KINGSLAYER

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A breathy sound escaped her throat when she circled to see his face and found his white eyes already trained on her, begging her to see he was in pain and to help the way only a mother could. He never looked scared like this. She knelt by his side, forgetting that she was in an evening gown that could not be wrinkled. His ribs moved up and down under her fingertips, but it was faint.

She forgot the stablehand was there until he spoke again, his voice shaky with terror. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. None of us ever wanted this to happen, you know the special care we took to be sure he was safe. I think— We gave him all the remedies we could think of. If he can pull through the night—"

"Get out," Jaylah snapped, not bothering to turn her attention from Thyros's slow blinking eyes. He never looked away from her.

Only when the stablehand was gone was Thyros vulnerable enough to paw his front legs against the hay, desperate for relief from the pain Ermalai forced on him. Jaylah rearranged herself so that she was sitting cross legged next to his neck. With a groan, he moved his heavy head into her lap. Wetness sprang to her eyes as she began to stroke his cheek, his dark forelock.

Moving his sweaty mane out of the way to offer some coolness, she uncovered one of the long scars on his neck. The hair had never grown correctly over it. He came to her so young, which meant his previous owner had broken the thin, fragile skin of a baby and likely lamented what they had done solely because it lowered his value. As a girl, Jaylah used to apply salve to the lacerations because he repeatedly tore them open when he was lashing out at the stablehands. He feared they all held hidden whips with razor tips. Jaylah often wondered what he had seen in her that made him feel safe.

It was a time in which people were willing to lick her boots for protection from her father. They might humiliate themselves for her affection but no one liked her. No one would lift a finger for her out of love, out of unselfishness. Stripping away her crown, her titles, her accomplishments revealed her as just a callous girl. The only time she was not bothered by it was here in the stables caring for the only being that actually trusted her.

Though she tried to hold it in, she sniffled. Thyros's eyes, tired as they were, snapped open to check on her. It was the final straw.

"You did not deserve this." She bent at the middle to shelter him, her nose against the smooth locks of his mane, bleached a lighter brown by the sun. "I am sorry he did this to you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Thyros breathed a weak snort through his nostrils. Foam remained lining his lips so she wiped it away. He kicked at the ground again, trying to get comfortable.

We grew up together, Jaylah thought as she held his large face in her hands. We are not done growing up. We were meant to do it together. How can I face it alone?

Her unruly horse was the only thing she had left of her old life. Her mother, her father, Ourania, Klymene. How cruel were the Gods that They would take him too, leaving her with no one that loved her for who she was?

Jaylah squeezed her eyes shut and leaned back against the wall. Thyros's head was making her legs hurt, but she would not ask him to move. She kept her fingers on his velvety nose, being sure he always took the next breath. Her other hand kept dragging over his ears. She hoped he could feel how much she loved him, how he was the only being she trusted herself to be tender with.

"Thank you," she whispered, "for staying with me until the end."

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When Jaylah awoke, there were birds chirping somewhere in the distance. But her bedroom was too high to ever hear birds in the morning...

She opened her eyes. She was in the stables. Why was she in the stables?

Thyros's head was still atop her legs. At the sight of it, the events of the previous night came rushing back. Her stomach churned when she realized she had fallen asleep to Thyros still alive. She was asleep in the moment he passed.

She felt as if she was going to vomit into the hay. She would never forgive herself.

Never in her life had she felt such terror, such grief. Was this how her mother had felt knowing she raised up a child all for nothing—only for her daughter to become as oppressive as her husband? Neither of them would get the relief of knowing it had happened for some grand reason after all.

Meaningless. Death was so meaningless.

She stayed with him as long as she could, but eventually she had to deal with the perpetrators. She was hesitant to leave Thyros's body in the care of the stablehands, but rage was beginning to toil through her veins, energizing the limbs that were previously weakened by loss.

The first thing Jaylah did when she could locate Antinoch was ask, "How is Ghislaine?"

"She is alive." Antinoch looked as if she had not slept a wink last night; her eyes were ringed with dark circles barely concealed by cosmetics. "She will be bedridden for several days but she is alive."

"Do we know who is responsible for putting the poison in the cups?"

"Oh, I believe we know who is responsible. But who will be punished, no. We do not know."

She was unfortunately correct. Ermalai was the one to give the order, but it was impossible for him to place the poison in the cups. He had to have spies within the kitchens. If they were not rooted out, they would continue to poison her until she was a husk that could not hurt a fly, much less Ermalai. Traitors were so close to her and she still had no way of knowing who it was. It could be anyone.

"Round up all the servants on duty last night both in the kitchens and the ones that served us. And the stableboys who tended to Thyros last night too," Jaylah demanded. "Slit their throats and keep it hidden."