Page 38 of The Stolen Throne
A Rock, a Hard
Place, and Me
Zariph Cainis must have a death wish, because if shadow rose and fell outside earlier, darkness obliterates every source of light inside the tent before he’s finished that statement. In the dark, I can’t see Reven. See if he’s the one doing this or if the Shadows are.
By the time someone relights one of the candles, casting a dancing glow over the room, Reven’s shoulders rise and fall like he’s breathing hard, but, like before, he taps the scars on his wrists. I don’t look away, still watching him closely.
That darkness felt…different.
“What do you say?” Cainis draws my focus back to him, lounging comfortably as if none of that just happened.
I blink at him, trying to reorient. Then his question sinks in.
No lies, I remind myself. Because of his Enfernae power. So make the truth work for you.
I look the zariph directly in the eyes. “I will marry no one until my sister is healed and returned to her throne and King Eidolon’s remains rot in the ground.”
Preferably in the Pit of Bones.
Beside me, Cain plucks at the corner of a pillow, and I don’t dare look him in the eyes. I hurt him again. And I hate that. I hide a sigh. I probably should have been softer in my wording.
I don’t have time for soft.
“Marriage is the only option that makes sense,” Cainis insists, puffing up. “You need to secure my people to you as your protection.”
Cain says nothing. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
“What I need,” I insist—possibly through gritted teeth. My jaw aches. “Are people ready to fight a tyrant for themselves, not for me.”
Silence.
Finally, “This zariphate’s support will not be tied to our marriage.” Cain.
A small fissure of relief cracks the tension inside me, but Cainis eyes his son. “You don’t speak for this zariphate yet, boy.”
Cain leans forward, toward his father. “Test my will in this, old man. Meren will only become my heartmate of her own free will.”
Whoa. While until now, mostly I’ve seen the two interact from a distance, I would’ve never expected Cain to speak to his father that way. Not ever.
I glance across at Reven, but he’s not looking back at me. He’s watching Cain with speculation in his gaze.
The conversation goes downhill quickly after that, with most everyone else jumping in on either side of the argument. The room, within half an hour, is in a grim-faced standoff. I should have seen it coming. Which is on me.
The zariph doesn’t budge. Neither does Cain. Eventually, the only way to put a pin in it is for me to agree that, at most, I’ll think about it. At which point the zariph refuses to entertain any other options in terms of going against Eidolon until I decide. The decision being that I marry Cain is implied.
What I need to show the zariph is that no one is safe with the king still alive. Not a single damn soul. Including him and his zariphate.
But that’s clearly not happening tonight. What I do know is that I can’t leave the Vanished or my sister and Achlys with the zariphate and go off to fix the world. Without marriage to Cain, the zariph will abandon them. I’m certain of it. I don’t know how much Cain could actually do to stop that, but it would mean pitting father against son. That happens sometimes in these communities, and it usually rips the zariphate apart.
I refuse to play the game that way, like different people on the board are pawns to be sacrificed in my bid to topple the king. No soul is more or less worth saving than any other. Even the zariph, though he’s falling lower on my list of priorities with each passing moment.
Either way, we won’t get further tonight, and I—attempting to be graceful and failing miserably because my robes tangle in my legs—manage to stand. “We can talk more tomorrow night.”
The zariph nods. “You must be tired.”
That’s like saying the sun must be hot.
Beside me, Cain chuckles. I don’t glance his way, but I’m pretty sure he guessed the direction of my thoughts. I must’ve made a face.
