33. Zarek
Zarek
WEAK
“Where in the hells could it be?” I growl as I stalk through the empty reception hall.
I glance toward the door, trying to weigh how well my performance is landing with the guard who escorted me down here. He was one of the men sitting around the dice table in the kitchens last night, but he’s not the one who won my dagger. Hopefully he thinks I’m a worthless, drunken idiot.
Whatever he thinks of me, he’s not watching me right now. Low voices drift in through the open door. I hold my breath and listen.
Something has obviously gone wrong in the palace of Ethiria.
I’ve never seen so many guards and servants pushing through the halls, all of them with frantic, wide eyes.
We walked past dozens of low, whispered conversations, and even the guard looked unnerved when he stopped in front of the open door to the reception hall.
The lamps are still lit, and a pile of dishes still sits on the sideboard, as if whoever was supposed to come collect them has just run off instead.
It’s obvious with just a cursory glance that none of us left anything in this room, let alone something as large as a cloak, but still, I stalked through the door and glared at each of the chairs in the room as if they had personally insulted me.
“—an army,” a voice whispers from the hall.
I freeze, listening to the low, frantic voice.
“That’s fucking impossible,” the man who led me here growls.
“Rodrick saw them with his own eyes,” the voice counters, with a slightly panicked edge. “It’s an army. The whole godsdamned army!”
The room feels much colder now. I glance at the pile of dishes left by the door, then at the shadows of the men standing in the hallway. If I wait much longer, it’s going to be obvious I’m listening to their conversation.
But if we leave too soon, Lilias and the others won’t have time to escape.
“Come on,” the guard says. “Rodrick’s yanking your chain, you dumb fuck.”
“Come see for yourself,” the other voice hisses. “There’s a line of torches coming down the mountain.”
I step into the hallway and clear my throat, like I’m used to people dropping whatever trivialities they’ve been discussing the moment I walk into a room. Both men turn to look at me. I cross my arms over my chest.
“I’m ready to be escorted back to my room,” I say, like I’m making a royal proclamation.
The guard glances at the man standing next to him. He looks pale, like he’s about to be sick. I sigh, like all of this is so far beneath me it’s actually painful.
“Yes, of course,” the guard mutters.
And then his eyes go wide and the blood drains from his face. I turn to follow his gaze, fear throbbing through the base of my skull.
Vsenrog soldiers. Walking down the hallway in the palace of Ethiria, fully armed, their eyes hard beneath their helmets. Two of them. No, three. That’s Elstin, Conrad, and I can’t place the third.
These are not the men who were gambling with the soldiers last night. No, Elstein and Conrad usually guard the king’s private quarters.
My body suddenly goes very cold. The soldiers step back, standing at attention along the walls of the hallway.
And King Malrik stares at me in the shivering lamplight.
“You sniveling son of a whore,” Malrik spits. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
I stand very still as the king of Vsenrog stalks toward me. My mind screams at me to run, but my body is frozen in place; suddenly, I’m remembering the story about the rabbit who surrenders to the hawk.
Malrik stops in front of me, stares me in the eye, and then raises his hand. I see it coming, but I don’t bother to flinch. Fighting it will just make it worse.
His open palm hits my face with a crack. My head rocks back; my vision flashes white, then red. The taste of blood spreads across my tongue.
“That’s for my son,” Malrik snarls.
I swallow hard. At least Malrik thinks I did it. At least he has no reason to suspect Lilias.
“Syvan was a problem,” Malrik growls, “but he was my problem. I had him under control, damn it!”
I shift my jaw, feeling my skin burn where the king just hit me, then blink as my vision swims with sudden tears. Malrik narrows his eyes at me.
“You idiot,” he spits. “You could have been something, Zarek. You really could have.” He shakes his head, then steps back. “Now look at you. The prince of Dungal. As worthless as the rest of your kingdom.”
He laughs. It’s a hollow, mirthless sound. Gods, he must really be upset. Malrik leans so close to me that I can smell the onions he had with his dinner.
“The snake of Vsenrog,” he sneers. “Do you know why we started calling you that?”
I don’t reply. I’m not expected to.
“It was a joke,” Malrik cries. He laughs again, that hollow bark.
“You were so soft, so harmless! Tiptoeing around the palace like you were afraid to break something. Like if you stepped on the wrong tile, the whole place would come crashing down. Syvan said you crawled around on your belly like a snake!”
Malrik shakes his head. Something sharp and horrible crawls up the back of my spine, something almost like panic. I shove it down.
“You were such a fool,” Malrik continues. “So easy to control. Nine hells, I only had to mention those other boys from Dungal, and you’d hop like a rabbit!”
He laughs again. I remember Petrys and Gerrart kneeling in the throne room, their hands bound behind their backs. The sound the whip made when it hit my brothers. The hot, iron smell of their blood filling the room.
“Steal letters from a lord,” Malrik continues. “Spy on my sons. Anything I wanted. You were always too damn scared to say no, weren’t you?”
His lips curl, like he’s smiling at the memory.
It was the same sort of smile he gave me when I handed him the letters from Lord Pembyrtun, the ones proving His lordship had been embezzling.
