Page 62 of This Dark Descent
All she wanted was to break.
“I don’t know what was more exciting, the race or the attempt on the prince’s life.” Quinn’s voice pulled her back to the present. The girl brought her bay to a halt and dismounted.
Mikira nervously scanned the area. “Say that a little louder, will you?”
Quinn lifted an eyebrow. “What? They’re not even meant to be ruling. They usurped the throne from the last Ranier king’s son.”
Mikira had heard rumors of the lost illegitimate prince, supposedly born to the king’s mistress, but it was the sort of thing one only whispered about in close quarters. It toed the line of treason.
“Do you disagree?” Quinn asked. “Don’t tell me you of all people actually care about Prince Darius?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mikira secured a brush from a bucket.
For once, Quinn seemed uncertain. “Nothing. I just meant the royals prop up the noble houses, most of all their cousins. The prince treats Rezek like a favored rabid dog he refuses to leash, and it’s common knowledge your family has had their share of trouble with him. You’re not the only ones.”
“That doesn’t mean I want the prince dead.” Mikira started brushing Atara’s coat, trying not to think about the veracity of her own words.
“But you wouldn’t mind if Rezek was.” Quinn said it so quietly, Mikira almost didn’t hear. She hated Rezek. She could deny that with her dying breath, and no one would believe it. But did she want him dead?
Some innate part of her recoiled at that. For all she railed and resisted, for all her anger and her aggression got the best of her, Mikira hated violence. She hated blood and death and pain. She hated being the one to cause it, even when it was necessary.
Doing harm to do good is a false promise, her father had told her.It’s never all that it seems.
She turned around and jolted to a stop. Quinn stood just behind her.
“Tell me the truth, Mikira.” This close Mikira could smell horses and spiced verillion from the powder, and beneath that, something floral and familiar. “Do you want him dead?”
Mikira’s lips parted. Her father would have said no. She wanted to say no. But after all Rezek had done: to Lochlyn, to her father, to her, forcing her into this bloodbath of a race, into putting her ranch at stake and spying on and betraying Damien, it felt like a lie.
“We shouldn’t be talking about this here,” she muttered at last. “I don’t know why you even care.”
Quinn’s long fingers skimmed across Mikira’s hip as she slid a card into her belt and said quietly, “Find me tonight, then. I’ll show you why.”
Mikira’s eyes tracked her hand all the way back. Her sleeve had beenpushed up from a medic attending to her wound, and just below the bandage, the edges of a jagged mess of scar tissue poked out. Quinn slid her sleeve down to her wrist and returned to her horse, taking all the heat and presence of her body with her.
“Miss Rusel?”
Mikira steeled herself, already on edge and uninterested in adding anything more to it. But it was only a small group of teenage girls, their blouses neatly stitched with gold thread and tucked into ankle-length brocade skirts. Each one worth more than anything Mikira owned, and yet they were staring at her as ifshewere the treasure.
The oldest, a girl with tawny skin and intricately braided hair, gave her a tentative smile and asked, “Can we, um, meet Atara?” Her gaze flicked to the horse.
It took Mikira a moment to understand what was happening. To connect the gleam in their wide eyes with the way people had looked at her in the tunnels, like she was something more than herself.
“Yes,” she said automatically, and stepped back as the girls flooded Atara with a series of giggles and soft coos. The horse ate up their attention, letting them pat her and feed her slices of green apples. It was all Mikira could do just to watch, a shift in understanding slowly sinking in.
Then one of the girls gasped, and all three scurried away. She whirled to find Damien approaching, a bundle of white cloth pressed to his bleeding forearm and a roll of bandages in hand.
“Hells! What did you do?” Mikira took the bandage from Damien, which he was all but fumbling. He frowned at her but didn’t stop her as she snatched up a clean towel and wiped the blood away.
“I got between a fool and the prince,” he replied as she wrapped the bandage neatly about his arm. Mikira nearly said that sounded like three fools to her, but she bit back the words and finished tying off the bandage. She’d heard someone say that a house lord had stopped the attack—somehow, she wasn’t surprised to find it was Damien.
Damien inspected the bandage. “Reid might actually be impressed.”
She barked a laugh and picked up another brush. “Before or after it rains gold?”
His measured gaze cut to her. “That might not be so impossible, actually. I’ve been discussing Rusel enchants with the prince after our encounter. He was under the impression your lines were all but decimated, but I told him you still have one left descended from your father’s stallion, Nightflyer.”
Damien couldn’t be implying what she thought he was. “Starling,” she whispered. “A mare.”
