Distaste lived in the set of Arick’s mouth, but he said nothing. Arick, who made it a point to think of the Wilderwood and the Five Kings as little as possible. Arick, who had no patience for things regarded as holy.
“You don’t want the Kings back.” Red shook her throbbing head. “Eammon told me—”
“Of course he did.” Arick rolled his eyes. “The boy’s just like his father, mistaking foolishness for nobility. I told Ciaran things would end badly when he and Gaya concocted their stupid plan. He never listened, either.”
It slid around in Red’s head, still, pain taking over the space she needed to parse all this into sense. But the mention of Ciaran stuck in her mind like a burr, and her eyes narrowed. Eammon’s father, spoken of like a friend.
Or a rival.
“You’re lucky the boy’s improved his control,” Arick continued. “He tried to hold the roots back from the others, but the Wilderwood had its way in the end. You’re the first who’s had a choice in the matter.” His eyes narrowed. “You could’ve left at any time, saved your sister a world of heartbreak. There was never any Wilderwood in you at all, not enough to make any difference. You’re rootless, Redarys. Nothing but bones and blood.”
Arick crouched so they were level. Surely it was just the dim light and the haze in her head, but his eyes seemed strange, not quite the right color.
“You won’t let yourself be saved.” His not-quite-right eyes searched hers. “That’s what he told me. Not by him, not by Neve. Determined to be a martyr.”
“Let her be a martyr, then.” Fervor in Kiri’s voice, in her claw-like hands. “Her only use was to keep the Queen in line, but she couldn’t even do that.” She pointed to the handprints on her throat. “She went rogue, we need to—”
“Kiri.” Her name was a slap of sound, and the High Priestess dropped her hands like a cowed child. Her eyes were ice chips.
“We’ll keep her here,” Arick continued. A pause, and his tone softened. “Neve’s already lost too much. I won’t let her lose her sister, too.”
It should’ve been comforting, but his face made it clear— Neve was the only thing saving Red. There was bitter, spiking irony to it.
“Besides,” Arick murmured, almost to himself, “she could prove useful yet. I’ll need total surrender from the Wolf for this to work.” His eyes caught the light of the sconce, glittered cold. “He’s familiar with bargaining.”
“Arick.” It was a whisper, a plea. Red’s cracked lips tasted of copper. “I don’t understand.”
Behind Arick, the shadowy mass in the other cell moved. Groaned.
Kiri whirled, poised to strike, but Arick held out an open palm. “No.” His eyes cut from the priestess to Red, considering. Then he shrugged. “Let her see. I tire of holding the illusion.”
Arick’s arm fell, and the lines of his face rearranged, seeping shadow like smoke.
Red blinked, sure her head injury affected her vision. But the drip and merge of his features continued, like water thrown over a still-wet canvas. A sharper jaw than Arick’s, edged in a short, dark beard. Long hair, past his shoulders, somewhere between brown and gold. Pale skin, blue eyes. Handsome, in a cruel way.
Not-Arick rolled his shoulders, a slight smile picking up the side of his mouth at her horrified expression. Next to him, Kiri’s teeth shone predator-bright. “Ask his name,” she whispered, fierce and low. “Ask his name, and tremble for it.”
The man grinned at Red. “I think she knows.”
“Solmir.” It came out hoarse, it came out sure.
The youngest of the Five Kings nodded. “Astute.” He stepped to the side, waved a regal hand at the cell bars behind him. “But another desires an audience, Second Daughter.”
The shadows coalesced, like he’d given them permission, and became a body. Familiar eyes blinked against torchlight. A familiar face, though grimed in blood and dirt. Arick’s hands, covered in cuts, closed around the bars. “Red?”
Red tried to make a sound, tried to call to him, but all she could muster was one sob. Her bleeding hand pressed against her mouth. “Arick,” she murmured, tear tracks clearing dirt and dust from her cheeks. “Arick, what have you done?”
“What he had to.” Solmir stood like a jailer, arms crossed and brows low. “He saw a chance, and he took it. We all do foolish things for love. To feel like we have a purpose.” He nodded to Kiri, who picked up a battered cup from the floor, the edge rusty with old blood. “Go on and tell her, Arick. I’m sure she’ll want the whole sordid tale.”