held his hands and whispered to him that he could be good, that he could make the right choice. And when he’d let go, the course of his life had splintered into what might have been and what now was. He’d left with words unspoken that night, the ghosts of their echoes swept away in the silent snows.
She was broken, damaged, just as he was—only she still believed in goodness, and tried to be strong and kind. Drowning beneath the weight and the blood of their own pasts, she still chose to reach for the light, whereas Ramson had turned to the dark.
Your heart is your compass, Jonah whispered.
If he had a choice again, what would he choose?
When the hot iron came, Ramson gave in.
The world swayed around her, sending streaks of pain up her skull. Reluctantly, Ana surfaced from her sleep. Pale light danced across her eyelids, and the sound of creaking filled the air. Something cold chafed against both of her wrists.
Her eyes flew open. Moonlight streamed through a small glass window high on the far wall, illuminating a ceiling of wooden rafters. The floor beneath her tilted from side to side, in rhythm with the creaking. She was in a carriage.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
Ana’s heart leapt into her throat. In the corner by the door, draped in darkness, was the silhouette of a man. She tried to move, but her arms remained attached to the wall by her side. Manacles peered out from the layers of chiffon and silk of her gown. She was shackled in place.
Panic fogged her mind. She grasped for her Affinity, for the instinctive feel of blood thrumming through her and all around her, but found nothing. Deys’voshk. She recognized the haze, the lingering sense of nausea.
The man leaned forward, his long fingers clasped together. His face was pale, with eyes so black it was like staring into an abyss. The face brought back memories of dark dungeons and cold stone walls and the bitter tang of blood in her mouth. Ana recoiled.
Sadov smiled. “Hello again, Kolst Pryntsessa.”
She was breathing too hard to think; her hands shook against their shackles. She tasted traces of Deys’voshk on her tongue, bitter and acidic. Heard his whispers. Monster. Ana grasped the first words that came to mind. “Where are you taking me?”
“Salskoff Palace.” He looked at her as though she were a prized gem. “Kolst Imperatorya will be pleased to see you again.”
Her Imperial Majesty. There was only one person he could be talking about. Morganya. Ana’s head spun; memories of her gentle aunt alternated with Tetsyev’s story of a cold, calculating murderess.
But Morganya was not Empress. “My brother,” Ana said. “My brother is Emperor. And he will be glad to see me.”
Sadov’s lips curled. It was the same soft smile he carried when he brought her to the darkest parts of the Palace dungeons. “Have you not heard, Princess? In five days’ time, your brother will announce his abdication due to ill health and appoint the Kolst Contessya Morganya as Empress Regent of Cyrilia.”
Five days. Her stomach felt hollow. She knew Luka was sick from the poison—but five days. That was even less time than she’d feared.
“Within weeks, your brother will be dead, and Morganya will become Empress of Cyrilia.”
“No!” Ana lunged, her chains clanging as she struggled against them.
“I’ve missed your spiritedness, Pryntsessa,” Sadov crooned. “You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment. I suppose Pyetr told you all about what Morganya and I have been planning?”
Pyetr—Pyetr Tetsyev. How much of what he’d told her had been truth? And how much had been lies? Was he still working with Morganya? Had he only told her Morganya’s plan to set her up?
I tell the truth, Kolst Pryntsessa. And you must decide what you do with this truth.
She closed her eyes as the hopelessness of her situation crashed into her. May was dead; her brother was dying. Yuri and the Redcloaks were gone. Tetsyev had vanished. Ramson had betrayed her.
“Oh, don’t look so heartbroken, Princess.” Sadov leaned forward and trailed a finger across her cheek. His touch sent cold revulsion down her spine. “You can join us.” Ana lifted her gaze to his, and she found true madness in those eyes. “For so long, Affinites have lived under the thumb of non-Affinites. We are graced with these abilities, yet we are reviled, controlled by weak humans who use blackstone and Deys’voshk against us. Why should we not have our revenge?