A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(46)

“Oh,” I say. “Well. Good.”

I say nothing. They say nothing.

Suddenly this is all kinds of awkward.

“I heard—well, you were crying. I just—you know what? Never mind. Not my business.” I back away from the doorway. “I’ll just—I’ll be in my room.”

I feel like such an idiot. My face is hot, and I close myself into my chambers. I peel the bracers from my arms and unbuckle the sword belt, then toss my weapons and armor into a pile by the fireplace to let the sweaty leather dry. I sigh and attempt to unlace the boned linen corset that makes a good replacement for a sports bra—but it ties behind my back. I’ve never understood why so many clothes here require help to get in and out of. Some days, I’d give anything for a T-shirt.

My door whispers open, and I don’t turn, because my face is still burning. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. You were crying. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Freya’s cool fingers brush mine away, and she takes up the lacings along my spine herself, but she doesn’t say anything. I can’t tell if she’s mad or if she’s still emotional and she wants some space.

“I can do this myself,” I say quietly. “If you need to be with Jamison right now.”

Her fingers jerk the laces hard, pulling the fabric so tight against my rib cage that I can’t even draw breath to cry out.

“No, my dear,” says a vicious voice that is definitely not Freya’s. “I think I need to be with you.”

“Lilith.” I can barely gasp the name. I struggle against her hold, trying to turn, but she pulls the lacings even tighter. A T-shirt would rip from this pressure, but this corset was made to last. My ribs feel like they’re going to snap in a second. I try to inhale, but I can barely squeak in a breath. I scrabble at my neckline, but there’s no give.

I just tossed all my weapons in the corner. Like an idiot. I have to swallow this panic. I have to think.

Luckily, I’ve got months of training with Zo to fall back on. I throw an elbow back, and I’m gratified to hear Lilith grunt, but she doesn’t let go.

Instead, it feels like her fingers sink through the corset into the skin of my back, and all I feel is fire. Ice. A million needles through my spine. I can’t see. I can’t breathe.

“You see?” she says, and her voice is like a roar and a whisper all at once. “I don’t need to kill you to control him. I just need to leave reminders of what I can do.”

I’m flat on the floor. She’s on my back. I think I’ve vomited from the pain. I can’t tell. I can taste blood and bile. Everything hurts, and I’m sobbing against the marble.

“I know,” she croons. “I’m truly terrible.”

I can’t answer. My thoughts won’t organize enough for speech. I thought I knew pain. I thought I was so fierce and brave, and now I’m crying on the floor.

“You stand beside him,” Lilith hisses, “as if he is worthy of it. As if he has not caused a thousand harms himself.”

I grit my teeth against the blinding pain. I know what Rhen did to his people, but I know he did all of it while he was a vicious monster created by Lilith herself. He blames himself for all of it, but he shouldn’t. “He—he never—he never—”

“Oh no?”

My vision goes dark, but the pain lingers. Suddenly my thoughts fill with a memory: Grey and Tycho chained to the wall in the courtyard, torches flickering in the darkness, shadows dancing as Rhen gave an order. A line of fire traces across my back like the bite of a lash, and I try to cry out, but my voice is ragged and broken.

“I’m sure you think I caused that, too,” she says viciously, and her breath is hot against my ear. I flinch away.

“I had nothing to do with this one,” she says, and the image changes, becoming a room here in the castle. Rhen is standing by a table in his chambers, buckling his jacket into place, but he looks … different. I can’t quite put my finger on why.

“My guards will call for your carriage,” he’s saying, and his voice is cold, dispassionate. “I’ve sent for tea.”

“But, Your Highness …”

I can’t see the woman who’s speaking, but I know the voice. It’s Lilith. I’m seeing him through her eyes. From the angle, she must be looking at him from the bed.

This must be before the curse. I’m terrified and fascinated.

The scene continues. A light knock raps at the door, and a young servant enters carrying a tray of tea and delicacies. Rhen completely ignores him, and the boy looks like he’s used to being ignored by royalty. He eases the platter onto the table, but when he tips the pot to fill a cup, it’s slightly off center, and the cup falls, shattering on the marble floor. Tea splashes everywhere, including Rhen’s boots.

The boy flinches and glances at Rhen. “For-forgive me, Your High—”

“Guards.” Rhen doesn’t look at him.

A guard appears in the doorway, and I’m startled to realize it’s Grey. Again, like Rhen, he looks slightly different. Not younger, just … not the same. Maybe it’s the expression in their eyes or the weight of their presence—or maybe it’s something they haven’t lost or earned yet.

Before Grey has a chance to say anything, Rhen says, “Get him out of here. Make him regret that.” He gives a nod to Lilith and says, “Farewell, my lady.”