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'Because you're spiteful and angry. You hate that my father had an affair, and that he was happier with my mother than he was with you. You can't stand that I'm a good leader, and that my people love me. You're consumed with grief over the loss of both my father and your children, and for that I pity you, but it's twisted you … made you vengeful, so now you have nothing else in your life to live for.'

'You hold yourself in high regard,' she said, picking hay off her cloak.

'There could have been a place for you here,' said Cal. 'You would have been valued and respected, but you snubbed those who tried to help you, and now you must pay the price.'

'And what of your uncle?'

The traitorous brother of the deceased King. He would align with whomever offered him personal advantage, and could not be trusted. 'Seeing as he also tried to steal from my kingdom, and knows the whereabouts of the dragon scales …'

'He does not,' snapped the Queen Mother.

'You expect me to believe you personally travelled to the temple to retrieve the scales?' She wouldn't put herself to so much trouble, not to mention, he'd smelled his uncle's scent in the tunnel.

'I have entrusted the knowledge of the scales to no one.'

'You're lying.'

She cocked her head to one side as she looked at him. 'Why would I lie?'

'Because, as I've already mentioned, you're angry and spiteful.'

'Who could I trust with such knowledge?'

'I know not, but the scales we took to the Fae'ch were heavy. How could you have retrieved them by yourself?'

The Queen Mother laughed. 'I may be old by your standards, but I am not yet frail. I am one of our best hunters, and am no stranger to carrying great weights over long distances.'

Cal didn't believe her, but it mattered little. Both she and his uncle would die by his hand; he couldn't take any chances.

'Meanwhile,' said the Queen Mother, 'you've been fraternizing with the southern Queen … have shown her our most sacred space.Sheknows the location of the Black Hoods' only remaining wealth, and could wipe us out in a blink. Your people will challenge you for this insult.'

'Are those your last words, or is there anything else you'd like to say?'

She went still, and Cal saw fear in her eyes; she knew she couldn't escape her fate. It sickened him, but he would do what he must, and it had been a long time coming.

Aaron and Zhura led the Queen Mother and Cal's uncle to where two wooden blocks waited in the snow. Fyia pulled her cloak tightly around herself, grateful for the layers of clothing and gloves she now wore. But her insides went cold, dreading what was to come.

The prisoners had hoods over their heads and made no sound. They were dressed only in white tunics, their feet bare. She wondered who would deliver the killing blow … Aaron or Zhura, or some other executioner? Or would Cal draw his own blade?

She didn't have to wait long for an answer, for Cal—black hood up so it covered his face—stepped out onto the snow. A morbid silence descended as he took his position behind the prisoners, a ripple of anticipation running through the gathered crowd as he drew his sword and lowered his hood.

He addressed his people, but Fyia didn't hear what he said, for his Cruaxee-touch suddenly stole half of her senses. She noticed only the lines across his brow, the regretful set of his jaw, the feel of his racing pulse.

He'd shaved his head, his lush dark hair gone, so he looked like he had when she'd first met him inside the Fae'ch mountains. Had he killed someone before that meeting too? Was that why he'd shaved his head then? Was this a regular chore?

Not a soul made a sound as Cal's words ended. He looked imperial as he pushed back his cloak, his muscles flexing as he raised his sword. Zhura pulled the hood from the Queen Mother's head, so Fyia could see the gag in her mouth, presumably to stop her from revealing the location of the dragon scales to all. The Queen Mother had nothing left to lose, after all.

Barely a tick passed before Cal swung his blade. It went through cleanly, separating her head from her body, red arterial blood pumping out onto the pristine snow. A crow screamed overhead, then dove at Cal. Zhura pulled a slingshot from her pocket, felling the Queen Mother's bonded animal with lethal accuracy. Cal blinked, his eyes remaining closed a beat too long, his only reaction.

Cal's uncle tried to shy back, making terrified noises through his gag. He still had a hood over his head, but his senses had told him enough to send him into a frenzy. Zhura and Aaron wrestled him down onto his own block, then pulled off his hood.

Cal was as quick as before, but his uncle tried to avoid the blow, and Cal caught the man across his shoulder instead of his neck.

Fyia winced as the man screamed, collapsing sideways onto the block. Cal didn't hesitate, finishing the execution instead of leaving him to die a slow and painful death in front of the whole town.

'Bury them,' said Cal, breathing hard as he cleaned his sword, 'and then we drink.'

Chapter Fifteen