A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(33)

“I was.” I glance back at the window. “What are you doing here? I’m surprised you’re not still on the field, making some poor soldier beg for mercy.”

“Ellia Maya was able to discover the identity of the woman who attacked you,” she says. “She lived in the city, not far from the palace. We do not believe she was working alone.”

I go still, thinking of how Grey and I strode through the city streets this very morning. I bite back a shiver.

Nolla Verin isn’t done. “Ellia Maya said her home was filled with documents on the history of magesmiths. There are records of weapons that are impervious to magic—weapons that were used against them in the past.”

“Weapons?”

“None were found.” She hesitates. “But that does not mean they don’t exist. The girl had drafted letters to the Royal Houses asking them to stand against our alliance with magic. She was not the only one who had signed them.”

This time I do shiver. I knew the distrust for magic was strong in Syhl Shallow, but I was unprepared for an organized objection.

“How many?” I say quietly.

“Not many. The guards are tracking them down.” Nolla Verin pauses. “Many seem to have fled. Their homes have been ransacked.”

I say nothing, and my sister moves close. “Lia Mara.” She puts a hand over mine. “After what happened yesterday … are you all right?”

I look back at her in surprise. Nolla Verin can be so callous, so brutally practical, that I forget she can also be caring and dutiful.

When I don’t say anything, she sits beside me on the chaise. She smells like sweat and leather and sunshine, and I’m reminded of how Mother originally chose her to be heir. Sometimes I wonder if she wouldn’t be better at this. Solt would not have been defiant on the training fields. That assassin wouldn’t have dared to draw close. I can hardly imagine Nolla Verin listening to petty complaints at all.

I’m still irritated that she issued orders in the throne room yesterday—but I’m also envious that she had the strength to take harsh action, when I did not.

“Lia Mara.” Her voice is soft, and she reaches out to touch my hand, and I realize I’ve drawn my arms across my midsection again.

“I feel like such a fool,” I whisper, and then, against my will, my eyes fill with tears.

Nolla Verin tsks, and she pulls me against her. She’s younger than I am, but just now, I feel like a child. I lean against her shoulder, the edges of her weapons pressing into my curves, while she strokes my hair down my back.

“There, there,” she says after a moment. “Tell me who I can stab for you.”

I giggle and straighten, swiping at my tears. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m committed.” She’s only teasing a little bit. Her eyes search mine. “When Mother named me heir, when she announced her intent for me to marry Prince Grey, she did so without yielding her ability to rule. The people of Syhl Shallow had nothing to fear.”

I snort. “But now they fear my rule.”

“Yes,” she says simply. “They fear magic. They fear your alliance with a prince of an enemy land.” Her voice hardens. “Instead they should fear you.”

“I don’t want anyone to fear me.”

“Ah. So you hope to coddle them into loyalty.” She rolls her eyes, then clutches her hands to her chest mockingly. “Please don’t hurt me, assassins! Would anyone like a sweet pastry? ”

“Stop it.” I shove her hands away and stand. “I want my people to know I care for them. I want them to feel confident in my abilities to protect them without making them cough blood on their boots.”

She frowns. “Then you must show them you will not stand for insurrection. That you will not stand for disloyalty.”

“I don’t need to be cruel—”

“No.” She points out at the field. “But you’re asking them to fight for you. You’re asking me to fight for you.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t—”

“Ah, sister.” Nolla Verin swears. “How can you ask them to fight for you when you won’t fight for yourself?”

The words draw me up short, and I stare at her. Is that what I’ve been doing? I don’t know. I can’t tell.

“I might be able to fight for myself if you didn’t feel the need to issue orders on my behalf,” I say tightly.

She snaps back, “I wouldn’t feel the need if you weren’t so determined to allow peasants to spit in your face.”

“I don’t need to cut out someone’s tongue to prove a point.”

“Maybe you should! No one can tell you have a point to prove.”

I glare at her. She glares back.

I wish I hadn’t cried on her shoulder now. It makes me feel immeasurably weak, especially since she’s standing in front of me adorned in leather and steel, fresh off the training fields, when I was hiding in my room.

I straighten. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts,” I say through my teeth. “I have to prepare for dinner now.”

A knock sounds at my door, but neither of us moves.

“Enter,” I finally call.

It’s a serving girl with the platter of tea I ordered. She’s young, with flushed cheeks and red hair pinned into a knot at the back of her head. Her eyes are fixed on the tray, which is almost as wide as she is tall. She eases into the room and bobs a curtsy that makes the dishes rattle. She has to clear her throat. “Your Majesty.” Her eyes flick to Nolla Verin and her voice trembles as she sets the tray on a side table. “Your H-Highness. Shall I pour a cup for you both?”