A Queen of Thieves & Chaos (Fate & Flame, #3)

No wonder the Ybarisans are giving them a wide berth. Just being near drains their strength.

Radomir has no chance of riding away tonight, unless they expect the Ybarisans to stand by idly and watch. Or worse, join in.

Or all he cares about is killing me before Jarek ends him.

Kienen’s hand sits on his pommel, but it’s sheathed. He might be waiting for an order from me, but he could just as easily be waiting to see this play out. The Ybarisans around him shift uneasily in their saddles, glancing to one another.

In this perilous moment, my affinities rise to the surface, crackling beneath my skin, begging to be unleashed, and I know I could kill them—all of them.

But Radomir’s words strike a chord.

Queen Neilina promised us the sun.

Of course.

“Would you like to see what’s inside this mountain?” I blurt.

“Romeria!” Zander barks in warning.

I ignore him. This is the opposite of telling them nothing. This is telling them everything. But if I’m right … “Would you like to see Ulysede, Radomir?”

Radomir’s eyes narrow with suspicion.

“You won’t be harmed, you have my word.”

“Your word means nothing.”

“Keep provoking me.” Jarek grins in a way that begs for it.

“Aren’t you curious to see what you’ve been missing all these years?” I gesture toward the gate. “Only you, though.”

The sapling studies the tunnel ahead, then his men at his back. “If we do not return to our stronghold by tomorrow’s nightfall, they will peel the skin from your legionary, strip by strip. They will do such hideous, vile things to him. Things your worst nightmares could not even conjure.”

“Fair enough.” I nod toward Kienen. “You’re coming too.”

I’m sure I heard Zander’s groan.

Kienen seems even less excited about the prospect, his wary gaze drifting over Jarek, who morphed into a thing of Ybarisan nightmares not five minutes ago. But I am his princess, and I see the moment he accepts he has no choice. “Aziel. The men are yours.”

A Ybarisan with lengthy dark hair nods once, his expression hard.

Wearing a look of resignation, as if he’s heading to his death, Kienen guides his horse forward.

“Relax.” Jarek backs away from its path, a taunting smile on his lips. “No one here wants your toxic blood.”

Radomir follows behind the Ybarisan. “What about my blood?”

My commander’s grin turns into a grimace, earning Radomir’s laugh.

“On foot, sapling, and leave the merth behind,” Abarrane barks, sparing me a glare that promises I’ll be getting an earful from her later. That she hasn’t openly argued with me in front of them is an improvement, though.

Radomir obliges, tossing the glowing cords and reins to his closest sapling and dropping from his saddle. He strolls toward me.

Jarek steps between us, his swords ready.

From this proximity, I see the sinewy skin pulled taut across his cheeks, like he’s been starved.

“What’s the matter, Romeria? You once told me my face wasn’t as unappealing as you had imagined.”

I swallow against my shock. Apparently, I have been this close to the sapling before. “I guess I was a good liar?”

He chuckles. “Don’t I know that.”

Once they’re past, Jarek leans in and whispers, “What part of ‘give them nothing’ did not sink into that thick skull of yours?”

“Zander said we need allies, not enemies.”

“Saplings make target practice, not allies. You have nothing to offer that will earn their loyalty, unless you plan to deliver them our veins.”

I hope that’s not true. “Would you please trust me for once?”

With a deep inhale and a shake of his head, Jarek guards my back as, together, we trail Kienen and Radomir past the entrance to the tunnel, and the portcullis descends behind us, leaving the rest of the Ybarisans and saplings on the outside.

Loth and Horik dive for Drakon, helping him onto a horse. He’ll need Gesine’s healing touch.

Zander shakes his head at me—I’ve earned myself an argument later; he obviously shares Jarek’s doubts—before warning, “Any foolish ideas will be dealt with harshly.” Every lantern within the tunnel suddenly flares with a burst of flame, the heat grazing my cheek.

Radomir strolls forward. “I’ve always found it ironic, how horrified you are to be treated in the same way you treat your mortals.”

“We do not trap our mortals and feed on them until they wither into nothing,” Abarrane snaps.

“Because you’ve subjugated them to two millennia of slavery. It’s all they know, and they follow like sheep. At least they did. But now they have an effective weapon, thanks to your gracious neighbors.” He peers back over his shoulder to wink at me.

“And how does that benefit you, sapling?” Abarrane draws another sword, for show. “Without us, you die too.”

He sighs, his voice suddenly somber. “We all must die, eventually.”

Silence falls over our company, save for the horses’ clomping hooves, but the tunnel brims with tension. Radomir strolls at the front of the line, hidden within his cloak as if unbothered by the enemies at his back. He’s a tall creature, his heavy cloak making his presence seem larger.

Kienen follows closely after, the suspicion radiating from him enough for the two of them. He assumes he’s heading to his death. If he doesn’t react the right way, I fear he is.

And the way Zander’s attention is locked on both the sapling and the Ybarisan, looking for any excuse to set them on fire, would make anyone believe the pyres are already built and waiting.

The trek to reach Ulysede feels eternal, giving me enough time to doubt my choices ten times over.

“Fates,” Kienen whispers, his head tipping back as he takes in the night sky beyond the mountain wall.

“Not what you expected?” I ask.

“I did not know what to expect.” He peers up at the two moons shining bright, his words a mumble I barely catch. “Certainly not this.”

Radomir wanders farther in, his steps slow and staggered as ours were the first time we entered.

My stomach sinks. Was I wrong?

“What is this place?” The air of arrogance that tinged his words outside is absent. Now, only awe remains.

“This is Ulysede.” I hesitate, but only for a second. Zander ruled his kingdom on secrets and lies, and where did that get him but exiled? “It was built tens of thousands of years ago and sealed, waiting for prophecy to unfold.”

Zander’s warning gaze burns into the side of my face. “Romeria—”

“That time is coming.”

“Why do I feel so … off? I can’t explain what it is, but …” Radomir slowly turns.

I gasp at the face staring back at us, still obscured within the depths of a cowl. Gone are the bulging forehead, the sunken, sinewy cheeks, the lifeless black eyes. Now, an Islorian male with striking features stands before us. Handsome, many might say.

“Fates.” Zander is equally stunned.

Everyone is.

When Radomir realizes we’re all staring at him, gobsmacked, his panic stirs. “What have you done to me?” He shuffles back several steps, looking ready to bolt.