Page 118 of Thorns and Echoes

He knew Zara’s phrase. He knew all their phrases. He was like a fire that could ignite dozens of flames, each burning in ways they couldn’t foresee. The phrases were hidden in his mind – he couldn’t access them, had no idea what each woman was intended to do. Even Zara. He had her phrase – perhaps Octavius could break her out of the trance. But for the others, he was just a key. He didn’t know what was beyond the door. What if he didn't remember every face? The next woman could be a servant in the palace. A soldier, a courtesan.

He stared at the hard ground below his window. A shattered key wouldn’t be able to unlock anything.

Perhaps Vern hadn’t given him a way out. Perhaps this was the only solution.

He leaned over the edge. The wind was cool.

"Jump, and I'll follow."

He froze. So lost in his head was he, he hadn’t heard the door open. Anais always knocked. The sound was lighter than Octavius’ pounding thumps. In the last week, she had waiteduntil he permitted her entry as though this was his room and not his cell.

Carefully, he pushed back from the open air. He shouldn’t turn. If he turned, the sight of her would shake his resolve. Already, sweat coated the palms of his hands. “I’d like to be alone today.”

“I did not race all the way to Nadraken, get myself shot in the leg, caught in Yelena’s games, and most likely pissed off Akerami just to watch you die now.”

Anger laced with fear.

The wooden edges of the shutters bit into his palm. “I didn’t ask for any of that.”

Brittle. He sounded so brittle and bitter. Not what she deserved, but all he had to give.

It was a few long seconds before she responded. Her voice was softer. “No, you did not. I would do it all over again – except, this time, I would order Vern to follow Octavius’ instructions in your treatment and care. I should have known what he would do. I’m sorry, Castien.”

She was apologizing. She had nothing to apologize for.

He blinked away tears, letting the wind dry his eyes before finally turning around.

Still wearing the same midnight-black and sparkling-gold dress, his Queen carried a tray laden with small metal domes and a steaming cup of liquid. Her emerald eyes raked his body as he drank in the sight of her just as desperately. The smell of roses drifted to the window. He inhaled deeper without intending to.

The door was closed, and there was no guard in the room.

His palm pressed to the wall. "You can't be here alone."

She took a step toward him. "The conditioning has been removed. It’s safe. You’re free."

“No, I’m not,” he murmured. He sank to the floor, back pressed against the window's edge. His eyes refused to leave her, a vision of comfort that he didn't deserve.

Her gaze flickered. She set the tray on the table. “What do you mean? Do you still feel the urge to go south?”

He rubbed a fist over his chest. “She called me a weapon. Zara – there are more like her. You…” Puzzled, he studied those eyes he found so wonderfully dazzling. “It didn’t kill the others. Why did it almost kill you?”

She blinked and stood still. After a few moments of thought, she murmured, “The thirty women you were forced to poison. Zara is one of them?”

He loved that he didn't need to explain anything. She followed his fragmented logic so well. He loved…

Nodding, he said, “Yes. She was in the dungeons for an hour or two. Just the one day. They never stayed long and never came back. I thought I killed them, especially after…” He hesitated.

The liquid in the vials was yellow. Golden, almost. Had it always been liquid? He had poured vials every time, he remembered that. Another yellow vial came to mind. No, a small bottle. And not liquid, but dust.

The next words left his mouth slowly. “What did Damon give you?”

He wasn’t sure what he was asking or how it was connected. After Anais’ near-disaster with Damon, the healers had said she had been dosed with a sleeping draught. The trance felt like a waking dream, part of his mind asleep, unconscious.

Her claws tapped the table. She frowned as she chased after his thoughts. The Queen stood before him now – his glorious, cunning Queen. “Damon’s bottle of dust. You think they’re the same. He intended to trance me.”

Her pretty little ass can sit where it wants.

Castien nodded carefully. It was difficult to imagine his friend allying with the Nadraken Queen – with any Queen. Yet Damon had befriended Anais. He’d murdered his own friends. Would have murdered Castien. “And when it failed, Yelena wanted you dead.”