A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(6)

But she’s angry with me, with the choices I’ve made.

I force myself to be content with her hand on my arm. With the word we.

She’s asked me for action. When Lilith asked, I balked.

When Harper asks, I want to leap.

“Many of my Grand Marshals have closed their borders,” I say. “They seem unwilling to acknowledge my right to rule. We were able to stop the rebellion in Silvermoon Harbor, but not without cost. I would be a fool to assume my people are content.” I pause. “Perhaps we should follow Grey’s lead.”

“You want to declare war?”

“No. I want to ask for unity.”

She shudders. “You want to go back to Silvermoon now? It was scary enough when we went before.” She’s quiet for a moment, and I know she is remembering our first visit to Silvermoon Harbor, when we were ambushed—and would have been killed, if not for Grey. “What if we ride up to the gates and they shoot you?”

“They won’t,” I say.

“How do you know?”

“Because I don’t intend to go to them.” A plan has begun to form in my mind. “I intend to invite them here.”





CHAPTER FIVE

HARPER

Freya, my lady-in-waiting, is lacing me into a corseted gown. The bodice is white silk, with red stitching and golden grommets edged by rubies, laced over the top of a layer of shimmering red voile spilling over crimson underskirts. The laces of the bodice are gold satin. The neckline is low and daring, and if I try to bend over, I’ll have a wardrobe malfunction. I generally gravitate toward the breeches and sweaters—the wool blousons, as Freya calls them—in my wardrobe, and I have dozens of stunning dresses for when I need to dress up, but this is by far the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever worn. Even my boots are red leather with gold trim along the heel.

Rhen sent word to all of his Grand Marshals a week ago, and I’ve been dreading this “party” since the instant he mentioned it, but it’s nice to feel pretty for five minutes. As much as I try not to think about it, the scar on my cheek and the limp in my step are a constant reminder that I’ll never be classically beautiful or effortlessly graceful. I’m confident in my strengths, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about my weaknesses.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if the choice to stay here is a weakness.

But where would I go? I can’t go back to Washington, DC—and even if I could, what would I do? We disappeared in the middle of the night, facing a man with a gun. Our family’s apartment has probably been emptied out and rented to someone else now. I have no identification, no documents, nothing.

Without warning, I think of my mother, and the memory of her death almost smothers me. We lost her because of cancer. We lost everything else because of my father.

My chest grows tight, and I can’t breathe.

“Here, my lady,” says Freya. “Look.” She turns me to face the mirror.

It’s a huge testament to this dress that it jerks my thoughts away from a downward spiral. In the mirror, it’s even better than it looked laid across the bed. “Freya,” I breathe. “Where did you find this?”

“Ordered by His Highness.” Her blue eyes flick up to meet mine in the mirror, and her voice drops. “In the colors of Emberfall.”

“Oh.” I lose the smile. It’s not just a pretty dress. It’s a political statement.

“From what I understand,” she adds as she smooths my skirts, “he ordered a dress for Zo as well.”

“Really?”

She nods.

Freya is ten years older than I am, and since I helped rescue her and her children from an attack by Syhl Shallow’s soldiers, she’s been my lady-in-waiting in the palace. In a way, she’s also been like a surrogate mother. She knows about Zo and what we did for Grey. She knows how it’s driven a wedge between me and Rhen—and maybe driven a sliver between me and Zo.

It might have caused tension between me and Freya too, because I know how she feels about Syhl Shallow. Their soldiers destroyed her home, leaving her and the children shivering in the snow. Leaving them with nothing until Rhen offered her a position here in the castle. But the night Rhen had Grey and Tycho beaten, she was as horrified as I was. She’d never speak a word against Rhen, but I remember the hard set of her jaw, the way her breath had trembled.

I need to stop thinking about this. It was months ago. I made a choice. I stayed.

And it’s not like Grey isn’t planning to strike back.

“Why did he order a dress for Zo?” I say. Zo wasn’t planning to come to the party. She doesn’t like being in a position that reminds her of being a guardsman, and she definitely doesn’t like being in the same room as Rhen.

If he sent her a dress, I wonder how she took it. Worse, I wonder how he meant it. When it comes to strategic planning, Rhen can be downright brilliant—but he can also be an epic ass.

Freya arranges my hair across my shoulder, adjusting a pin here and there. “Well, I presume he hoped she would attend with you.” She pauses. “Perhaps His Highness wants a guard-who-is-not-a-guard at your side. Jamison said the soldiers are antsy because it is rumored that an attack from Syhl Shallow could occur at any moment.”

I glance at Freya in the mirror. “When did you talk to Jamison?” The soldier was one of the first to lend support to Rhen and Grey when I convinced them to leave the grounds of Ironrose and help their people. He’s another person who hates Syhl Shallow, after one of their soldiers took his arm and destroyed most of his regiment when he was stationed in Willminton. Now he’s a lieutenant in the regiment stationed nearby, but he’s rarely inside the castle.