face was burned into my memory. As was the knowledge that I had killed someone whose only crime was fighting for what was right.
Just like I should have been doing.
As I stepped into the outfit my attendants had prepared, I glanced in the mirror. Everything about me was sharper and harder, from my flinty eyes to my deliberate posture. But the dress was beautiful. Lillian’s designs always were.
A soft knock sounded as she stepped inside. ‘What do you think? I know you wanted black, but—’
‘But the rest of the court consider today a celebration,’ I finished for her. ‘And I have to look the part.’
Lillian’s clear blue eyes searched mine. ‘It’s not how we thought it would be, is it?’
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.
She adjusted my crimson dress with careful fingers. Then she pinned my hair so that it fell over one shoulder in dark, glistening waves. ‘You look beautiful, Mira.’ Her words were kind but tinged with sadness. ‘I’m working on something new,’ she added with a tiny smile. ‘I hope you’ll be impressed.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ I replied. So far, Lillian had exceeded even my expectations.
I hadn’t told her about the vow I’d made after my mother had died, or the man I’d murdered during the third Trial. Most likely, Lillian knew it all anyway. I was infamous now, but it wasn’t in the same way I once was. It was an admiring kind of infamy, the kind that resulted in people searching for me at public gatherings, curious to catch a glimpse of my face.
Either way, Lillian didn’t dress me like the girl I once was. She dressed me as the person the court saw me as, a true member of the Order of Masks. My wardrobe consisted of sleek outfits of black and red, with hidden compartments and sheaths for weapons.
‘You’re brilliant, you know,’ I said, trying to lift her mood. ‘The best friend a girl could have.’
Lillian met my eyes in the mirror. Her own were suspiciously bright, as if she was holding back tears. ‘I love you, Mira,’ she said softly. Then she added haltingly, ‘Don’t go down to the docks today. Stay with me instead.’
The smile slid off my face. I turned away without answering, ignoring the expression on her face – the sheer, naked hurt .
A sea of red and gold.
That was my first impression of the Imperial Fleet, proudly assembled in the harbour. Each ship carried a hundred soldiers, and as I stared at the gathered ships – over one hundred strong – I had to fight back rising nausea. The governor’s death had been the catalyst for yet another Kalurian uprising, and the emperor intended to make them pay dearly for it.
I swallowed as The Drakkar caught my eye, the lettering bright and unmistakable in the midday sun. This was just another piece of Emperor Kalias’s calculated pageantry: anchoring the governor’s abandoned ship in full view of everyone, where it seemed sad and shrunken.
Emperor Kalias was standing to one side, allowing Roran to direct the proceedings. The crown prince was already dressed for battle, and his cruel face looked eager. This was what he was suited for: battlefields and brutality. I could only imagine what Ravalia would look like with him on the throne.
He held up a hand for silence and the crowd instantly stilled. Like his father, Roran knew how to use appearances to his advantage; flanked by five of his most seasoned generals, their experience and authority seemed to transfer to him.
‘My father has tasked me with ending the unrest in Kalure,’ Roran announced, his jade-green eyes glinting with satisfaction, ‘and this time, there will be no negotiation. The Kalurians will either bend, or they will break.’
That last word sounded too harsh to be real. People cheered, but I barely noticed. I was staring at Roran, whose hand rested impatiently on the pommel of his sword.
The sword that had killed my mother.
And now he was going to sail across the Azure Sea, to kill my father’s people. My people.
Even my training couldn’t shield me from the horror of all this. The eager crowd, hungry for bloodshed. Children looking on excitedly from under their parents’ arms, not comprehending the tragedy about to unfold.
My hand enclosed around the locket I wore. It was hidden beneath the bodice of my dress, a dangerous secret.
What would my parents think, if they could see me now? Would they be as disappointed in me as I was in myself ?
My father . . . I would never have the chance to know him, but surely he would want me to stop this. And my mother . . . in her last moments, she had spoken of me as a ruler, strong and brave enough to free my people.
I wasn’t sure I could lead anyone or anything. But I felt the weight of that responsibility now, more heavily than I ever had. During the Trials, I had been focused on staying alive. But after I’d killed the governor . . . something had shifted.
Fight for them, Kasmira. Promise me.
Somehow, I had to keep my vow to the governor. I had to find a way of destroying Roran, of protecting the only home I had left. The Kalurians had no advocates here in Ravalia. No one willing to fight for them.
Except for me.
Cassius was watching the Imperial Fleet too, but there was a hungry gleam in his eyes. And when he looked at his brother . . . his expression turned heavy, calculating. He had no love for Roran either.
If we struck a bargain, you and I, I could give you everything you desire. I could even give you my father’s head on a platter.
What better way to weaken the Ravalian Court than by giving the youngest prince exactly what he wanted?
I narrowed my eyes as I watched my mother’s murderer board the flagship. I kept watching long after the fleet had faded from view, the image of Roran’s hateful face burned into my mind – because this wasn’t goodbye. This wasn’t the end.
Not even close.
Let Zandri shape me into the perfect member of the Order of Masks, I thought viciously. Let Cassius plot and scheme and believe he can control me. I’ll use every scrap of knowledge and power to my own advantage. To Kalure’s advantage.
After all, that was what the Order of Masks was created for. Three words, designed to bring down empires.
Infiltrate. Exploit.
Destroy.