Warriors of Wind and Ash - Page 90

Possibly he plans to attack the guards as we go by. But I need him to do something else for me.

We’re almost upon him now. My right arm is fully locked in one guard’s grip, and the other guard is holding my left shoulder. Without moving my upper arm, I manage to slip my left hand into the pocket of my dress. Meridian is a pickpocket, a trickster. He’ll notice the movement.

I shift my left hand around behind me, and I hold the antidote bottle in my curled fingers.

“I wish I could see Kyreagan, one last time,” I say loudly, plaintively. “I’d like to give him something to remember me by.”

“Quiet,” orders one of the guards. He and his companion breeze past the servant with the poker as if he isn’t there. At the same moment I feel a breath of air, a whisper of quick, clever fingertips, and the bottle I was holding is gone.

Meridian took it. And if he was listening, he’ll know who that vial is for. There’s no time to explain its contents, or to warn Kyreagan that the liquid might do more harm than good. I have to believe that it will work, that Cathrain’s warped morals led her to uphold her end of the bargain.

When we reach my suite, the guards accompany me into the bedroom. This time they don’t leave when Parma arrives.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” she exclaims tearfully when she enters my room. “The King told me to give Prince Gildas the bracelet on your behalf. I knew it was odd, but I was terrified to defy him. And I didn’t understand what was going on until Vela overheard some talk about poisons, and about a dragon who can look like a man—”

“No more talking,” barks one of the guards. “The King wants her cleaned up and put into the new white dress. He said you’d know which one.”

Parma nods and hurries to start a bath for me. While it’s running, she plucks the bits of glass out of my bleeding feet. The guards insist we leave the door open while I bathe, so we make it quick, and afterward she brings me the dress. It’s similar to the one I wore the night of the ball, except the material is thicker and softer, and the skirt is so long in the back that it trails behind me when I walk.

Parma is blotting the water from my hair when Rahzien walks into my room, dressed in fresh clothing and a white cloak.

I stiffen immediately, and so does Parma.

“Does it make you feel powerful when you enter a room and the women cringe?” I say caustically.

“Enjoy your defiance while you can,” he replies. “You’re about to regret all of it. Did you think you could run from me, murder my poisoner, and speak to me disrespectfully, without being punished? You’re going to bleed and scream before Kyreagan and all your people. And you’re going to watch me cut his face to pieces. We’ll see if you still want to kiss him when he doesn’t have a nose. Or lips.”

Icy horror curls along my spine.

Parma is weeping openly, and Rahzien glances at her. “Put more cosmetics on the Consort’s face. She looks like death.” He turns back to me. “No bold words now, eh, Spider?”

“I’ll love him no matter what you do to him,” I reply, gripping my chair to hide how violently my hands are shaking. “But I’m asking you not to torture him. Please. He’s dying anyway… please, just take out your anger on me.”

“How noble of you.” He speaks coolly, his perfect calm restored. But I’ve seen through the cracks. I know there’s a volcano under the hardened rock of his face. “Honorable as your intentions may be, Spider, we’re past all bargains now. Unless you’ll agree to give me full access to your body and your enthusiastic consent anytime I want to enjoy myself.”

“That would be false consent,” I reply. “And that isn’t what you want, is it?”

Not a twitch of his beard or a tremor of his stone-cold features. He pulls a black velvet bag from behind his back and hands it to Parma. “Put this crown on her head.”

“Her hair isn’t dry, my lord—”

“Do as I say.”

Trembling, Parma eases the crown out of the velvet bag, and I fight to keep my face from betraying any emotion.

It’s the crown I received on my sixteenth birthday. It’s meant to sit directly above the brow, sweeping back in silver swirls to cup the sides of the wearer’s head. It’s just pliant enough to ensure a snug fit. Parma settles it into place and presses it tight against my temples. She runs her fingers through my wet hair, arranging the strands.

“More cosmetics,” says Rahzien. “And earrings. Big ones.”

I cast him a look, but his face is unreadable.

At last he seems satisfied with Parma’s work, and he extends his hand to me. “Come, Spider. My heralds are calling the people together. We’ll meet them in the Outer Market. And then we’ll see how prettily you can scream.”

27

I’m getting weaker. My body craves the shift to my birth form, but still I’m prevented. An aching shudder passes through me now and then, accompanied by painful contractions of my back muscles, where my wings would be.

I’m suffering through another spasm when three helmeted Vohrainians come to the door of my cell. One of them unlocks it, then comes in to detach the chains from my body and wrists. Briefly I consider trying to fight, but I can’t summon the strength.