Cas lurched to his feet. He was trembling. Brother, what have you done?
Lena rose too, slowly. “That isn’t Jehan.” She regarded the box in his hand as though it were some sort of incendiary. One that would go off at any moment, destroying everything it touched. “Is it?”
He did not answer. Lena was studying his face. “You recognize her. Is she . . . Cas. Tell me what I’m seeing is wrong.”
Before he could speak, the box was plucked from his grasp.
“What’s this?” Bittor squinted at the miniature. His other hand was pressed up against his nostrils, trying to block bad smells. Seconds later, the hand fell away. He glanced up, frowning. “Who is this?”
“Give it to me.” Cas snatched at the box.
Bittor was fast. He held it out of reach, turned toward the candlelight, and read the inscription beneath the portrait. “This isn’t Queen Jehan. Who . . .” Cas saw the moment the truth hit him. Bittor’s mouth hung open. Nothing came out.
Lena turned in a slow circle, studying the chains on the walls. “This is why she hates them. They stole her name, her life.”
Cas could think of nothing beyond Ventillas, both parent and brother. What would the king do once he saw the miniature? No friendship could survive a betrayal such as this. Ventillas would lose his head. It would end up on a pike for the lammergeiers and the crows. Lord Amador would make sure of it.
“Bittor, give me that box.”
“Why?” Bittor backed away, toward the stairs. “What will you do with it?”
Lena collapsed onto the lid of the trunk. “How did she think she could get away with such a thing?”
Cas said, “Bittor—”
“Cas, you can’t destroy it.” Bittor shoved the box into his cloak. There was pity in his eyes. He knew what this meant for Ventillas.
“I won’t—”
“I can see it in your face. You will.” Bittor stopped as his boot hit the bottom step. His expression changed. “The treaty. What will happen to it?”
Lena lifted her head, eyes wide. That part had not occurred to her. There were too many layers to this disaster.
Cas cared about only one of them. “I don’t want to hurt you. I need that box.”
“No. You may be the queen’s man, but I am not—” Shock flickered in Bittor’s eyes. It was only then that Cas realized he held his mace with both hands. He did not remember reaching for it.
“Cas!” Lena cried. “What are you doing?”
The shock did not hamper Bittor’s reflexes. When the mace swung toward him, his sword was there to stop it.
The next few minutes passed in a blur of steel and a flash of iron. Cas could have been back in prison. Fighting without thought. Intent only on survival. But this time he was not fighting for himself. The shock had gone from Bittor’s face, replaced by a tightlipped anger. From somewhere far away, Lena screamed at them to stop. The box was knocked free of Bittor’s cloak . . . and swept up by Lena.
Cas stopped.
Lena looked at him as though she had never seen him before. Angry color slashed her cheekbones. “You would have killed him.” She stood next to Bittor, who was bent over, gasping for breath. Blood trickled from his ear and down his neck. The sight of it sickened Cas.
He dropped the mace. “No.”
Bittor snarled, “Liar!”
“Was I next?” Lena demanded. “The sisters? All your witnesses gone?”
“No!” Cas protested, horrified that she would think it. That she had cause to believe he would harm her. “Lena, I need time to warn my brother. Please—”
“Then go!” She pointed to the stairs. “Warn him. But you won’t take this with you.”
Lena and Bittor watched Cas with suspicious eyes. They did not know what he would do. They did not trust him anymore. His sutures had opened. He could feel the blood oozing into his sweat. A sourness clung to his skin, not to be blamed on the foulness wafting from above. He recognized the smell. Fear had its own peculiar stink.
“They will kill him,” Cas said.
Tears sprang to Lena’s eyes. “This is beyond us, Cas. It’s not for you and me to decide what is to be done.” She held up the gold box. “This belongs to the king. He will decide.” She tucked the box into her cloak and ran for the stairs.
“Lena!” Cas did not charge after her. He was not so far gone as that. But he turned to watch her go, heartsick, and in that moment of inattention, Bittor brought the hilt of his sword down onto his head.
When Cas came to, he found himself alone. He sat up, groaning at the pain in his skull. Chains rattled. Cas lifted his hands, staring openmouthed at the iron cuffs around his wrists.
Bittor had chained him to the wall.
The candle sputtered across the chamber. Burned down to a stub. It would go out soon. Beside the candle were the keys, freedom, only his chains did not extend so far. He could not reach them.
Cas listened. Now, when he would have welcomed it, there was no weeping coming from above. He called out, “Lena?”
Nothing.
Louder, he said, “Bittor! God rot you! Get down here!”
Nothing. The smell of death drifted down the stairs.
“Sisters?”
No one answered, though he continued to call out, yanking on his chains and fighting a terrible panic. Bittor Lena Sisters! became Lena Lena Lena! She did not come. The cuffs sent him back to prison. His arms turned bloody trying to break free, and his voice went hoarse from screaming. She had left him here knowing what she knew. Having seen the scars, the branding on his wrists.
The candle flickered. It went out. Cas was left with his chains in the darkness. And something deep within him died.
“Cas?”
He turned his head, blinking at the sudden blinding light. He was huddled in a corner, arms wrapped around his knees. He could not stop shivering. The light came closer. A face appeared.
Lena.
A shocked whisper. “You’re hurt.” She knelt before him, reaching for hands gone sticky with blood.
“Don’t touch me.” He recognized that voice. Hoarse, lifeless, it came from a time before. Lena froze. He said, “The keys.”
“Yes, of course.” Lena jumped to her feet. The flames swung wide as she searched the room.
“The table.”
Lena snatched the keys, speaking in a rush. “I didn’t know he had cuffed you. I came back as soon as I heard.” She placed the torch in a wall bracket. That was when she saw the vomit by his feet. Cas lowered his head. After a moment, he heard her say softly, “Hold out your hands.”
Later, he would remember that she was crying. It took several tries before she unlocked the cuffs. Her hands shook. “Your head. Your poor wrists. I have bandages. Let me—”
Cas staggered to his feet. He braced himself against the wall. “Where is he?”
“Riding for Elvira. He has the box.” Lena rose, stepped away. “When he caught up with me, he said that he had left you here, that the sisters were to let you go after a few hours so that you would not stop us from reaching the king. I turned around right away. I went to the hospital first, but those wretched sisters! Sister Ivette is in jail, and Sister Roslyn forgot all about you—”