I searched for words. “Yes: the craving for revenge.”
She was quiet, assimilating that. “Nothing else?”
The door opened again, admitting Sondra, Kara, and Ambrose. In Sondra’s and Kara’s eyes, I saw the reflection of the same hollow core I felt in myself, and that same quality of burning rage that consumed all other thoughts and feelings. When the fire of revenge animating us burned out at last, we’d collapse into ash.
“Conrí?” Lia spoke my name gently. She tapped my hand with her nail, and I realized I hadn’t replied to her question. I tried to smile at her and couldn’t. Whatever she saw in my face put a faint line between her brows.
“What news?” Sondra asked, the burning in her a bright and needy thing. “Do we have movement?”
I nodded, watching Ambrose, his knowing expression saying everything. The sun hit the faceted emerald on his staff, scattering shards of light against Merle’s underbelly, giving him an eerie cast. The prophecy’s words echoed in my head, as if by speaking them aloud to Lia, I’d given them even greater power.
Take the Tower of the Sun,
Claim the hand that wears the Abiding Ring,
And the empire falls.
That hand now rested on my arm, with the orchid ring flamboyantly fluttering in an unfelt breeze. The true chill of the prophecy struck a dark foreboding in me, and I finally understood the true import of knowing the extent of Anure’s obsession, and why I’d needed Lia. By claiming her hand in marriage, I possessed what Anure would jeopardize his empire to seize.
I’d searched for it all this time, a way to draw Anure out of his fortress, an opening to destroy him and his empire. The price had been irrelevant. I’d long since stopped caring about what happened to me. I’d always been resigned to the truth that, in the end, I’d happily destroy myself in order to take Anure with me.
Now I knew I’d have to risk destroying Lia, too. All my promises to protect her were as empty as my blackened soul. She’d called me a caged wolf, and she was more right than she knew. A trapped animal can never be trusted.
4
Con’s people formed a circle around him, listening intently as he related the essence of the vile missive from Anure. I marked the way he neatly summarized our extended conversation—probably the longest one we’d ever had—what he included, what he omitted. Staying silent allowed me to play observer, to note the emotional undercurrents among Con, Lady Sondra and General Kara. Calanthe had received refugees from all over the forgotten empires, and I’d made a study of people from many cultures, but these three posed new riddles.
Focusing on them kept me from dwelling on the jagged emotions that sliced at me from the inside out. And accommodating his request to speak with his commanders first both built goodwill between us and gave me a moment to get myself under control.
Shoving down the tumult of unexpected feelings with ruthless determination, I poured ice over the fear, anger, the gnawing pain of Tertulyn’s possible betrayal and my role in the prophecy. Ridiculous to feel stung over that. I’d always known Con only cared about revenge and that marrying me had been another rung on that ladder.
Emotion would get me nowhere. I found myself shamed that Con had seen it necessary to remind me of that. I needed to focus on being rational, analytical. Dispassionate. Now more than ever.
So, we both liked the sex. A perk. And yes, Con’s point that we could be good to each other instead of tearing at each other was only practical. I’d be a fool to think the passion and occasional understanding we shared meant anything more than that. I hadn’t gone into this wanting more than that.
Con had completed his summary, Kara and Sondra firing questions at him. Ambrose had tipped back his head to watch some lilac songbirds fly over. He remained a cipher to me, in keeping with a wizard’s nature. His playful attitude was as much a part of his disguise as the sunny curls, canny green eyes, and youthful face. None of that fooled me, as the glow of his power couldn’t be easily hidden from my sight. Even if the orchid ring didn’t react to his presence with the floral equivalent of girlish giggles and flirtation, I’d have sensed the ancient being disguised by the wizard’s boyish mask. I hadn’t encountered anyone with his level of power before. Studying him—and the orchid ring’s reactions to him—had given me new insights into magic in general, and my own nature. I wanted to ask the wizard questions, but hesitated to reveal the exact boundaries of what I did and didn’t know. Ambrose and I treated each other as allies, but—just as with Con—I reserved suspicion in case things proved otherwise. After all, the wizard had made no secret of his own fascination with the orchid ring, and he owed his loyalty to Con. He might be my court wizard in name, but he belonged to Con. Also, from what Con had revealed about the prophecy, I now knew Ambrose had manipulated me for his own ends. I’d do well to remember that.
Thus far Ambrose and I had executed a careful dance around each other. I felt sure he could see more of my own true nature than the non-magical could, but perhaps not the full extent of it. Likewise, he had to know I saw beyond who he pretended to be, but even I wasn’t sure what to make of what my senses told me.
All I had to go on was my father’s advice on the subject. Treat a wizard like a fish with a scorpion’s tail and with a jewel in its mouth. Grasp the fish too tightly and it might drop the jewel to be lost forever. Too loosely and the fish escapes your hold. Annoy it, and face the sting. That was all I knew. How I wished I had someone to give me advice.
Or someone to talk to that I could trust to be on my side. Con wanted me to confide my secrets and inner thoughts, but …
I didn’t know. I enjoyed his attempts at kindness, rubbing my aching feet—who’d have guessed the rough man had such an intuitive touch?—comforting me in my unreasonable fears. I also found myself wanting to open to that, like Ejarat turning her face to Sawehl’s sun, Her soil thawing under His nourishing rays.
But kindness could be a lie. I’d grown up around countless courtiers who employed apparent kindness as a tool in their social arsenal. When I was a girl, I’d been fooled a time or two, and discovered the manipulation too late. My father had simply pointed out the lesson and suggested I learn what he called the Rule of Suspicion. Be suspicious first, but especially of kindness. People rarely offer anything without wanting something in return, he’d say. The trick is learning what they want, then deciding if the trade is worth it.
I’d discovered that very rarely was I willing to give what they wanted, especially in exchange for a temporary and shallow kindness.
In all truth, I preferred prickly animosity like Lady Sondra’s. She and I had de-escalated from outright hostility, but not much beyond. Still, she was honest and I didn’t have to spend effort sorting beneath the surface for her true motivations. I didn’t begrudge Lady Sondra her resentment—she thought I didn’t have Con’s best interests at heart and she’d be correct. I couldn’t put my husband before Calanthe.
I thought I’d learned my lesson, learned the Rule of Suspicion well. Except for Tertulyn. I’d accepted her kindness to me at face value. Our friendship had been a clean well I drank from, because I thought she’d never wanted anything more than the affection we’d shared.