The corners of my mouth had tightened. Of course, even as a little girl, Oraya would have taken her studies seriously. Endearing. So fucking endearing.
And then, just as quickly, the smile faded. Because apparently, I wasn’t the only one who thought so, if Vincent had held onto these tattered papers for all these years.
No, I didn’t stay in the king’s wing.
My suite was right next to Oraya’s. Both had multiple rooms, but our bedchambers shared a wall. It was a bad habit, but every time I returned to the room, I hesitated at that wall. Tonight was no exception.
When Oraya cried, it was this horrific, violent sound. Silent at first, and then the silence would shatter into the jagged inhale of a sob, like she was suffocating herself and her body rebelled for air. It sounded like a wound tearing open.
The first time I’d heard it, I made an excuse to go over there—pounded on the door and pulled some bullshit request out of my ass when she opened it. I couldn’t even remember what had come out of my mouth.
Come on, fight with me. Let me distract you.
But Oraya had just looked so empty. Like it was physically painful to be in my presence in that moment. Like she was begging for mercy.
Now, I placed my hand against our shared wall and listened, against my better judgment.
Silence.
And there it was.
I swallowed thickly. My fingers curled into a fist against the brocade wallpaper.
One wall. Thin enough that I could hear through it. Might as well be iron.
Don’t you dare stop fighting, princess, I’d told her, the night before the final trial. It would break my damned heart.
And I had been so fucking smug when I’d wrung that fight out of her in that last battle.
Well, she wasn’t fighting now.
I didn’t go to her room anymore. I’d make sure that headache tea was sent to her the next evening. I’d make sure she had what she needed. But what she needed, right now, certainly wasn’t me.
I got into bed, but didn’t sleep. Nessanyn’s words floated through my mind, this time with a cynical tinge that was distinctly mine.
Who wins?
Well, Nessanyn sure as fuck didn’t.
And Oraya didn’t, either.
5
ORAYA
I waited until the sun was high over Sivrinaj to make my move. I’d spent the night praying that no one would come bother me, replacing those precious locks behind them. I was fortunate.
Raihn had left overnight and hadn’t returned yet. I was acutely aware of that, both because my escape relied upon his absence and because I knew he could show up at any moment.
I had twisted a silver hoop earring I found in the dresser into a clumsy hook. The top lock, a sliding bolt, slipped easily. But the second… the second gave me trouble. I had very little space to work with between the various locks, and the metal was stiff. Several times, I stopped just short of snapping my makeshift pick in half.
“Fuck,” I hissed.
You have more power than this silly little hook, Vincent whispered in my ear.
My gaze fell from the broken silver to my fingertips holding it.
All the doors and windows and locks in this place were, of course, fortified against magic. But even if that hadn’t been the case, my magic had felt very far away these last few weeks. Calling upon it required me to dig too deep, right into all these tender wounds I couldn’t even think about opening—I worried that I’d bleed to death before I could close them again.
But… Nightfire, maybe, could melt that one little bar of metal that held this door closed.
I dreaded so much as trying. But if I had a chance at freedom, I wasn’t about to relinquish it because I was too scared of myself to try.
The first call to my magic was met with nothing.
I gritted my teeth. Dug deeper. It hit on things I’d been trying to bury these last few weeks.
I taught you better than this, Vincent whispered.
I thought of his voice. His face, framed against the sands of the colosseum, bloody and raw and—
The burst of Nightfire was too hot, too bright. It engulfed my hand. I clamped down hard on the wave of grief, anger, sadness.
Control, little serpent, Vincent snapped. Control!
I can’t focus with you lecturing me, I thought, then swallowed shame at the sudden silence of his voice.
I took a deep breath, two, until my heartbeat slowed. The flame dimmed a little.
Control.
I whittled the Nightfire down until it was a small orb, then dipped my broken twisted silver into it. The Nightfire hovered at its end like a flame to a match.
There was no way this was going to work, I thought, then jammed the twisted metal through the gap between the door and the frame—pressing metal to metal. I poured my magic into my connection to that little Nightflame—