Bring Me Their Hearts(70)

“I promised her, you know.” Her blue eyes grow hard. “I promised her I’d never let him tear us apart.”

The resolve in her words shakes me. I’m used to her playing stupid, shy, meek. Even when I first met her at Y’shennria’s manor, her smiles were pervasive despite my attitude. She played happy, then. But now she burns, no careful calculations, no pretending. Only honesty. Only old wounds, still bleeding. Still bleeding…for Varia? Is that why she’s betraying Gavik and risking so much?

Fione turns to me then. “You surprised me, Lady Zera. I’m sure you surprised my uncle, too. He’s not used to people standing up to him who don’t have d’Malvane as their family name.”

“He should get used to it,” I say. “Because I intend to do it as often as I can get away with.”

She giggles. “Do you hear that, Your Highness? All that’s left is for either you or me to recruit her to our individual causes.”

Lucien narrows his eyes. “No. That’d only put Lady Zera in more danger.”

The locket on my chest gives a little shudder—he’s worried about me? “I’m flattered,” I start. “And simultaneously mystified.”

Fione inhales. “His Highness and I have tried for years now to thwart my uncle. I’ve proposed we simply work together, but that never turns out well—neither of us especially enjoys the other’s company.” She stops, thinking. “But now that you’re here, Lady Zera—”

“Absolutely not,” Lucien says.

“I haven’t even said it yet!” Fione stamps her foot.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he insists. “Gavik isn’t to be toyed with, treated like some group project for our old tutors. I’m nearly immune to his influence because of my status, and you because of your blood ties to him, but Lady Zera has none of those things to hide behind. She’d be the perfect lamb for him to slaughter.”

“Implying I wouldn’t at least put up a fight?” I frown. “You give me far too little credit.”

“No,” Lucien presses. “I simply know the extent of Gavik’s power. This isn’t me underestimating you—this is a fact. He would rip you to pieces.”

Just as I will to you, soon enough, the hunger sneers. Fione clears her throat.

“Listen, Your Highness, you saw how brave Lady Zera was. I’ve seen her in court—she’s clever, too. Always has some witty thing to say. She isn’t savvy like we are to the ways of Vetris, but she’s something more important—neutral ground. For both you and I. I like her well enough, and you—” She looks between Lucien and me, a smile growing on her face, kitten-like. “Well. Let’s just say I can tell you like her, too.”

Lucien makes a noise in the back of his throat like a snarl cutting off a retort, but Fione presses on.

“I’m so close, Lucien.” She uses his first name, sincerity and determination blazing across her face. “All these years, and it’s almost complete. The cage for my uncle just needs the lock, and it’s over. Everything will be over, and I can finally rest. I can finally visit her portrait holding my head high.”

Lucien stares at Fione, and she stares back. And then the moment breaks, and her blue eyes find mine, a smile blossoming.

“What do you say, Lady Zera? The three of us against Gavik? With your wit, and my charm, and the prince’s glowers, we might be able to actually do it.”

“Do what?” I ask. Her smile only grows bigger.

“Destroy my uncle from the inside out, of course.”





11


Bloodrule





I expect Lucien of all people to say no, to shoot it down like he’s shot down everything else of Fione’s. But after a long, strained silence, he nods.

“All right.”

Even Fione seems wary of how fast he agreed. “Just like that?”

“The witchfire incident at the temple.” He exhales. “And now this raid on the black market that kept the poor fed—Gavik’s attempts at sowing fear and dissent to fuel his war aren’t slowing. And my father will never stop him. Someone has to.”

War—the same war I’m trying to stop, or at least delay. The war the witches are so terrified of—the whole reason they sent me here.

“I thought—” I bite my tongue before it can spill dangerous opinions. I hate that my opinions are at all dangerous. I’m used to saying whatever I want, whenever I want. But Lucien knits his eyebrows at me.

“What is it, Lady Zera? Ask, and I’ll answer.”

I glance to Fione, who pointedly won’t meet my gaze. “I’ve heard you go on hunts. For witches and Heartless. Why are you trying to stop a war against them if you hunt them? Don’t you hate them?”

Fione and Lucien share a look that, for once, isn’t full of barbs.

“We should be getting home.” Fione takes my arm and smiles. “It’s awfully late, and I’m sure Lady Y’shennria is worried about you.”

Prince Lucien clears his throat and bows to me. “Thank you, Lady Zera. For tonight. Take care to clean that wound properly, for my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

I quickly bow to him, utterly bewildered as Fione forcefully leads me off—on any other night I’d be strong enough to rip away from her, but the buzz of alcohol and the fatigue of my wrist wound catches up to me. The prince watches us, and I watch him over my shoulder until he’s a tiny speck in the distant streets.