Bring Me Their Hearts(41)

“And Gavik doesn’t like you, either.”

“Me, particularly.” Y’shennria fusses with her sleeve, almost nervously. “Because my family once worshipped a god he hates.”

“Is that all? It seemed like a little more than religious differences.”

She’s quiet, and then she chuckles. “I’ve taught you too well, haven’t I?”

Y’shennria doesn’t speak again until we reach her manor, and I don’t press her. The far-off look in her eyes is the same she gets when she looks at the portrait of her husband in the hall—reminiscent. And I’m not so cruel as to pull a woman who’s been through so much out of her last kind haven—her memories.

“Why did you call out to the prince?” she finally asks as Reginall helps us shed our coats. “What secret do you have of his?”

“I was going to tell you, but you heard him—I can’t tell anyone.”

“I’m very good at hiding secrets,” Y’shennria insists. I laugh.

“Don’t I know it.”

“You must tell me. For the good of our goal.”

“Trust me when I say I’d love to. But if he finds out, he’ll hate me, and that’s the last thing we want.”

“There’s no possible way he’ll find out.”

“Are you willing to take that chance?” I tilt my head. “Because I’m not. Not after you’ve done so much to get me this far.”

Y’shennria thins her lips. “You must not blackmail him, at the very least. Such a thing will never endear you to him.”

“I know it seems odd, but I think it might work to our advantage.”

“How? It’s a negative thing, a terrible thing—”

“I don’t know how, but it’s different. You’ve seen the way the other Brides look at him, the way the court looks at him. All they do is try to get on his good side. He expects me to.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she snaps. “If you stick to what we discussed earlier, you will surely succeed. I’ve poured months of thought into this, all of my years of noble upbringing. But this? This is just a gamble! And we can’t afford to gamble!”

“Now that I’ve met him, now that I’ve seen him in the flesh—” I swallow at the memory of his proud shoulders, his bitter eyes. “Your plan is good. Thorough. I’m going to stick to it. But that plan is tailor-made for the Crown Prince, the Black Eagle of the West, the archduke of the Tollmount-Kilstead mountains. Not Lucien. Just Lucien.”

There’s a beat as she considers this.

“What are you saying?” she asks carefully.

“I’m saying…” I clear my throat. “That to be young and lonely is a terrible thing.” She doesn’t speak for a long moment, and I press. “I trust you, Lady Y’shennria. You’ve taught me so much, given much to get me here. But you have to trust me, too.”

“I cannot. You’re a Heart—” She swallows. “You’re inexperienced with this sort of intrigue.”

I pull the quartz pins from my hair. “I’m a Heartless.”

Reginall and Y’shennria share a look before Reginall bows out and leaves us there in the hall, with only the grand sandclock’s ticking daring to break the silence. The disappointment is so bitter in my mouth it burns. Even after everything, all my training, all my effort, I’m still just a Heartless to her.

“If I were human,” I manage, “would it be easier for you?”

She doesn’t look at me. “Yes.”

I walk up the stairs to my bedroom, and she doesn’t follow or call for me. And I’m glad. I did everything right. I followed her every teaching, I pleased the king, I gambled with risky moves, earning us the upper hand. I caught the prince’s eye, so much so that he waited outside the palace doors for me. I did everything right.

But it’s still not enough.

Of course it’s not enough. Y’shennria’s fear is a clear, rational reminder that I’ll never be anything but a monster until the day I have my heart returned to my empty chest.

So long as this hunger infects my mind, my body, no human can fully trust me.

I bury my selfish sadness in cleaning Father’s sword with an oiled rag. The indents in the faded brass handle, the scratches on the blade—at this moment they feel like the only friends I have. I’d give anything to spar with Crav right now or sing to little Peligli, anything to ease this gnawing emptiness. Father’s blade reflects my face back at me—a flash of sunlight over my eyes, and my teeth are long and jagged, my eyes blackened completely, my chin stained with blood…

How delightful those five men tasted, but their screams were more delicious.



Hours later, when the three moons are cold gemstones against the black sky, Reginall knocks on my door with a tray of fresh livers, from Y’shennria no doubt, and a strange note on fine parchment paper.

“This message came for you, milady, from the watertell.” I thank him and move to close the door, but he clears his throat. “Are you all right?”

“No,” I say shortly. “But I didn’t come here to be all right, did I?” I hear myself, and I sound awful. Angry. But I can’t stop it. “At least in the forest, I could be a monster in peace.”