Page 171 of Sharpest Court

Zeke’s features flickered with new hesitation. Mara was wheezing now, the floor dark with her blood.

“She deserves to suffer for what she’s done,” I said, meaning it with everything inside me. “But if you kill her now, more people will suffer.” I held Zeke’s gaze, willing him to listen, to ally with me one last time. “I regret so many of my choices. Don’t make yourself live with that same regret.” I dared another step closer, my blood thrumming with desperate hope. “Please. Let her go.”

Tears welled in his eyes, then spilled over. But behind his pain, I saw a deep, gutting fury. It was a fury I knew too well, a fury even the king himself had learned to hone into a weapon: The fury of being a Wielder born in Daradon. Of leading a half-life while everyone around us was able to truly live.

I saw the moment that fury won out in him, just as it had once won out in Erik.

Mara must have seen it too, because she gasped a protest—

And her head cracked back on her neck.

Helpless horror seized me as her body swayed in one last gruesome movement. Then Mara Capewell thudded backward, her unspoken words left forever hanging from her open mouth.

There was a moment of heavy-breathing stillness as I faced the reality that Zeke had just extinguished my last hope.

I didn’t even realize the force I was summoning in my anger. Didn’t realize that my power had blasted out of me, rushing straight toward Zeke, until agony speared through my wounded thigh.

I cried out and buckled, landing on my hands and knees; the solid wave of my specter went liquid from the pain. I couldn’t register what force had struck me—couldn’t think past the sudden ringing in my ears—until a louder clamor rang out. Because armored guards were swarming into the room.

And they were hauling between them Osana, Goren, and Keil.

A sharp, plummeting feeling stole my breath as I saw the heavy irons fastened to their ankles and keeping their wrists locked in front of them. I knew instinctively that they’d been dosed with dullroot. But while Osana and Goren thrashed against the guards—the latter severely bruised and bloodied, as though he’d fought all the way here—Keil didn’t struggle. He just scanned the sun-blazed room, counting the guards and exits, his discomfort betrayed only by the white-knuckled clench of his right fist.

As his eyes landed on me, I read his assessment: We were surrounded, outnumbered, and overpowered.

I would rather rot in your prison than in Erik’s, I’d once said to Arun.

Fate was about to call my bluff.

“On behalf of Her Imperial Majesty, I thank you, Mr. Cromwell.” Arun’s voice curled into the room, as slick as oil. “Without your word to the guards, there’s no telling how far these traitors might have gotten with our prisoner. Though I do wish you’d saved me a piece of her.”

I saw you being dragged away, taken exactly where you needed to go. Zeke must have alerted the guards the moment he’d understood my intentions. And so they’d ambushed my companions in the hallways.

“Send word to the sentries at the eastern checkpoint,” Arun said to one of his guards. “If they were planning to return to the Arcus estate, I suspect we may need to detain a few more of their group.”

The guard turned away, and again, I felt the world unraveling around me. Valeria, Dashiel, and Lye were at that checkpoint, carrying ithoric.

They would not be able to talk their way out of that.

“At least have the nerve to look,” I growled at Zeke, who was now glassy-eyed, seemingly numb. “You went to the guards. You wanted this. So look at what’s happening. Is this what your uncle would have wanted?”

As Zeke swallowed, I knew that regret had already attached itself to his shoulders and would forever weigh him down.

Arun said mildly, “You may leave at any time, Mr. Cromwell.”

Zeke’s eyes fell to Mara’s corpse. With trembling hands, he turned.

“Mara was right,” I spat. “You are a coward.”

Zeke paused, head drooping. Then he walked out.

As the doors shut behind him, I didn’t know why I’d expected anything from him at all.

Arun shifted toward his prisoners, keeping me in his eyeline. “Prince Keil Arcus. Osana Kimba. Goren Lister. You have been brought before the imperial authorities for insubordination and conspiracy to commit treason. Do you deny these claims?”

“No,” Goren said, the word a low growl. Though his right eye was swollen shut, his glare was potent as Arun drifted toward Osana.

She was breathing frantically, from what I recognized as the panic of a dullroot-infused bloodstream. I built my power up inside me as Arun stopped before her. They hadn’t yet dosed me, but they would.