Chapter 8
Hours later, the three of them—Imani, Kiran, and Esa—were tucked away in Kiran’s rooms, a carafe of wine on the table.
The interior was far nicer than anything she had ever seen in her entire life, except at the palace in Stralas.
The furniture was made of supple black leather with red satin pillows against the wooden armrests and backrests.
The dark shades did nothing to dissuade the sinister yet opulent feeling of the rooms.
Biting his lip, Kiran watched her closely with his disconcerting, luminous green eye and damning black one. She hated the way it made her feel. Gods, he was shamelessly beautiful.
Imani shifted in her seat and pressed her thighs together to stop the small ache that started there at the sight of him. His gaze immediately tracked the movement—eager, hungry.
The hunger surged in her, too, but she set it aside.
“Stop looking at me, and let’s get on with it. You want to know more about Tanyl’s death?”
While Kiran whispered something to Esa, Imani could feel his attention lingering on her. His magic snuck through the air, looking for signs of pushback. She was too distracted by it to listen in on their conversation.
“Tell me how it works again,” he said softly, looking at Imani once more. His soft tone didn’t betray the order in his voice—she had to obey.
Yet, Imani hesitated. She needed to be careful—sharing too much information wasn’t what she’d signed up for today.
She had a plan and needed to stick to it.
Besides, she didn’t know how else to explain it.
As far as her power skills, she figured things out as she went.
She didn’t question how it happened, just accepted that it did.
“I touch someone for the first time—it’s only the first time—and the vision comes on fast.”
“What happens again when you get the premonition?” Esa interjected.
“I can feel it coming on, I guess. Sometimes, there’s a soft glow around the edges of my vision, but mostly … I just know.”
“Did you cast a spell for this to start?” Kiran asked.
“No. I never cast anything. And no one taught me to do it. In short, it just happened—almost immediately after I gained the brand. Maybe you wouldn’t understand, but it’s true.”
“You have no idea what I do or don’t understand.” Kiran sat back, his arms crossed in front of him, muscles straining his shirt. “How do I die?”
Imani’s throat dried, fingers clenching and unfurling at her sides. She’d expected this question. His tone might have been pleasant enough, but his empty expression gave away the lurking danger behind his inquiry. She wasn’t going to be a puppet for him, though.
“I agreed to give up what I knew about Tanyl and the true Essenheim monarch.”
“Except you lied to me.”
“When did I lie?”
Imani expected him to look back up at her defensively.
Instead, he did a slow perusal of her body before his eyes finally met hers again.
“You said you had the answers to my questions—you didn’t.
You have circumstantial evidence related to them that has interesting implications, but you don’t know who the true heir is and where they are.
So, don’t lie to me anymore,” he said, his voice lowering once more. “This will be your last warning.”
Imani blinked in irritation. “I don’t owe you anything else. This is what we agreed upon earlier.”
Suddenly, a burst of his magic filled the space. It felt like she was being eaten by snakes. She flinched and reached for her wand.
“Looking for this?” Kiran held up her wand. “You need to protect your most valuable weapon better.” The gleam in his eyes and slight raise of his brow showed his pure unapologetic arrogance. And she hated him for it. So much so that Imani thought she might leap across the couch and lunge at him.
He watched her for a long moment, a smile tugging on his mouth, but her resolve refused to break. Esa sat like a stone, waiting for Imani to respond and ignoring Kiran entirely.
A rumble came up his throat as he moved closer to her, caging her in.
Trapping her. The sickest thing was that Imani enjoyed it.
While it pissed her off when he’d slapped her, a part of her had liked it, too.
It had made her feel something other than the grief and anger that had consumed her over the past few days.
Her thoughts spiraled as she tried to squirm away from Kiran. What kind of monster does that make me?
A lonely one.
The elf prince breathed in, shutting his eyes then pulling back from her, as if composing himself.
Before she could even sense his wand move, a feeling like a whip lashed across her face, breaking her skin.
