Chapter 22 #3
The Viceroy barked out a laugh. “You are speaking to my hunting dog, little cat. It is he who will be doing the torturing should you decide to resist.” He leaned closer to the bars. “It is he who will execute you, should you not prove useful.”
The fae with the silver hair didn’t blink at the Viceroy’s assertions. He never took his eyes off me. “You aren’t interested in the crown? To use it for yourself?”
His words were low, curious, but I sensed an urgency underneath them. And a feeling that he cared about my answer far more than he wanted to admit.
“I have an interest in history,” I finally said, realizing my answers were flimsy at best.
“You killed the general.” His mouth lifted the tiniest fraction, as if the thought didn’t displease him. “That alone qualifies you for interrogation. Torture. Death. It raises the question of your motives—are you working with the Red Jasmine Rebellion?”
His question was cold, but his voice was not, and its low rumble trickled through me like honey.
“I’m not. I’m not in league with them. I don’t even know who they are. I am simply a scholar interested in history, who happened upon a girl who needed help.”
It was a weak excuse, I knew, even though it was mostly the truth.
But it seemed to be enough. The silver-haired fae turned his head back to the Viceroy and gave a nod. Then he slipped into the shadows, a moon dipping behind the clouds.
The Viceroy smiled brightly, as if he hadn’t been speaking about my torture moments ago. “As of today, you work for me.”
I exhaled. “And what exactly am I doing?”
“You’re helping me find the relic that will make me the most powerful Viceroy in the seven Courts. And your magic belongs to me.”
I didn’t agree with any of that, but it wasn’t the way out of this cell.
He would never willingly let me leave with Queen Azari’s crown. I knew that. But as long as I found the crown, I could make an escape plan.
“Yes, I’ll work for you.” I remembered Mishah being dragged from the prison, her screams echoing through the halls. “But only if you spare the life of the kitchen girl—Ramishah. She goes back to her job and no harm comes to her.”
“You are in no position to be bargaining with me, human.” The Viceroy watched me with that same oily amused me, as if I were a plaything he was enjoying manipulating. “But I’ll grant you this. The kitchen girl goes free.”
His expression didn’t change, as if he always knew what my answer was going to be.
I suppose we both did—it wasn’t as if I had a choice.
Movement from over his shoulder drew my eyes to the silver-haired peri.
His impenetrable face was dark, angry, and his eyes brewed like a storm.
He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin, assessing me.
It was the same look he’d given me in the forest, only this time I felt his valuation more keenly.
Maybe it was because I was in a prison cell and he my jailer.
He walked to the door of my cell, waving his hand at the intricate locks, muttering words under his breath I tried to catch.
The metal mechanisms clicked furiously until the door swung open.
He had no way of knowing I had the power to do that too, even though it looked very different.
But they didn’t know all the details about my magic, and I wanted to keep it that way.
“Come,” the silver-haired peri said, his voice tight.
I followed the Viceroy up the stairs, out of the dungeons and into the sunlight streaming down from palace windows. I lifted my head toward its warmth, the chill of the prisons seeping from my bones.
The silver-haired fae followed behind, and I felt his presence like a monster lurking behind me, the halmasti waiting to feast on my flesh.
The Viceroy peeled away from us without looking back, and I moved to follow. A firm hand on my shoulder stopped me.
“This way.”
His breath was warm on my neck, and I jumped at how close he was. I turned in the direction he pointed and trudged forward, feeling entirely out of my depth.
I’d killed a war general by stabbing him in the neck.
I’d stared down a fae Viceroy and spat in his face.
I’d struck a bargain with him and now walked through the halls of a palace with a towering silver-haired fae who looked as though he wanted to drown me in the River.
It had been a long day.
Eventually he led me to a large bedroom, better than the one I’d had as a servant, and stayed at the threshold as I walked through.
I didn’t need to turn around to know he was still there, watching me. But I did.
We stood staring at each other in silence. I knew the look he gave me—he was trying to figure out a puzzle he couldn’t yet understand. That look was mine every time I helped the Citadel discover a new fae vault, every time I researched a new relic or dissected the songs in my mother’s journal.
It was a calculation of mastery—he was assessing how long it would take to crack me, to figure me out, to know who I was and what I wanted.
Never, I wanted to say aloud to him. You will never know me.
What had the Viceroy called him again?
His hunting dog.
Before he closed the door to my room, that low voice slithered through me once more.
“If you ever try to escape, I will find you.”