We’re almost to the edge of the woods when he finally speaks. “When I was a boy, royal soldiers used to tear through our tribe, searching our homes for twice the taxes we owed, at times abusing our women, and often taking our men for their endless wars. We collected nothing of value because it would be stolen, and thatched our roofs with simple hellipses grass because half the village would be burned to the ground. We’d cut down fields of the stuff for weaving and thatching. It’s supple yet strong. And abundant. We’d rebuild, over and over again, making everything we could from that bloody grass.”
He turns, and I see him in profile, his sharp gaze scanning the meadow rolling right up to the forest. He’s probably noting the abundance of hellipses grass. The tough, long stalks are the only thing that really grows here unless there’s shade, a natural water source, or irrigation. It’s all over the north, too, but greener and softer there, like the springtime grass here before it dries and yellows from the heat.
“One day, my father decided he was done with blind subjugation. He challenged for leadership, won the tribe, and then did the same from village to village until he’d unified a swath of people and land across southern Sinta. Before the royals even noticed, he created an army right under their noses. The next time soldiers came, they only took the taxes we owed, they left our men and women alone, and they didn’t light up a single home.” He pauses to hand me his water gourd, drinking after me before continuing.
“I know what one decision—one person—can change. But I form and execute plans. I don’t second-guess, and I rarely call myself into question. That’s not all Sinta needs. Our goal isn’t just to dominate, like previous royal families. It’s to rule.”
Reality douses the spark of interest flickering inside of me. It’s only been a few months. What will his attitude be once the power and wealth sink in? Will the Beta position still satisfy him? And, if it lasts that long, what will his future children’s attitudes be once they start vying for the throne? From what I’ve heard, Alpha Sinta is unwed and too old to bear children anyway. That means Beta Sinta will succeed his sister on the throne, likely sooner rather than later, and then his offspring will come after him. Probably in every sense of the words. “How terribly noble.”
“Egeria’s warm,” he says, ignoring my sarcasm. “She smiles at people. She has ideas for healing centers and schools. She knows how to comfort widows and orphans. She compensates for what I lack.”
“Humanity?” I ask snidely, not really meaning it despite my own unfortunate circumstances.
He shrugs. “In a way.”
I snort, not having expected him to agree. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working.” I know what an utter lack of humanity looks—and feels—like. If he had no humanity, he would have taken the throne for himself. He wouldn’t be interested in showing his sister’s softer face to Sinta, or in ruling instead of dominating. And I’d be unconscious over his horse’s rump.
That doesn’t mean I like him any better.
“I’m not trying to scare you, Cat.”
“So what are you doing?”
“Explaining. Like all the realms, Sinta was being beaten into the ground by bloodthirsty, selfish royals. Things had to change. I don’t lack humanity. I just do what needs to be done.”
I frown at the back of Beta Sinta’s tanned neck, noticing a smattering of freckles across it. I could almost agree with that, if “what needs to be done” hadn’t included abducting me.
*
The ancient forest rises like a sentinel wall, its trees gnarled and old, its canopy thick and high overhead, providing instant relief from the heat. I tilt my head back, breathing the shady air deep into my lungs. “Please say we’re stopping,” I mutter on the exhale.
“Up ahead,” Beta Sinta answers. “By the stream.”
For a second, the thought of water—rejuvenating, curative water—distracts me from everything else. “How long will we stop?”
“Until tomorrow. We need to hunt.”
“Thank the Gods,” I groan.
Carver, Flynn, and Kato smother laughs, and I narrow my eyes at them. “You won’t be laughing with my knives in your hearts.”
They chuckle outright, as if I were joking.
Flynn stretches his upper body, adjusting his ax. “She talks big, but she’s made of custard.”
“Fluffy and full of cream?” Kato wiggles blond eyebrows at me.