50. Zarek
Zarek
IT HAS TO BE POSSIBLE
Istand at the window, watching servants lead carriages through the courtyard and trying to ignore the gnawing pull of the thing Varitan left on the table.
Some of the carriages I recognize from the estates of Vsenrog’s far-flung nobility, and some belong to the castle. I even see the one that took Lilias from the temple to the palace after our wedding. It must be one hell of a party Malrik is throwing.
I clench my jaw and try not to think about the torture that comes afterward.
I’m sure Malrik will make that equally theatrical.
Varitan said something about an illusion, but whatever he’s planning, I doubt he’s trying to spare me anything.
I’m damn sure he does not care about my suffering. In fact, I suspect he enjoys it.
An empty carriage rattles across the courtyard, and the low murmur of voices rises through the window.
I can’t make out what they’re saying, but it sounds like there’s a huge crowd just out of view.
They’re probably gathered by the castle doors, or mingling inside the foyer.
Malrik is probably about to make a speech.
I turn toward the table, almost against my will.
Will Varitan be there for the speech? Does Malrik want him in the crowd or, hells, up on the dais with the royal family and their thrones?
So far, Varitan has kept his comings and goings unpredictable; deliberately so, I suspect.
Sometimes he attacks me in the middle of the night.
Sometimes he’ll appear in the evening, just after dinner slides through the door in the wall, and sometimes it’s first thing in the morning.
I have no particular reason to think Varitan will join Malrik’s festivities.
And yet, some deep, instinctive part of me whispers that he will.
That a man who would accept that much gold and the deed to an estate that massive, who would save all those letters addressed to Lord Varitan, would want to be seen at an event like this.
He would want to stand on the dais, towering above the other noblemen.
I don’t even realize I’m crossing the room until the table stands before me, its glossy surface covered with strange devices and instruments. Blocks of rough wood, empty flasks, and twisted pieces of metal. Bits of leather and silk. The daggers and wine bottles. That godsdamned twist of red ribbon.
But today, there’s something else. Something that makes my skin crawl and my gut twist.
Varitan left one of the silver chains here. With me.
It’s coiled on the far edge of the table, just another bit of junk on a table filled with hundreds of strange bits and bobs. It looks like nothing at all.
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I walk around the edge of the table, approaching the silver chain slowly.
A strange shiver skates across my skin, reminding me of the time I stood with my arms wide, draped in measurements and fabric from Malrik’s tailor, while Fyrris stood before me in his blinding white robes and said that I could be quite useful.
My hands curl into fists as I stare at the damn thing. My muscles already feel tight, like I’m expecting a blow. I force myself to breathe, to relax.
I can stop an attack from this thing. I know that. Varitan has proven it time and again.
What else can I do with it?
I glance at the door, then at the window.
Sunlight spreads across the room, making the glass vials on the table sparkle.
Sound floats in from everywhere; horses in the courtyard, laughter far down the hallway, that low murmur of indistinct voices like the ocean lapping against the shore. Only this room is silent.
The silver chain lies coiled like a snake. And I stand in the shadows, locked in this beautiful prison.
I need a way out. And I can’t use the door.
Even if I managed to break the lock holding me in, I’m not foolish enough to think Varitan and Malrik would leave me unguarded.
Knowing Malrik, he will have chosen guards who have a particular bone to pick with me, who will be hoping I’m stupid enough to try escaping.
Guards who would be only too happy to beat me unconscious before dragging me back here. Or dragging me to the actual dungeons.
No, I can’t escape through the door.
Which leaves the windows.
I turn to the flood of sunlight. This plan is insane, even by my admittedly low standards. But it’s possible, right?
It has to be possible.
I grit my teeth and reach, slowly, toward the chain. Hair stands up on the back of my arm.
I can protect against the magic locked inside this piece of silver, sure.
Varitan thinks someday I’ll protect him, although I’d sooner gnaw on broken glass.
But can I use the magic trapped in this thing to protect myself?
Say, against a fall from a window on the fourth floor of the palace?
Enough to keep me from breaking both my legs, at least?
I grab the silver chain quickly, before I can change my mind. The metal burns my fingers; I almost drop the damn thing.
“Shit,” I hiss.
I shove the metal chain into my pocket. Even through the thick fabric of my pants, it makes my skin pull tight and my muscles twitch. I grit my teeth, then stalk across the room to the window.
These windows don’t open, of course. That would be too easy.
I brace myself against the wall and curl my fingers into a fist. The strange energy trapped in the silver chain ripples through my body, hot then cold, making my gut churn and turning the back of my mouth bitter.
I close my eyes, concentrating on the chaos pulsing through me.
If I can stop an attack, I can create one, damn it.
I open my eyes and stare at the window. And then I pull that horrible, buzzing pulse of energy out of the chain, and I push it forward. The glass ripples, bowing outward. For a heartbeat, I think it’s not going to work, it’s not enough.
And then the window explodes.
Glass rains down on the courtyard. Somewhere in the distance, someone yells. I watch the tiny crystal shards fall through the sunlight, down, down, and down, to the hard stone below.
My throat feels tight. I shiver as the chain’s strange energy twists through me.
There’s no way to know if this will work.
Sure, I can shield myself from Varitan’s attacks.
But there’s a world of difference between getting slapped in the face and jumping out of a window four stories above a cobblestone courtyard.
And I’ve already used some of whatever was in the chain to break the window.
I have no idea what’s left, or what I can do with it.
I force a breath into my aching lungs. This has to work.
There’s no other way out, godsdamn it. And the longer I’m trapped here, the more reason Varitan has to threaten Lilias.
What if I come up against something I can’t do, some strange magical trick Varitan expects but I can’t deliver?
I don’t doubt he’d torture her. He’d probably enjoy it, sick fuck that he is.
But not if I’m gone. And, hells, not if I’m dead.
“Shit,” I mutter again.
I step toward the open window. A gust of wind ruffles my shirt and lifts my hair from my shoulders. I close my eyes, feeling for the angry hiss of energy still trapped in the silver chain.
There’s a creak behind me.
I hesitate. Just for a moment, less than a heartbeat. But it’s enough.
Something cold wraps around me and drags me backward, away from the broken window, away from the bright blue sky.