Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(71)

“You’re saying it’s an act?” she asked, suddenly on edge.

He didn’t reply.

“Maybe you’re jealous of the attention, Your Eminence?” Nomi asked, with a little more bite than she intended.

“Jealous?” He looked up in surprise. “No. Not of that.” He paused, and she waited, curious. “Of him riding in the Premio Belaria, yes. I was jealous of that. I wanted to race too, but my father wouldn’t let me.”

“And then he won.”

“Asa’s win is not something I envy.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. She drew a Saint. But she wasn’t paying much attention to the game. Tension ran along her shoulders and down her spine. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to answer.

Malachi’s hands tightened on his cards. “The night of the race, I went to wish Asa luck in the stables, and I overheard him ordering a groom to sabotage the other riders. More died that year than usual.… A lot of broken saddles.”

Nomi gasped. Asa couldn’t have done that.… Malachi must have misunderstood.

Malachi’s cheeks darkened. “Afterward Asa accused the groom of something—I can’t remember what—and had him put to death. I think he didn’t want anyone to question his victory.”

A chill moved through Nomi, raising gooseflesh along her arms. “That’s awful,” she said softly. She tried to resolve the brutal story with the gentle man she’d come to know. They couldn’t be reconciled. Was Malachi lying? Had he realized that Nomi had feelings for Asa and was trying to undermine them?

“I’m sorry,” he said, shooting her a wry smile. “I’ve never actually told anyone that.”

“Why didn’t you tell your father?” she asked. “Maybe—I mean, your brother should have been punished, right?”

Malachi shrugged. “I should have told, I suppose. But he’s my brother. I—Well, I didn’t. That’s all.”

“Are you and Asa very close?” Nomi stared at the cards in her hand until they blurred.

“No,” Malachi said shortly, and played an orgy card. “We were before, but I found it hard to respect him after that.”

A wave of fever heat passed through her, sending her blood rushing, making her light-headed.

“I can’t imagine feeling that way about my sister. I’m lost without her.” Nomi lowered her Saints to the table, winning the game. Tears burned her eyes, threatening to spill over. Everything she’d done, all her plotting with Asa, was to save Serina. If Malachi’s story was true, Asa had used that poor groom and then disposed of him without a thought. She couldn’t believe it was true. But if it was…

How could she trust him with Renzo’s life?

And if she couldn’t trust him with Renzo’s life, how would she save Serina’s?

She could bear the Heir’s presence no longer. His dark eyes, the sharp planes of his face, his strange fascination with her, the confusion she felt when she met his eyes. The things he said about his brother, about her.… It was all too much.

“I’m sorry, Your Eminence,” she said shakily. “I’m not feeling well. May I retire?”

“Of course,” Malachi replied. He stood up too, and reached for her. She backed away. “I’m sorry if I upset you,” he said, and then something else, but she didn’t hear.

She was already out the door.





THIRTY-FIVE



SERINA


SERINA SURFACED OUT of a nightmare, her fists up and her heart thumping in her ears. Someone had grabbed her arm.

“It’s just me,” Val said, releasing her. “We need to go.”

Serina regained her bearings slowly. The sun was high in the sky. She’d slept away the morning, curled into the shade of their small cave. He’d already slung the strap of his pack over his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” She pushed her tangled, dirty hair off her forehead, wincing at the pain in her shoulder.

Val glanced out toward the beach. “It’s only a matter of time before the guards find us, and I think you’re healthy enough to move now,” he said. “I’m taking you off this island.”

She gaped at him. “What?”

“I told you I was going to save my mother,” he said. “You don’t think I came to Mount Ruin without a plan?” His smile was crooked at the edges and didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She stood up slowly, her legs still weak. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why didn’t you say anything last night?”

“The boat’s hidden at high tide. And”—he touched her cheek briefly—“you needed to rest a little more, regain a little more strength. I knew if I told you, you’d have wanted to leave right away.”

A boat? He really, truly had a way to escape? Serina’s pulse raced. After all her plotting—rafts, revolutions—was it really this simple? Nomi…

“If you’d told me we had to wait for low tide, I would have,” she said reproachfully.

“But would you have slept?” His look matched hers.

“Probably not,” she admitted. The electricity in her veins, the sudden urge to move, move, move, was hard to deny. She would have spent the day climbing out of her skin.