I’m not loyal to him? Bitch, I am the most loyal person there is!”
“It’s not the same—”
I make a sound of frustration in my throat, turning away. I hate that she’s right. It’s not the same. Just because she’s working for Aron of the Cleaver doesn’t mean that it’s my Aron. I rub my brow, frustrated. I’m hungry, I’m scared, and I feel really, really alone right now.
Nothing is safe. They’re going to try to kill me. Everyone is.
Why wouldn’t they? The gods command it. I can’t fight against that.
And even if they don’t succeed…I still have to die. I close my eyes, and I can still see the snap of my thread under the Spidae’s fingers. They knew all along. Just as they knew that Hedonism Aron would be meeting us here in Yshrem, they knew I was going to die.
It occurs to me that maybe the Spidae have known the outcome of things all along. They’re guiding it in their own, warped little way. That my coming from the Earth web to this one “just because the veil between worlds was thin” is a crock of shit and it’s another thing they’ve manipulated. How do I know they’re not teasing and toying with outcomes just to guide things? How do I know they haven’t been drawing me towards this ever since I got my fortune read? Even the cards back then had spiderwebs on the backs.
I know, suddenly, without a shadow of a doubt that this is their doing.
They want me here.
Which means they want my Aron to win.
Which means I’m going to die to ensure that happens.
A strange calm settles over me. I continue to pace even as the guards take the woman away. Solat remains at my side, a furious scowl on his handsome jaw, like he’s personally offended that someone tried to get rid of me.
New guards arrive in the room and settle at the doors. Queen Halla gets to her feet, picks up her cup, and then tosses the contents into the fire. “Get my chamberlain,” she says to one of the guards. “From now on, tasters will only be my ladies. The kitchens will be guarded. All food will be tasted, even that granted by the goddess—”
“And we won’t tell any of this to Lord Aron,” I add.
The queen turns to look at me in shock. “We cannot keep such a thing secret. The enemy knows—”
“—that a stranger’s hanging out with the queen? It’s not hard to put two and two together.” I tap my hand against my thigh, trying to think. “They’ll try again. If not poison, then something else. Arrows. Maybe someone will burn down the whole keep. I don’t know. As long as they know I’m here, though, everyone’s in danger. They’ll take out the whole city just to get to me and you know I’m right.”
Halla purses her lips. “Then what do we do?”
“We have to act before they try again. We have to get the upper hand. Somewhere over there is his anchor. Unless we have a way to poison their entire encampment and can live with murdering thousands, we need to figure out who his anchor is and take him or her out.”
“But how?” Halla protests. “We have tried that before—”
“I’ll go,” Solat says, speaking up for the first time since the assassin left the room.
We both turn to look at him.
“What?” I sputter. “No. Absolutely not.”
“It’s a good idea,” Solat continues. “I’m good at ingratiating myself. I’ll get one of their uniforms from off the dead and start hunting around. I know what to look for, how an anchor is guarded.” His gaze locks on me. “I’ll find the information and we can mark the tent he or she is hiding in.”
“You think we haven’t tried?” Queen Halla asks imperiously.
“I know how Aron thinks. Two different Arons,” he adds. “I know how they are different, but I also know the ways they are similar. I’ll be able to spot the anchor.”
And he looks at me for approval.
An infiltrator. Of course it’s smart. Of course Solat knows how Aron thinks. He was with Liar Aron and then he was with my Aron. He knows what to look for, more than any Yshremi or Cyclopae warrior because he’s ridden with Arons of different flavors for months now.
“It’s dangerous,” I admit to him.
“Does it matter?” he asks, all cockiness. “I never expected to get out of this alive. Did you?”