Pembyrtun hung in the palace courtyard for almost a month before they finally cut him down and hauled his corpse away.
“Still,” Malrik continues. “I didn’t think you’d be able to kill. Not at first. You know why?”
I don’t dare respond. My chest feels like it’s caught in a vise, like my lungs are screaming for air. Malrik leans so close that I can feel the heat of his breath on my face.
“I didn’t think you had the balls,” Malrik hisses.
I swallow again. The prince from Lisal opened his mouth as my dagger slid between his ribs, but the only thing that came out of his lips was blood.
The first man I killed for Malrik. The first of the dead waiting for me in the Howling Fields.
Malrik raises his hand a second time. I flinch, but the blow doesn’t come. Instead, he wraps his fingers around my chin and, almost gently, he tilts my head to look in my eyes.
“Snake,” he says, in a voice as soft as royal velvet. “I tried to make you into something more. To hammer you into a weapon. But it never would have worked, would it?” He shakes his head, then steps back.
“You’re weak,” the king declares.
He sniffs, and I know our little conversation is over. I shiver, then tighten my jaw.
I am not going to fall apart. Not in front of Malrik. Not ever again.
“Pathetic,” Malrik says, rubbing the back of his neck, “But useful, perhaps. Now that you’re not dead, Ethiria’s about to give you to me on a silver platter.”
He laughs again. It’s a bit warmer this time, a bit happier. His mood is improving. He turns to the guard from Ethiria who brought me here, then to Elstein.
“Tell this man we appreciate his discretion,” Malrik says, nodding at the guard.
Of course. Because it’s beneath the king of Vsenrog to speak directly to an Ethirian guard. Malrik turns and walks down the hallway, the lamps all flickering in his wake. Elstein turns to the guard from Ethiria with a wide grin.
“What’d you see here tonight?” Elstein rasps. He’s one of the nastier members of Malrik’s personal guard. I’ve always hated the bastard.
“N-Nothing,” the guard replies.
Elstein nods, then turns to follow Malrik, leaving the guard and me alone in the silent hallway.
Weak.
The word screams through my skull. I curl my hands into fists and try to push it away, to beat it down. The face of the long-dead king of Dungal rises in my memory, his heavy brow and sad eyes as he told me I would have to be brave. I would have to be strong.
The Ethirian guard doesn’t even bother to glance inside our room when he pushes the door open. He gives me a gruff nod as I step into the gloom, but his eyes are a hundred paces away. I close the door, shutting him out, then stare at the dark emptiness of the room I shared with my wife.
She’s gone. Thank all the gods in all their heavens.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the panicked beast screaming inside my chest. And then, slowly, I walk to the window and pull it open.
Wind rushes through the opening, tugging at my hair. It’s cold, that biting wind, and it carries the tang of the sea. I swallow hard, then turn toward the balcony. Light spills across the smooth stones from the windows of Prince Elrick’s room.
I look down at the little lip of stone below the window. It’s not much, hardly more than a foothold for the flocks of pigeons that live in the courtyard.
“Godsdamnit,” I mutter under my breath.
I grit my teeth against the swell of nausea, and then I swing my leg through the open window. Wind tugs at my clothes as I lower my leg, feeling for the stone ridge. There’s a moment when I don’t catch it, when I think I’m about to fall, and then my foot hits the ridge and I dare to breathe again.
I press my cheek against the wall and dig my fingers into the tiny cracks between the blocks of stone. And then, keeping my gaze fixed on the balcony and the golden light spilling from the windows of Prince Elrick’s room, I force my legs forward.
The wind howls in my ears like it’s trying to convince me of something.
My shirt flaps like a sail; the stone beneath my fingers feels cold and gritty.
I try to move only one part of my body at a time.
One foot, then a hand, and then the second foot.
The stone lip is rough and uneven; it feels like it’s going to crumble at any moment.
Weak, the wind whispers. You’re weak. You’ve always been weak.
Slowly, painfully slowly, the balcony creeps closer.
At first, I thought the light in the windows meant Lilias was still there, that she hadn’t been able to convince her brother to leave.
But no shadows cross through the light while I force myself along the wall.
And, by the time I pull my trembling body over the railing of the balcony, I’m not surprised to see that the room of Prince Elrick is completely empty. Thank the gods.
I sink to the polished stone balcony and let my head fall to my knees as my body trembles. I clench my jaw and breathe, fighting to wrench control back from my traitorous body.
Gods, I hate climbing.
Finally, I force myself to my feet and follow the edge of the balcony, staying far away from the pools of light spilling out of the empty room.
I drop down to the roof below, then crawl as quietly as possible across the slate tiles.
The massive oak tree looms against the southern wall.
As I creep closer, I realize there’s a figure standing on the roof, almost hidden in the shade of its branches.
“Shit,” I sigh.
There’s no sense in trying to hide; whoever they are, I’m sure they’ve already seen me. So I stand up tall, holding my hands in front of my chest. The figure steps out of the shadows. It’s Gerard.
And he’s holding a dagger.