Page 30 of A Crown of Tears and Treason (The Curse of Silver Secrets and Cruel Shadows #1)

Chapter

Thirty

EVIE

T he tower.

Out of all the sprawling mansions Phoenix Peak had, Zandyr had picked the most remote place to lay his head down at night. Until now, I hadn’t exactly been curious where he actually lived.

I’d noticed the tower during one of my first walks in the Citadel, but back then I’d been more concerned with the vines crawling up its ancient stones.

Rising in the most remote corner of the palace, it stood higher than any other building, even the Grand Archives glistening in the distance. Still on royal ground, but separate, almost blended into the jungle reaching for it above the wall, vines thirsting to invade the eerie stillness of Phoenix Peak.

Adara said the only official entrance to the tower was through the palace, which I wanted to avoid at all costs, and only Zandyr knew the secret access points.

So I scaled the strong, stubborn vines wrapped around the tower, not daring to look down. Adara waited disapprovingly at the base, ready to distract any guard who might wander this way, though there were none officially stationed near the tower. Zandyr liked to guard himself.

My muscles cried from the strain, but I put one foot above the other, sweaty palms grasping at every safe surface. Finally, when the sweat on my brows threatened to drip into my eyes, I made it to his large oval window overlooking Phoenix Peak. Guarding it.

My eyes quickly scanned the frame. Plain, no sculptures, indents or a latch. The glass shimmered with black and purple hues. I barely glimpsed a shadow moving inside, nothing else.

I strained my arms to knock on the glass.

The shadow stilled, then approached the window. The blood in my armor vials swirled out of control and my heart beat faster–

Then dropped somewhere near my swinging ankles as Zandyr almost tore the window open toward the exterior.

The frame cut into the vine I’d been grasping.

A frantic cry barely tore at my throat as his arm shot out, catching my hand.

“What are you doing?” Zandyr grit out.

“Hanging on for dear life!” I yelled back, legs swaying frantically to find any surface to cling to.

He pulled me up to safety and his arms circled my waist as he lifted me into his room. My knees still shook when my feet sunk into the lush golden carpet, but his palms felt warm against my skin, even through the armor.

“If you wanted to creep up and murder me, menace, there are more efficient ways of doing that.” An open smile played on his face. His beautiful, beautiful face that only had a scratch on it, cutting through his left eyebrow. “But I am so very glad to see you, deadly intentions or not.”

He was here, he was breathing, he was joking. He was safe.

My traitorous heart fluttered. I was so very glad as well, but all those sweet words caught in my throat.

“I’d be a really bad assassin if I knocked before attempting to kill you,” I said instead. “Why does your window open toward the exterior?”

“To fling off the assassins foolish enough to scale my tower. You could have come through the door.”

“I didn’t want the palace guards to see me.” Not now, not ever. And they definitely couldn’t watch me train anymore. “I heard you had a secret entrance, though.”

“I do, behind the phoenix statue at the base. Pull on its twenty-third feather and the wall will reveal the stairs,” he said without a hint of hesitation. His beauty grew in tune with his smile. “Missed me, did you?”

Yes, damn him, but that was beside the point. “I had to talk to you.”

“And you couldn’t wait half an hour until I washed the blood and horrors off me so that I could come to you in a more presentable state?”

I opened my mouth to argue–I didn’t know if he would have come to see me today. Or tomorrow. Or this week. He’d vanished the last night we saw each other.

Just thinking about his lips on my forehead heated my cheeks. I reluctantly detached my gaze from his face and I scanned his body. My heart thundered with every inch of damp skin I saw.

He only wore a pair of black trousers, his torso bare and delectable. The muscle ridges, flexed and sharp enough to cut, told the story of his training throughout the years.

But there were fresh scars.

Bruises.

Burn marks.

Crawling up his arms and strewn across his chest and abs.

“What did they do to you?” I asked, barely above a whisper. He’d already washed the blood away; I couldn’t even imagine the harsh memories he’d already bathed off.

“The monks made me stronger. Power is pain. And I’m already healing.”

He was, right before my shocked eyes. The wounds were slowly closing, the skin stitching back.

I inhaled sharply. “How is that possible?”

“Blood Brotherhood magic. It’s faster than normal healing. If the wound is shallow enough, you’re stranded in the woods for a few days, and have enough energy to power the spell, you live to fight another day.”

“So you need to be struck down hard and fast the first time,” I said distractedly, gaze snagging on a long scar near his heart. That one looked old. Painful. “What about this one?”

My left hand rose of its own accord, yearning to trace the jagged silver line. I stopped midway. Barely.

“That’s from when I was seven,” Zandyr said, eyes so intently focused on me, it felt like he wanted to see my very soul. “My favorite tutor, who’d spent an entire year gaining my trust and teaching me history, tried to cut my heart out and leave it on my parents’ throne.”

Stunned silence enveloped us.

“How?” I whispered, horrified beyond belief.

“Unbeknownst to anyone, he was an Old Guard spy, obsessively dedicated to avenging the Northern Clans against my parents’ slight. My father was betrothed to one of their princesses, but chose my mother. It caused a scandal and a massacre. Luckily for them, he hadn’t yet signed the contract with the princess or we would’ve had to deal with the Council’s wrath as well.”

“Didn’t–” I licked my lips, throat suddenly constricted. Leesa had been right. “Didn’t your parents…my grandfather…didn’t anyone protect you?”

“From what I’ve heard of Constantine’s character, he probably would have intervened if he’d known. Nobody attacked me while you were in the Protectorate, perhaps the Northern Clans had been too scared of your grandfather to kill his future grandson-in-law,” he said. “My parents were adamant about keeping my attempted murder a secret, so nobody else would be inspired to try again.”

I was overwhelmed with the need to embrace him until all the shadows slowly crowding his gaze vanished. From the way his jaw clenched, I doubted he would have welcomed comfort right now.

He’d been seven. Seven .

A child, betrayed by one of the adults he trusted most.

I don’t plan on raising my children the same way .

He’d been telling me he’d come after me because he didn’t want to make his parents’ mistakes. That he wanted to protect his people and future children.

I hadn’t truly, fully believed it until now. The horrors he had gone through in his childhood had left their mark on the decisions the man was forced to make.

My fingers floated right above the scar. Each time he inhaled, there was the barest contact with his chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, tilting my face up.

A curious glimmer danced in his eyes. “Concerned for me? You?”

“Horrified at what you had to go through.”

We were so close, it felt like he breathed his next words straight into me. “You know, you’re the first person who said that to me. My father swore revenge, my mother wept, and my other tutors devoted their hours to training me to survive more assassination attempts. But nobody apologized that I had ended up on the sharp side of a dagger.”

“I’m sorry for that, too.”

His eyes jumped to my lips. His fingers dug into my waist as if he didn’t quite know if he should pull me closer or push me away. “What did you want to talk about, Evie?”

Hearing my name twisting his tongue burned through my veins.

I shook my head, ignoring the sensation, and met his gaze head-on. The question that I had been smothering for days finally poured out.

“Why does Valuta want to kill me?”