I raised my blade to his throat and, in one smooth motion, cut.
The sword dropped to the blood-spattered ground, and I clutched his body to my chest. Vitaly’s eyes were locked on mine. His mouth worked in silent gasps. I refused to look away, even when his blood rushed over my hands. His body convulsed. His skin went gray. I held him as he died. Till his last drop of blood fell. To his last breath. Until he was gone.
I forced myself to breathe past the pain rending my heart, as Arkady laid Vitaly down on the frozen earth. Hands shaking, I pulled off the black mourning shawl that encircled my neck and covered my hair with the gossamer veil.
Cupping my bloody hands in front of my eyes, I sang. My voice rang into the cold air and bounced off the mountains. It was not strong, not clear or beautiful, but it was filled with all the things I could not say.
The last note faded, and the wind kicked up in answer to my sorrow, howling across the ridge. I grabbed the edges of my veil to keep it from flying off. When I looked up, Vitaly stood at the head of his corpse. The calm on his earthly form was utterly absent from his ghostly one. His eyes froze me, willing me to act.
I had to do it here. With the whole world watching.
Governor Erol cleared his throat. “My lady, I must express my deepest sympathy to you. This attack on you—”
“This wasn’t an attack on me,” I said, my voice as frigid as glacial ice. “This was an attack on you.”
Erol opened his mouth, but I wouldn’t be interrupted. I would make them understand.
“Use your brain. Vitaly was a member of my close guard for years. If it was simply a matter of getting me out of the way, he had ample opportunity. This wasn’t an assassination. It was a message. To you.”
I stepped closer, taking in the unsure faces of the men around me. “Emperor Radovan may have ordered my death, but he was putting my blood on your hands. A foreign royal killed in your court? Not only the rightful queen of Seravesh, but the Vishiri emperor’s goddaughter, murdered with the whole world watching . . .” I let my words trail off, but the implication was clear. “Roven is coming, Governor. Be ready.”
I turned to Prince Iskander. “Your father will need to be ready too. Tell him.”
Iskander’s jaw clenched. Something unknowable shone in his eyes. “Tell him yourself. We leave at dawn.”
5
I sat alone at the stern as the Lord’s Vengeance cut west through the sea, sending ripples of hot air across my face. The ship’s night crew went about their business with silent efficiency, leaving me to my solitude. Funny how quickly solitude becomes isolation. I glanced across the deck and frowned at the closed door of the captain’s cabin. Iskander and his men had been closeted there for days, recovering from seasickness.
Movement flashed in the corner of my eye. I peered into the darkness waiting for the clouds to shift. In the light of the crescent moon, Illya’s towering form appeared beside the mainmast. Watching. Always watching.
I dipped my chin in a shallow nod and turned away, looking east toward Idun, toward the men I’d left behind. The Black Wolves had stayed in Eshkaroth to help Idun prepare for the invasion that would surely happen come spring. There’d been no choice, of course. General Arkady had to stay with the army. It was where he belonged, or at least that’s what he claimed.
Arkady hadn’t met my eye when I said good-bye. Something vital had changed between us, broken when Vitaly turned. Like Arkady didn’t trust himself with me anymore. So he stayed behind and sent Illya in his stead as captain of the guard.
I had to admit there was no one better to ensure my safety, but I needed more than a bodyguard. I needed an adviser, someone who understood court politics, who knew how to maneuver among nobles. Someone like Vitaly.
I shied away from the thought even as the ghost appeared beside me, his body humming with the need for retribution. Vitaly had made his choice, and with Arkady in Idun, it was Illya who remained, questionable though his help was.
I was close with all my personal guards, but despite my overtures of friendship and almost a year of service, I knew next to nothing about Illya. One of the hundreds of refugees from the Seravesh-Raskis border, he was perhaps ten years older than me, exceptionally tall, powerfully built, and the deadliest swordmaster in the Seraveshi army. This fact alone was enough to grant him fame and friends, fortune even, but Illya wasn’t that kind of man. Something about him put people on edge. Put me on edge, I realized, thinking back to that moment in the dungeon when Illya had looked at me and seen . . . everything.
What was I supposed to do with that exposure? Run from it? Or embrace it? I couldn’t decide, not with the nudge of Illya’s gaze still on my back.
I heard a door open and close behind me, but it was the relieved sigh blowing across the ship that made me turn. Iskander stood outside his cabin door. He smiled and made his way over, looking pretty good for someone who had spent the past five days with his stomach in his throat.
“May I join you?”
“Of course.” I studied him as he eased down beside me. “Are you feeling better?”
He shrugged noncommittally. “I’d hoped I’d outgrown seasickness on our first voyage, but apparently not.”
“At least you’re better now.”
“Just in time too. We arrive tomorrow.”
I nodded but couldn’t think of anything to say.
“You should get some rest.”
“Can’t.”
“Well, you should try. You’ll want to look your best for my father.”
I resisted the urge to push the heat-dampened hair out of my face and shot him a sidelong glance. “Why? It’s not like I’m courting him.”
“Really?” he asked, a sly glint in his eyes. “You might have better luck if you did. Women sure seem to love him.”
He shrugged, the gesture doing nothing to dispel the undercurrent of jealousy in his voice. I frowned, both at his tone and his suggestion. My journey to Vishir was meant to free Seravesh, not chain it to yet another empire. “I don’t think you’d like me for a stepmother.”
“What? You’re not the doting type?”
“What do you think?”
Iskander laughed. “Well, that will disappoint my brother. Enver said the first thing you’d do, if we let you come to court, was seduce my father.”
I made a face. I didn’t remember anything about the emperor’s eldest son, but this one sentence was enough to put me off. “What’s Enver like?”
“He’s a prat,” Iskander said, mouth twisting. “An unfortunately influential prat.”
“Oh? A court darling, is he?”
I spoke in jest, but Iskander’s expression darkened.
“Enver sits on the Council of Viziers.”
“Truly?” The council was responsible for the day-to-day running of the empire. That Enver sat on it was a huge sign of favor. “He’s quite young for such responsibility. Is he really qualified?”
“No. My father appointed him out of pity. Everyone knows it.”
“Why?”
“Because Enver was never supposed to happen,” Iskander said, an edge to his voice. He took a deep breath, eyes trained on the darkness. “My father has many wives, but he married my mother with the understanding she would bear his only children. He loved her.” He looked self-consciously at me and away again. “She understood that his . . . affections would not belong only to her. But she refused to be just one more queen. My father agreed.