Chapter Two #3
“No one will be safe if something happens to Anton,” says Sundar, his voice even lower.
“Maksim’s first move will be to try to find him, and now he knows Anton is in Razam.
He will want him dead so there’s no chance of him testifying.
Send word to my mother. She can set up extra precautions to protect him. ”
“But we have no way to break the curse,” I whisper, wringing my hands.
“I have several of my most trusted men scavenging the Temple of Mirin, with others traveling to every priest we can find in the hopes of finding some clue about the Fate of Morta, how to break a Fate’s curse—anything,” Gustav says.
“And if that fails?” I ask. Copelan comes up beside me.
“Then we’re going to have to convince him to work with us,” Gustav says. “Another reason I had hoped to keep you near him.” He swipes a hand across his brow, and only then do I notice how much he’s sweating.
“He’s less likely to be hostile with you, Vasalie,” Sundar says, then turns his attention to Gustav. “Maybe we can find a way to help her escape.”
“And risk you two being blamed for it?” I shake my head. “Not a chance.”
“Perhaps I’m being too optimistic,” Copelan interjects, “but I wonder if we aren’t alone here. You have at least one sympathizer on the Brisendali council.”
Rurik’s sister, he means.
“I’m going to see what I can find out about her,” Gustav says. “Perhaps I can find a way to communicate with you all in the meantime. Let me—”
“King Regent,” comes my father’s voice, “I do believe the Syndicate session is over. Kindly step away from my daughter.”
With pained reluctance, and then a sharper glare than I’ve ever seen him administer, Gustav rejoins his party, who are already being shown away from the war room.
“Guards, please escort our new guests to the northern wing, where they will be shown their accommodations.”
Mr. Perov leads Sundar, Copelan, and me through the fortress—a taxing journey that’s about as bleak as the weather. Every hall looks the same, a monotony of shadows and old gray stone. Windows are sparse, as is the sun, and the sullenness befits my mood.
Upon entering the northern tower, Copelan and Sundar are shown rooms on the bottom floor, while I am led up a stairwell that spirals to the very top of the tower itself, the pressure on my joints compounding with each step.
There the landing reveals three rooms. One for an attendant, and another for a lady’s maid, both of whom will be assigned to me within the hour. The largest room is mine.
When I enter, Mr. Perov directs two of the guards to remain outside my door.
Indefinitely.
I knew I would be a prisoner here, that my leash would be nearly as tight as a noose even before I taunted my father.
I half expected my room to be little more than a cell, devoid of any comforts, so I am surprised when the floors are covered with layers of fur rugs, and the bed is plush and soft with velvet damask.
The walls are a mix of wood and stone, and immediately Mr. Perov sets to lighting the hearth.
The glow of it reflects onto the panes of the three narrow windows, though a chill still seeps through.
“You need not leave your room,” Mr. Perov tells me bluntly. “Dinner will be brought to you at six.”
“I’m surprised you’re feeding me at all,” I mutter.
“We all heard the Syndicate’s orders, Your Highness.”
Despite the honorific he’s forced to bestow upon me, the dull appraisal he rakes over me speaks of his derision.
“And if I need anything else? Who shall I ask?”
His only response is his departure halfway through my question, and the resounding click of a lock.
A prisoner indeed.
I throw off my cloak and examine the bruises left on my arm by my father’s grip. I wonder how many more he will inflict on me, knowing that they will heal before a month is out.
Now that I’m alone, weariness sinks into me, my bones growing heavy with it.
Until now, I haven’t let myself sit with just how sick I feel, opting to brush it off if only to keep a good face in front of Copelan and Sundar, then the Syndicate.
Or perhaps I fear that if I let how I’m really feeling show—how tired I really am, how I can barely stomach my meals—no one will trust me to be useful.
They will decide for me what I can and can’t do. The choice will no longer be mine.
I swipe a lock of damp hair from my forehead, breathing through the nausea that’s now in full swing. Except it only grows worse with worry. I can only pray Copelan and Sundar stay safe here, trapped as we are.
We just have to survive, I tell myself.
But that isn’t all, is it? Our hope rests on Anton’s return, and we have no way to bring him back yet. Gustav can’t possibly let him speak before the Syndicate as he is now.
I had promised I would find a way to save him. And despite having no way of doing that, I feel like I’ve failed him by leaving. And everyone else, too.
Once again, I am a prisoner. Useless. Helpless.
No, I correct myself, shaking my head. This is temporary. Queen Sadira was right, and I cling to her words with all my remaining strength.
I am not a victim. I am a threat.