The Heart Forger (The Bone Witch #2)(116)
Silence.
“That was one of the questions he never answers,” Zoya reminded him.
“King Vanor, is there a reason why you cannot tell us more about Mykaela’s heartsglass?”
“Yes.”
That he even answered startled us all, and the forger pushed on doggedly. “Is it to protect her?”
Silence.
“Are there certain questions that you cannot answer because you’ve been bespelled by someone before you died?”
No answer.
“Let me rephrase that. Are there certain questions you cannot answer but would like to if given the chance?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who killed you?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell us who?”
Silence.
“I still don’t understand,” Polaire said. “Why is he answering some questions but not others?”
“Because whoever bespelled him couldn’t anticipate all the possible questions we could ask or the loopholes we could use. They never thought we would know that he’d been compelled, remember? None of us had considered the possibility before. As long as we do not ask him directly about the location of Mykaela’s heartsglass or who killed him, he can answer.”
“I repeat Mykkie’s question. How is it possible for someone to control him even after death?” Althy demanded. “I was one of the asha who examined the king when he died. We found no traces of spells on his person.”
“The control could be through a rune we do not know, a spell we have not been taught—anything is possible at this point. Remember, there were missing pages from the Faceless’s book.”
“Vanor,” Mykaela said softly. “Did anyone from Daanoris bear any resentment toward you?”
“No.”
“From Tresea?”
“No.”
“From Odalia?”
More silence.
“If that isn’t an answer, then I don’t know what is,” Zoya looked smug. “He won’t respond to certain questions, but if we limit his answers down to a yes or no and eliminate possible answers as we go along, then I think we’ve found our loophole.”
“I hate complicated,” Kalen grunted.
“King Vanor, was the Duke of Holsrath responsible for your death?”
Silence again.
“OK, not the right question. Vanor, did the Duke of Holsrath begrudge your relationship with Mykaela?”
“No.”
“Did King Telemaine?”
“Zoya!” Kalen protested.
“Process of elimination, remember? We can eventually get to the…” Zoya’s voice trailed off. “He didn’t say no. King Vanor, did King Telemaine resent your relationship with Mykaela?”
The king said nothing, and a chill crept up my spine. Surely that didn’t mean…
Zoya swallowed. “Did King Telemaine wish to become king by assassinating you?”
Silence.
“Did King Telemaine wish he were the firstborn son instead of you?”
For the first time, Vanor tore his gaze away from Mykaela to focus on Zoya. “Yes.”
“Was King Telemaine willing to do anything to become the King of Odalia?”
Silence.
Khalad gasped. Mykaela clapped a hand over her mouth.
“I can’t believe that,” Kalen said hoarsely.
I spoke up, voice trembling. “Do the elders have Mykaela’s heartsglass?”
“No.”
“Is the Faceless, Aenah, working with the elders?”
“No.”
“Is Aenah in league with the king?” I asked.
King Vanor’s gaze shifted to the shadows. That was the only warning I had, but it was not enough. White-hot electricity lanced through me, the pain barely fading before I found myself on my back. From the groans and startled cries around me, I knew I was not the only one.
“That was sheer genius. I must congratulate you all on your creativity.”
Still unable to move, I opened my eyes—and stared straight into King Telemaine’s smiling face.
“How could you, Telemaine?” Polaire hissed from nearby.
The king shrugged. “Vanor was a fool. Throwing his heart away for a Dark asha—he was the laughingstock of Odalia, and he was too besotted to realize it. Your azi can rage all it wants outside these city walls, Lady Tea, but it means nothing here, where I am in control.”
“Impossible,” Althy said through gritted teeth. “You have no inclination for runic magic.”
“No, he doesn’t,” a voice behind him agreed.
I lunged upward, desperately clawing at the walls in a bid to right myself, to will myself the required energy to leap at the newcomer and attack her mind—to no avail. The pain in my head increased, and I slumped back down. The figure stepped forward.
“But I do,” said Aenah.
I remembered the hanjian and his painful transformation, his protruding tongue and blackened face before the bone witch killed him, before he could become one of those hideous creatures. I remembered the poor Daanorian soldiers. In these elders, I saw the same horrifying changes. Their features distorted and twisted until their faces were no longer familiar, and more limbs and appendages burst from their bodies until they were parodies of humanity.