I clear my throat. “How do you know that?”

Dustan pauses with his hand on a card. “We were both in the Grand Hall when Karis Luran revealed what she knew.”

Back when I was a guardsman. Before I knew anything of my birthright. I’d forgotten. I run a hand across my jaw.

“That concerns you,” says Dustan. His eyes search my face.

I study my cards. I’ve said too much. So has he. Long nights and heavy darkness never keep secrets well.

“I bear you no ill will either, Grey,” he says. “In the arena—if you had not—if you had only said—” He breaks off and swears. “Silver hell. Why did you run? Why?”

“I would run again if I had the chance.”

He straightens in surprise.

I hold up my shackled wrists. “I am your prisoner, Dustan. I owe you nothing. You owe me nothing. Allow me to keep my secrets.”

For a moment he looks like he will challenge me, but either he’s too tired or too unwilling. He sighs. “For the good of Emberfall?”

I nod and flip a card onto the pile. “For the good of all.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LIA MARA

At sunrise yesterday, my thoughts were a tangled mess of remorse and regret, made no better by the fact that my mother believed my letter.

At sunrise today, I wake with new purpose. I will find a way out of this castle. I will not be used as a pawn against my mother and my sister. I will not be used against my people.

These thoughts still poke at me. The prince is not using me against Syhl Shallow. He is using me to protect his people from my own.

Again, I shove those thoughts away.

Clothes were brought yesterday, as promised, but I had no interest in touching them. I was less interested in the dinner meal, some kind of seasoned shellfish that turned my stomach when I tasted it. Surely some kind of pointed commentary about the prince’s access to a saltwater harbor, when my mother has none.

The gold and red ribbon that threads the sleeves of the clothing left on a chair seems very deliberate.

Regardless, I’d rather wear his colors than Sorra’s blood. I strip off the stained robes and pull on soft calfskin leggings and a green chemise. These clothes are more formfitting than the robes were, and I feel very aware of the slope of my hips and the curves of my breasts. Nolla Verin would likely fawn over such clothes, while I feel self-conscious. I am glad the guards remain outside.

The room is lavishly appointed, with velvet blankets on the bed and silver-tipped furniture throughout. I’m too high up to jump from the window. Guards wait outside my door, and I have no doubt they’ll replace this room with a prison cell if I give them cause. If I’m going to escape, I’ll need to find another way.

I have time on my side, and little else.

Trellises line the outside castle walls, thick with blooming roses, but none are close enough to reach, and I doubt they would bear my weight anyway. No knives were delivered with the food, though I doubt I could overpower two armed guards on my own. Even the hearth is cold, lacking a flame in the summer heat. I can’t set the room ablaze in the hope of escaping in the resulting melee.

I frown, studying the hearth. Similar to the rooms of the Crystal Palace in Syhl Shallow, the fireplace is stationed along the wall between two rooms in order to share a chimney. In the Crystal Palace, a metal barrier exists to afford privacy between rooms, but it can be removed for efficiency, if necessary. When Nolla Verin and I were children, we would sneak into rooms this way to spy on people we thought were so very important.

I wonder if the same thing exists here. I sit on the marble hearth and lean in, feeling along the blackened wall at the back.

It feels like brick. I sigh.

Then my fingers find an edge in the middle. I explore further. A small gap exists around the brick along the exterior of the fireplace.

More sure now, I hook my fingers around the brick edge at the center of the barrier and pull.

It doesn’t move.

Of course it doesn’t. It’s a brick wall. I sigh again.

The door of my room clicks, and I dive out of the fireplace, balling my sooty hands into the robes I abandoned. I scrub at them hurriedly.

I expect Rhen to be returning to provoke me about my mother, but to my surprise, Princess Harper steps through the doorway. Even more surprising, she is no longer wearing the jewel-adorned gown from the day we first visited, but instead wears breeches and a chemise similar to mine. A female guard with waist-length dark braids stands behind her.

My expression must be filled with the rage I was saving for her beloved, because the princess frowns. “I should have asked if you were receiving visitors.”

“Why?” I finish wiping at my hands and toss the robes onto a chair by the hearth. “Have you not heard? I am a prisoner.”

Her expression turns abashed. “I have heard.” She pauses. “I’m sorry.”

She is sorry? This is so unexpected that I go still. My voice finds an edge. “Then you must not be aware of the injuries my people have visited on the subjects of your prince.”

“I am.” She presses a hand to her abdomen. “I’m still sorry.”

After the prince’s cold, steely gaze, it’s a shock to see what looks like genuine concern in her expression. It steals some of my fury.

“You must think me a great fool,” I say.

“No.”

“Well, I do.” I sink onto the marble ledge in front of the fireplace and give a humorless laugh. “I thought I could forge an alliance of peace, and instead, I am to be used as a pawn against my mother.”

“I don’t think you’re a fool at all. I think it’s …” She hesitates. “Admirable.”

“If only you were my captor instead of your prince, then.”

Her expression is so sorrowful. She begins to take a step toward me, but her guard murmurs, “My lady,” in a tone of warning, and the princess stops.

I can tell from that tone and that response that they are close.

Unbidden, I think of Sorra moving to protect me. Emotion swells in my throat, warm and sudden. I swallow past it, and I look away, my jaw clenched.

Princess Harper’s eyes swim with empathy. “I know you’re angry. You don’t—you don’t have to talk to me.”

I say nothing.

“I just want you to know that …” She trails off, and her eyes narrow slightly. “You have a black mark on your cheek.”

Soot. I resist the urge to swipe it off. “A mark of mourning,” I lie. “For my guard who was slaughtered.”

Harper visibly flinches. “Again, I’m sorry—”

“You apologize a great deal for a princess.” I take a step forward, and her guard moves closer to her, but Harper doesn’t shift at all.

“I don’t want to be your enemy,” Harper says quietly.

I don’t want to be hers. Despite our relative positions, I believe she has a core of kindness that I admire. In another lifetime, we could possibly be friends. I keep my eyes cold. “Your prince has guaranteed we can be nothing else.”

A sigh escapes her lips. “I know.”

We stand in silence, regarding each other. After the longest moment, she looks away. “If you change your mind, have one of the guards send for me.” She pauses. “I know what it’s like to be alone here.”