Shadow Heir

Again, I heard the sound of the door unlocking. “Go,” I told Volusian as I hid the wand under my shirt. “It’s probably for the tray. You go too, Spots. Tell your mistress things are about to get going.”

But when the door opened, it wasn’t the servant who entered. It was my usual escort of guards. “Her Majesty has summoned you,” said one of them. “Let’s go.”

What? I was being ordered to Varia now, seconds before I staged my great escape? I stood where I was.

“What for? I thought I didn’t have to make any decisions until dinnertime,” I said, crossing my arms. Much of the day had passed, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t quite that late in the evening.

“Her Majesty wishes you to see the Oak King,” explained the guard.

Irony strikes again. I’d wanted nothing more than to go bust Dorian out myself, and Kiyo had volunteered to free me up for the monarchs. Here were the guards, offering to take me straight to Dorian—but I needed to dodge it. I was needed up here.

“Sorry,” I said haughtily. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to play her game and let her try to psych me out with her ability to inflict pain. That’s not how I work.” Even as I spoke, it occurred to me I would just have to start my breakout now. What was the difference if the guards were in or out of my cell? I’d have to contend with them one way or another. I was on the verge of summoning my magic when the guard’s next words drew me up short.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not even sure the Oak King’s still alive.”

Chapter 22

My heart stopped.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded.

The guard remained blasé. “Some of the torturers were a little too zealous in their art, it seems. When Her Majesty discovered this, she graciously decided to allow you the opportunity to visit before the Oak King passes. I don’t know his current status. It’s not really my job.”

“There’s nothing gracious about that!” I exclaimed. “And that wasn’t part of the plan. Varia told me he was going to be executed later.”

“Our lady doesn’t answer to you, nor is she required to keep her word to her inferiors. She may do whatever she likes.”

My heart was working again, only to start beating in double-time. In deviating from her plan, Varia was ruining mine. Dorian ... dead? I’d known he was in danger, but in the back of my mind, that danger had always been “later.” And, with the way I normally operated, “later” always meant I had a chance to intervene. An internal voice kept saying Stick to the plan, stick to the plan. If Dorian was dead, there was nothing I could do. If he was still alive, then Kiyo and the others could rescue him.

And yet ...

“I’ll go,” I said.

It went against every kind of logic. It played into Varia’s hands. And yet, there was no way I could abandon Dorian if he was near his last breath.

They took me to the torturers’ chamber, which was every bit as terrible as one might imagine. Wicked-looking weapons—most of which seemed to favor spikes—lined the walls. But when they took me to Dorian, I didn’t see a single mark on him—aside from the ones inflicted earlier—making me think gentry forms of torture were far more insidious than I knew. He lay on his back, on a long stone table, like a corpse in a morgue. I hurried to his side, and even without any ostensible signs of injury, it was obvious he wasn’t in good shape.

Dorian had always been pale, but it was the natural marble complexion that came with red hair and caution with the sun. This ... this was something different altogether. It was the unhealthy white of near death. His skin was clammy, and his breathing was shallow. Still, that last one filled me with hope. He was breathing. I rested a couple fingers on the side of his neck and felt a faint pulse. That was about the extent of my medical knowledge, but again, the fact that there was a pulse had to be a good sign.

I glared around at the others in the room, unsure of whom I should direct my righteous fury to since Varia apparently couldn’t be troubled to come see me. Probably it was the dogs’ bath time. My contingent of guards had received reinforcements, but they were mostly there as precautions to keep me in line. The real culprits, I assumed, were two gentry standing in long brown robes with gold embroidery, watching me in silence. One was a man, one was a woman.

“What did you do to him?” I asked.

The male torturer spread his hands out in an absurdly serene way. “What our queen asked of us. She wished to make a point.”

“What, that she’s a raging psychopathic bitch? She made that point a long time ago when she started exploiting other kingdoms.”

A few of the guards frowned at my language, but no one came forward to stop me. “She wished merely to show her power,” said the female torturer. “And encourage you to choose a wise course of action.”

“I am not helping her with her insane plans,” I said. “And she damned well knows it. Where is she anyway?”