A sob formed in her throat. She tried desperately to hide her response, but Kiran’s spell struck again, ripping a cry from her lips.
“You force my hand with your obstinance,” he whispered almost apologetically.
Her body bristled against the submissive response, yet the magical force flattened her out on the seat, where she curled up to protect herself.
Imani reveled in the pain. It was different from the pain of last night—this came with a visceral reaction to the witch causing it.
It was biting, it was sharp, and it made her so angry.
It invigorated her to feel these new, intense emotions.
He hit her back three more times, the magic ripping open the fabric of her dress.
Blood dripped down her cheeks and back, and the murmurs in her head grew shriller to protect her.
Whispers of words, hisses of syllables. Nothing she could understand, but it continued to grow louder and louder.
Her magic would be coming out soon to meet his if he didn’t stop.
Maybe that was what he wanted.
“Tell me how I die!” Kiran’s demand was a roar. For no reason other than to be a complete and utter bastard, he swiped his wand again, cracking the magic against her back.
Her shadows lashed out and protected her from what would have been another brutal hit. A shout poured out of her mouth, shadows escaping with her breath, and the depraved asshole snarled at her to be quiet, as if this was her fault.
“There’s that wild magic again,” he purred, as if drawing it out had been his intention all along.
A harsh groan echoed around the room as Imani struggled to push herself upright.
She pushed her hair out of her face and smeared some of the blood around a bit.
Her shadows pulsed inside her veins, blackening them.
She’d held them back, even though they would have protected her from most of the hits.
She wanted to feel the pain. To push Kiran.
“Is that all you got?” Imani asked, her voice colored with midnight, and shadows, and death.
“I have more power than you can withstand. But I’d rather not do that to you right now.”
“I would rather you not do that, too. So strange that we have something in common.”
Kiran slid his hands into her thick, silky hair. “I’ll heal you, then you’ll start talking.”
“I don’t want to be healed,” Imani protested, trying to get away from him.
He reached down and touched her cheek. Even with just that small physical contact, energy began surging into her skin.
He felt it, too, letting out a breath. From that place, he stared at her whole body, as if she were the only thing he had ever wanted—a prize he had desperately sought and finally claimed.
Such a mercurial mood from him was enough to give her the courage to ask, “Why do you care about healing me, anyway? I’ll glamour the injuries later.”
He grinned. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my little pain monger?” With a wave of his wand, all her cuts were numbed, and in the next instant, they closed. Blood still ran down one cut, though. She relished that he listened to her even slightly.
“And how would you know what I like?” Imani snapped before she could bite her tongue.
Ignoring her, his posture reminded her of someone who was bored, and yet his expression was serious.
“You’re going to tell me how Esa and I die. Then you’ll answer any other question I want before I give you your wand back,” Kiran explained emotionlessly. “If you don’t, I’ll let you see exactly why I’m the First Witch and you never will be. Please, don’t make me prove it,” he warned.
Imani swallowed down her rage at the bindings. She had no idea he’d abuse them this much, although she probably should have anticipated it.
“I understand,” she whispered, infuriated and unwilling to even look in his direction.
She cleared her throat and looked Esa in the eyes, feeling a sense of overwhelming power grip her heart. Indeed, it felt good to withhold information Esa wanted. “Esa, you’re executed with Lore. Both of you are burned at the stake,” she said, her voice flat.
Nodding, Esa remained silent. Imani found it strange she didn’t have any questions, didn’t say anything to anyone. She turned her head toward the window and stared listlessly. It was as if she’d known the truth all along.
Absentmindedly, Imani picked at the sleeve of her dress as she thought about how to explain Kiran’s. And all the while, his eyes bored into her, drilling her with an unnerving precision.
“Kiran”—she lifted her head to look him in the eyes—“you stab yourself.”
Grabbing her face with both hands, Kiran roughly pushed his thumb into the cut he’d left on her face. “You’re holding details back. Unlike Esa, I want to know everything.”
