Iskander paused. “And still there’s nothing?”
I rose, gathering strength about me like a cloak, and spoke with supreme indifference. “The Black Wolves are trained to resist interrogation. If Vitaly was persuaded to rebel, pain is unlikely to motivate a confession.”
Iskander’s eyes went wide. “Then why let him be tortured?”
“What else is to be done with a traitor?” I asked, my voice sounding hollow to my own ears. “Lead the way, Governor.”
I had seen many castles in my life. They were as different and varied as flakes of snow. But without fail, enemies were kept below. I followed Governor Erol down one staircase and the next, into the earth, into the cold, the dark and the damp.
The silence told me we were close: leaden and brittle all at once. The dead were gathering, filling the cells closest to the center chamber. I felt their eyes on me, but their faces didn’t bear looking at. They weren’t there for me anyway. They were there for Vitaly.
We reached the last closed door, and Iskander paused. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I wanted to say no, to scream and run. “This isn’t the first traitor’s death I’ve witnessed. Open the door.”
There was nothing like the smell of a place to mark its true nature. Blood and filth could be washed away, but agony and fear? The smell of true misery always lingered.
Vitaly hung naked in the center of the room. His whole body shook, his shackles rattling with the sound of approaching death. Strips of fair skin had been ripped from his rib cage. Rivulets of blood flowed down his torso from punctures to his liver and kidneys. His toenails littered the floor. Impossibly, he was still alive. Illya knew his job.
I looked away, locking away my horror and heartbreak before anyone could read them on my face. Wasted effort, for everyone was looking at Vitaly. Or, almost everyone.
Illya watched me from the edges of the room, the weight of his attention pushing me perilously close to the edge. It was his eyes, I thought, trying to distract myself. They were so gray they were almost silver. Mirrorlike. Always reflecting things better left unseen.
Things like pity—not for Vitaly. For me. Like Illya could peer through the frail armor of duty and see what ordering Vitaly’s torment was doing to me.
It was too much, that understanding which tested the bounds of my control. I couldn’t let these men see how much Vitaly’s betrayal cost me.
“Leave us.” The demand fell from my lips like the flat of a blade against flesh. Iskander made an incoherent noise of protest before someone shushed him. Only when the door shut on their backs did Vitaly’s eyes meet mine.
He watched me like I was life itself, like I was water in the desert. Like I had the power to save him, this traitor, this friend.
“Why, Vitaly?”
Hope drained out of his face. As the silence stretched between us, my thin cord of control cracked. I lunged, grabbing his chin, forcing him to look at me. “Why did you do this? Why do I deserve to die?”
Tears fell from his eyes, rolling through dirt and blood as they fell, staining my hands.
“Please,” I rasped, a sob rising in my throat. “Just tell me why.”
He closed his eyes. Pulled his face away.
I fell back and found that we were not alone after all. The dead had come, broken men and women, who, even in death, could not escape the torment of this room. They surrounded us, their night-filled eyes latched on Vitaly. Claiming him.
I spun on my heel and shoved through the door, as my unvoiced sob hardened into something sharper. “Bring him.”
The Black Wolves waited in the foothills. Three thousand men stood in perfect rows and perfect silence, each of them but two breaths from violence. I sensed their rage, for it was within me too. Betrayal bubbled under my skin. The Wolves watched Vitaly. Vitaly watched me.
He knelt on the frozen ground, shackles clamped around useless arms. A filthy robe covered the worst of his wounds, but his face was so ashen it was clear he wasn’t long for this world. There was no more hope in his eyes, just acceptance.
“My lady?” Prince Iskander stood by my side. His lips were set into a frown, but I felt his sympathy in his every worried glance.
Sympathy I didn’t deserve. Vitaly might have thrown the dagger, but it was my weakness that had driven him to it. I hadn’t been smart enough to foresee the invasion. I hadn’t been fast enough to stop the burning of Nadym. Did Vitaly think I wouldn’t be strong enough to turn back the Roven tide? That I wasn’t ready to give anything, everything to free our people?
“Lord Vitaly Kavondy, Lieutenant of the Black Wolves of Seravesh, you have been found guilty of treason, espionage, and the attempted murder of Her Royal Highness, Askia Poritskaya e-Nimri.” Arkady’s words echoed off the surrounding hills sharp enough to cut skin. “The penalty for your crimes is death. I strip you of office and name. May my fallen brothers hunt you across the Marchlands. May the Two-Faced God turn you away from Its light.”
I stepped into the echo of Arkady’s words, clenching my sword’s hilt to hide the tremor running through my hand. “Confess now, and one last request shall be granted.” The acceptance in Vitaly’s face turned to pity. Though my words rang across the mountains, colder than winter snow, he obviously heard the lie in my tone, this man I had loved as a brother. A dull depthless pain throbbed through my body. “Why?” I asked in a voice meant solely for him. “I can stop him. I promise you there isn’t anything—”
“No, Askia, it’s not—” A long breath gushed out of him and he sagged toward the ground. “Radovan is going to do it again, like he did to Nadym, but this time to Kavondy. My family.” His words came out in a gurgled rasp, like he didn’t have enough air behind them. Blood bubbled on his lips. “A man came to me. He put his finger to my forehead and drew me into the burning ruins of Nadym.” Vitaly gulped, like he was trying to swallow back dread. “He said Radovan would unleash Branko. He said Kavondy would burn unless I killed you. But I had to do it here. With the world watching, he said. I don’t think he ever intended for me to succeed. But if it saves my family . . .”
His words echoed into the hollow place where my heart used to be. This wouldn’t save his family. They were probably killed the moment Vitaly left for Idun. My rage guttered. I didn’t have the strength to tell him.
I bowed my head. “Request?”
“Sing the dirge for me, my lady. Please.”
It wasn’t allowed, not for traitors. General Arkady would have killed him for the presumption. But that was Vitaly, bold and bright to the core. To the end.
I circled Vitaly’s still kneeling body and tilted his head until it rested on my stomach like some horrid mockery of an embrace. I smoothed his black hair out of his eyes with one hand and drew my sword in the other. My heart stilled, frozen between one beat and the next.
He looked up at me, tears falling from his clear green eyes. “I will serve you better when I see you again.”
I closed my eyes against the oath, but not before seeing Arkady stiffen and Iskander frown. I pushed them out of my mind. Now was for Vitaly, and the rest he was forsaking. I swallowed back tears, refusing to let the grief surface, but Vitaly knew. He always knew.
Vitaly smiled.