“Me?” Her face went serious for a minute, before she gave me a carefree shrug. “Oh, you know me. I’m always good.”
I knew her, alright. Knew her well enough to know when she was lying. And to know when not to push.
I reached over and rustled her hair, making her wrinkle her nose and jerk away.
“It’s too long,” she said. “I’ve got to cut it.”
“I like it. Change looks good on you.”
She scowled. Then she caught my eye and the expression melted into a grin.
“Caught you,” she said. “You’re happy I’m here.”
“Never,” I said.
Fine, she had me. Fucking guilty.
16
ORAYA
Raihn was true to his word. After that, the door was no longer locked. I wasn’t about to fall all over myself with the benevolence of this gift—I had no doubt that guards were still keeping their eyes on me. Still… I liked freedom. The next night, I walked the castle halls by myself. Guards and soldiers gave me strange looks, but no one bothered me. It felt uncomfortable in a way I couldn’t pinpoint.
Maybe it was because the castle already looked so different. It was all a mess, still. Then again, I couldn’t help but contrast it to the decay that I’d seen when I had walked these halls during the Kejari—when I’d noticed for the first time the stagnant decay lurking beneath my home.
No one could call this place stagnant now.
I paused at the balcony that overlooked the feast hall. It was one of the few rooms that hadn’t been moved much. The tables were still in the same arrangement. The furniture hadn’t been changed.
For a moment, I saw the sea of brutality Vincent had shown me during our final argument, his fingernails digging into my arm as he pushed me against this very railing—forcing me to look down upon the humans below, slumped over those tables like drained livestock.
I shuddered and turned away.
Training. That was what I needed.
Raihn was right—I was out of practice. I’d felt that when we fought at the armory, and the way my muscles ached the next day was a lingering reminder.
I turned around and paused, staring down the hallway before me.
All at once, it hit me why it had felt so strange to walk these corridors.
Because I’d never been allowed to before.
Vincent may not have put locks on my door, but his command was more than enough to stop me from leaving—and he made those expectations very clear. Yes, I snuck out, but that was in the middle of the day, creeping around like a little shadow, shrinking from every set of footsteps.
Never before had I ever been able to move about this castle freely. Never.
That was… a strange realization.
“Isn’t it nice to see you out and about?”
I tried very hard not to show that I’d startled, and failed. I turned to see Septimus bowing his head in apology. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
It sure seemed like he did, the way he slunk around like that.
“I’m glad you came around,” he said. “I heard you’ve agreed to help us on our little mission.”
“You say that like I had a choice.”
He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Still. Better this way. Forcing you would have been difficult for everyone. I expect especially difficult for your husband.”
I hated it when people referred to Raihn that way. For the first time in my life, I was grateful for my too-expressive face. The sneer of disgust that flitted over the bridge of my nose before I could stop it.
I had a role to play, after all.
I’m the brute king, and you’re the prisoner wife who hates me.
Septimus chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of that,” he said. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a cigarillo box. He slid it open, then hesitated, his hand hovering over the row of neat black rolls. A strange look came over his face—rigid stillness, like a wave of ice had fallen across his features.
My brow furrowed, my gaze following his—to his hand over that box, frozen mid-movement, like his muscles had locked without his permission. His ring finger lurched in erratic spurts that shook his entire hand.
For several long seconds, we stared at his hand.
Then, he smoothly switched the box to his other hand, swiftly withdrew a cigarillo, and held it between his teeth as he put the box away again.
It was like the moment had never existed. He winked at me, smile smooth and charming and forever unbothered.
“Have fun training,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it. We’re going to have a busy few months ahead.”
And he sauntered off without another word.
Fine. I was out of shape.
It felt good to have my blades back again, but restoring that piece of my routine had only made it more obvious how much had changed. I had gone from a life of moving all day, every day, to lying in my bed staring at the ceiling. It was amazing how much conditioning could decay in a month.
A month. More than that. It hadn’t really hit me how long it had been, until I physically felt the way my body had changed in that time.
With every panting breath, every drill, every strike against the stiff fabric of the training dummy, it dug a little deeper.
A month.
More than a full cycle of the moon that my father had been dead.
I tried to outrun this thought. Tried to make my muscles hurt more so my heart hurt less. It didn’t work. The thoughts still chased me.
A month.
And I’d just made an alliance with the man who murdered him.
And now I’d cracked open the door to a single innocuous thought, and before I could stop myself, it was becoming something monstrous.
A month.
How many times had I been in this training ring with Vincent? Countless. I could practically hear him now, barking orders at me.
Faster. Harder. Don’t be sloppy. You aren’t trying hard enough, little serpent. That will not be good enough when it counts.
He’d pushed me so hard. Sometimes I’d end our sessions collapsing in a pool of my own vomit.
I pushed you because I wanted you to be safe, Vincent whispered in my ear.
He pushed me so I could protect myself.
Everything in this world is dangerous to you, he reminded me.
Because I was human.
But I wasn’t.
It was a lie. All of it.
My strikes against the dummy grew faster, harder, sloppy. My lungs burned. Chest ached. Nightfire bloomed at the edge of my blade, surrounding me with flecks of white.
But I wasn’t.
How many times had I practiced my magic with Vincent in this ring? How many times had he told me that my power would likely never amount to anything?
Had that been a lie, too?
Did you know? I asked him now, driving another blow into the training dummy, the stuffing collapsing under the force.
Vincent’s voice was silent.
Why didn’t you tell me?
Why did you lie to me, Vincent? Why?
Silence. Of course.
The Nightfire flared in a wild surge, surrounding me in a blinding burst. With a ragged roar, I slammed my weapon into the dummy, sending it toppling to the floor. My strike was so clumsy, so vicious, I accidentally sent my blade with it, the metal hitting the ground with a deafening clatter.
I barely heard it over the sound of my panting breaths.