Eventually, when she didn’t reply, despite the pain of him digging into her cheek and the binding pressing on her will, he shoved her head away and glared.
“Speak,” he demanded.
She resisted still, then bit back a howl like an animal caught in a trap as her head splintered in pain.
“Fine. It’s snowing, and you don’t die alone.
You stab another person in the stomach alongside you before you do the same to yourself, and no, I don’t know who it is.
” She regretted telling him as soon as she had, but there was nothing to be done about it.
After a pause, she added, “And you smiled while you did it.”
His lips tugged downward on the sides, and a spark of something flashed in both his eyes. Like fear. Like something deep down in the Drow elf wanted to live rather than destroy. It was probably one of a handful of real emotions that she had seen on his features.
He quickly smoothed it away.
“When does this happen?” He was smooth and quiet.
A stab of hurt hit Imani, remembering his vision.
Out of all of them, Kiran’s was the most disturbing.
With that serene smile on his face as he bled out and the red covering everything in the image, she shuddered and rubbed her forehead.
“I don’t know. It’s difficult to know for certain with just the vision alone. You look the same, if that helps.”
Imani could feel him hesitate for a second, and then he stared back at her. “And Tanyl? You’re sure he’s an imposter wearing the crown this very moment?” Kiran’s eyes narrowed at her, warning her to tell the truth.
“I’m sure the crown he’s wearing is glamoured.
I have no idea how he’s pulling it off or where the true heir is, but I can promise you he isn’t wearing it when he dies.
And as I mentioned before, we all know that a person lives and dies as monarch once chosen by the Fabric, and that means he’d be wearing the crown.
It’s unmovable until after death, and he couldn’t live without it for more than a few seconds. ”
“How does he die again?”
“Someone murders him with a spell in what appears to be a duel.”
“Did you see who did it?”
“I already told you, unless the victim kills themself, that information isn’t available to me in the visions.” If she knew more about her divination magic, maybe she’d be able to cast a spell to fill in those blanks, but she didn’t.
Steepling his hands, Kiran leaned back in his seat, his mind buzzing. Imani could practically hear those brilliant wheels turning. He knew something he wasn’t telling her about this entire situation.
Finally, he broke the silence. “Are you sure you don’t know who is wearing the real crown right now instead? Have you seen their death?”
Imani licked her lips, preparing her words carefully to evade the truth.
She gave him a slight shake of her head then added, “Whoever they are, they’re superb at hiding, and probably have help.
I bet the crown is glamoured, and glamoured well.
It’s possible no one else is seeing the crown on anyone’s head but Tanyl’s.
He may be playing this one very close to the chest.”
“Or he has magnificent help on his side,” Kiran said grimly.
A surge of worry shot through her at the thought of someone learning the truth, but she shoved it back down.
“You know something, Imani—tell me.”
Imani dug her proverbial heels in. She needed to choose her next words with care.
He could torture her all he wanted, he could keep her wand—she was going to get a new one soon, anyway—but she would keep her knowledge of the real monarch to herself until she could use it against him.
Unless he demanded it with the binding, this was one she wouldn’t budge on.
“You said it was going to be me. Who says it’s not me?”
He considered that for a moment and finally said, “Aside from the fact that you’d never be able to glamour the crown from me—in fact, you’re entirely unglamoured right now, besides the echo shield—I never said you would become the Essenheim queen.
In fact, I think it was my brother Saevel who said that it was more likely you would over Tanyl.
And he was right; it was someone else. And I bet they’re female. ”
He didn’t mention her shadows, which were glamouring evidence of her ordeal with Meira. It almost made her giddy how well they hid everything.
Maybe she was more powerful than before.
“Well, I don’t know anything about who has the crown right now,” she lied, trying to get ahead of the question before he asked it. “I just know it’s not Tanyl.” Not a lie.
Kiran narrowed his eyes, his face dripping with suspicion.
Her nerves tingled as she wondered if he sensed her trepidation. Saints, he was good at keeping someone on edge. She had to admit that about him.