Page 85 of The Prince's Sacrifice

He huffed a breath. Like she would have listened to him instead of doing exactly what she intended to do anyway. Was the goddess trying to tell Tor something about the fact that he tended to surround himself with stubborn people?

Varex had told the guards Tor was to remain here until called for. If he intended to talk to Tor, then Tor could try again. He’d keep an even tighter lid on his temper, and he’d explain everything carefully and calmly. He couldn’t believe that Varex would have wanted Tor to let children die, but it sounded like everything he’d done had been cast into question. Surely the entirety of King Forex’s guards wouldn’t lie about what had occurred.

He groaned. Maybe even that didn’t really matter. What was being considered right now was that the peace of the realms was threatened, and Varex could have been injured by what Tor had done. Tor had made the choice to fight for everyone no matter what, but he’d taken the choice from Varex. And maybe the real problem was that Tor wasn’t sure he could honestly say he wouldn’t do it again, even knowing this possible outcome.

He grimaced, feeling a surge of annoyance. Varex was also clearly fine, so it was hard for Tor—who’d been faced with theliteral impending death of thousands of people—to weigh the theoretical possible injury of the High King against what had happened up the mountain. The people would win every time, which was clearly not what anyone in that throne room had wanted to hear.

And if they didn’t even believe him about the people—Children! Civilians!—then what could he possibly explain? If they thought he might simply pull magic from the High King whenever he wanted… Well, thatwasdangerous, wasn’t it?

And that meant here Tor was, in the dungeon, on borrowed time, just waiting to hear the final pronouncement that would mean the end of everything. Did Tor wish he’d asked Nawila to break him out after all? Was a life on the run better than no life at all?

He was pretty sure he should feel more strongly about this, but mostly, he felt… numb. He’d thought he could explain himself and introduce the love of his life to his brother, and instead… this.

He was still sitting there when two stony-faced guards brought him a tray of food, shoving it through the opening, glaring at him, and then stalking away.

Tor supposed if they thought he really had committed treason, he couldn’t blame them. He collected the food for lack of anything better to do.

Did that mean it was lunchtime? Dinnertime? Trapped in this dim, windowless cell, it was impossible to track the time. He wondered if Pel had already started back to Tond. What would he have said to Beluna, Denil, and Cavun? Weretheygoing to be safe if they went back to Tond and Forex was still upset about everything?

Tor could only hope that his own fate would be enough to soothe the King’s injured pride and that everyone else would be safe.

He closed his eyes again.

Pel, I’m so sorry.

Tor hoped that somehow, Pel knew that.

Maybe it was simply self-serving, but Tor wanted so desperately for the man to understand how much value he had. He hated the idea that his actions might have shaken that. Still, though, Pel was a fighter. Tor knew he’d get through this in the end.

Tor sucked in a long breath and blew it out again. He opened his eyes and stared down at the food. A bowl of creamy-looking soup and a hunk of bread. He wasn’t the slightest bit hungry—his stomach rebelled a bit at the thought, actually—but refusing food would just make Varex think he was behaving like a child. Not that he thought being a model prisoner would really help, but it might not make the situationworse.

And if Tor did suddenly get the chance to talk to Varex, he wanted to be at his best, didn’t he?

With a sigh, he tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it into the soup. It was kind of tepid, and Tor wasn’t sure what that flavor was, but it was food. Resigned, he kept eating.

How long was this investigation going to take? Would people really be sent to Tond to find out more? Or was that simply a polite fiction, and all the decisions had already been made? That was certainly what it had felt like.

Maybe Tor’s death would be enough to settle the United Realms. It would certainly be significant, highly visual consequences to appease the two royal families who were most upset with him.

If Tordidneed to die, he wouldn’t mind if he secured peace at the same time.

He pushed the empty bowl aside.

Unless everyone worried that there were more conspirators or that a High King who could kill his own brother was untrustworthy or the situation with the exiles came to a head…

There were too many terrible options.

The room swam a little, and Tor laid down on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

I’m so sorry, Pel, Tor found himself repeating.Whatever else happens, please be all right.

Tor would take his punishment. He was far from perfect, and he’d made serious mistakes that had killed people. He didn’t think this was one of those occasions, but maybe that didn’t matter.

He was sure, though, that Pel deserved every good thing. For a short time, Tor had thought he could be one of those things. He’d learned better now.

Be happy. Most of all, I want you to be happy. Please be happy, Pel.

Chapter Sixteen