Rhia sneered. “Oh, yes, the women of this city were more than happy to assist me. Abused servants, mistreated wives . . . and you, with your obsession with Nevandia, never once suspected your network of traitors was run by women.”

Rayghast stepped closer to her, reaching out with his stained fingers.

Rhia leapt to the side; her legs collided with the bed. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled.

“Tell me where your sister is.”

“Gone. Away from you and Silex.” Rhia swallowed, but kept her composure, tossing her glossy hair from her painted face. Even in confinement, she chose to look her best. Rhia didn’t cower as she said, “Kill me and be done with it.”

The magic in his veins flared at the thought.

No, that’s too easy, too painless.

“You are a beautiful woman, Rhia. But that’s all you are. So let me take that from you as well.”

His fingers stroked the flesh of her soft cheek as she struggled and reared. Black smog encompassed her. It seared deep within the tissues and tendons and muscles of her face, eating away from the inside out. She bleated a cry, tried to wrench herself away, but magic had wrapped around her waist, tethering her to Rayghast. She screamed and screamed.

Then Rayghast stepped back to admire his handiwork.

Rhia put a hand to her blazing cheek and gagged at what came away in her hand. Black flakes of skin, like the ash on a burnt log. She swerved around to look in her mirror.

She screamed again.

And again.

From jaw to forehead on the right side was entirely charred. Dead flesh blistered away, peeling back to reveal bone and teeth.

Behind her, Rayghast burned with pleasure and black flames.

“You should be grateful that I didn’t take your head. Next time, I will. And when I find Eriu, you can be sure she will be similarly punished for running away.”

Rhia abandoned all fear and decorum, turning to him in a reckless frenzy. “You will never touch Eriu. I pray Nevandia wins. I pray to Laimoen that you and this entire country go up in flames. I curse you. I may not have the powers you do, but for this one act, I wish I did. I curse you to the fiery depths of the Underworld!”

Rayghast turned without another word, no flicker of emotion at all in response to her words, leaving her to rage. His last image of his wife was of Rhia smashing her beloved mirror to the floor, letting the image of her ruined face break into hundreds of shards.

He locked her room and left to kill a prince.

Chapter 24

Marai

Black, hazy tendrils brushed across the recesses of her mind. Tiny pinpricks, like a spider’s feet, crawled up her arms.

Marai . . . Marai . . . called a voice wan and haunting, gossamer as smoke.

Her magic rushed and spiraled, spinning and whirring, pulsating within the confines of her body. But there was another presence, magic that wasn’t her own. A dark shadow slunk up her legs. Filmy hands made of cobwebs inched over her hips, her torso . . .

Use me, it seemed to say.

The pull was so great, the tug on her magic so strong, it jolted Marai awake. She bolted upright, unsheathing the dagger at her waist.

But all she saw was Ruenen asleep at her side. No other presence lingered in the tent. Nothing sinister. Outside, she heard the low mumbles of guards and soldiers, the crackling of campfires, wuthering of wind through bushes, early-morning chirps of birds. Nothing out of the ordinary.

A nightmare, she told herself.

She’d imagined Slate’s vicious hands clawing at her before. She was used to these kinds of nightmares, but this one had been different. Never before had she heard that voice, seen hands like that. Nothing about them said human. Or even magic.

Her black fingertips tingled, almost needle-sharp.

Would dark magic consume her if she went back to sleep? Marai laid down next to Ruenen, who continued to breathe evenly, face peaceful. She burrowed into the crook of his neck, every part of her alert. Her eyelids never shut. Her hand never left her dagger. 

Ruenen stirred before the horn sounded. Marai watched his eyes flutter open, blinking away the sleep. She counted the gold flecks–a dozen or so in each brown eye. He stared back, perhaps doing the same with her own eyes. Memorizing them. Losing herself in them.

But at the horn, she and Ruenen sat up. Any second, Mayestral and soldiers would burst into the tent. They couldn’t see Marai and the Prince of Nevandia lying together. She climbed off the cot and strode towards the tent flap.

A hand grabbed hers. In an instant, Ruenen’s arms encompassed her, clinging to her body like a lifeline. Marai raised up on her toes, hooking her hand behind his neck, and pulled his face to hers. Their lips met, sweet and gentle. She felt no hunger, no desire. Her fingers laced through the strands of his hair, savoring the final silken touch against her skin.

Marai counted down from five. Four more seconds of this safety. Three more seconds of his soft lips. Two more seconds of his hands gripping her to his solid chest. One more second of him. 

She pulled away, unable to meet his eyes again. She rushed from the tent before she could change her mind. If Marai didn’t leave then, she never would.

Out into the misty, gray morning, the air was static with tension and unease. The guards on duty outside Ruenen’s tent peered at her through their visors. They knew she’d been there all night.

“Protecting the prince,” she grunted, indicating the sword and dagger at her hip.

The guards said nothing as a group of commanders stomping towards them caught their attention. Marai ducked behind another tent, not wanting to explain herself to anyone else. The commanders had two other figures in tow: a woman in a brown cape, and a girl in a deep blue one.

“What’s this?” asked Avilyard, appearing from the opposite side of camp.

“Tacorn defectors,” Commander Gasparian said. “Found them crossing the moor a bit ago in the pitch dark.”

“Please, we seek refuge, sir. We walked all night,” said the woman with breathless desperation. “I’m Queen Rhia’s servant from the fortress at Dul Tanen. I come with Princess Eriu of Varana.”

Marai peeked around the edge of the tent. The girl dropped the hood of her cloak, revealing her round face and long black hair, her nose red from the early morning chill.

“Why exactly is the princess here?” Avilyard asked.

“My sister sent me,” Eriu said in youthful boldness. “It wasn’t safe for me in Tacorn. King Rayghast was forcing me to marry a bad man.”

Marai’s stomach curdled. She’s just a child.

“Please, sir, we’re hoping you’ll allow us to remain. We women in Tacorn have heard of your prince’s merciful nature,” the woman said, practically groveling, she was bent so low before the commanders. “We risked our lives to cross the border, and our queen uncovered a heinous secret about our king. He has magic, sir!”

None of the commanders or soldiers flinched at the news. They were already aware of Rayghast’s power, thanks to Marai.

Avilyard studied the girl. “Your sister is the Queen of Tacorn. Your father is the Jade Emperor of Varana. Their forces stand opposite ours on the field. Don’t you think you’re safer with them?”

“Don’t send me back,” Princess Eriu yelped. “King Rayghast will hurt me if he finds me! He’ll hurt Rhia, too. He already locked her in her room.”