The next afternoon, Izra led me away from the base blindfolded. We walked in silence for half an hour before I agreed to take the blindfold off. Even then, Izra avoided my eyes, gaze fastened to the path ahead and gait jerky. We tromped over brown grass, dried foliage, and packed dirt.
When we entered a patch of thick trees, Izra snapped to a halt. "We're close."
I halted beside her and sideglanced her. Her profile etched sharp lines and angles against the equally sharp backdrop of barren trees. A silky black curtain of hair fringed her dark eyes and soft olive skin. Goddess, such devastating beauty. Maybe I should have kissed her on that drunken night.
Maybe I would never get another chance.
I cleared my throat. "Alright. Guess it's time for you to turn back then."
Her eyes flicked toward me for a half-second before returning to the trees ahead. "We'll meet at the Mound of Truth in two hours." She spoke fast, voice tight. "You only have one hour, understand? If it takes any longer than that, I'll have to assume... I can't wait for you."
I furrowed my brow, more disconcerted by her choked voice than by her warning. "I know. It's alright."
Izra huffed a laugh explosive enough that the hair nearest her face fluttered, black strands almost silver in the sunlight. "It's not fucking alright, Epsa. I tried... I tried to... but no, you had to be the hero. Be the hero, or die trying, right?"
"Izra." Her name left me in a breathless crackle, and my hand swept toward hers, a delicate brush of just a few fingers. "I've served the wrong side my entire life. This is my chance to set things right."
Izra snatched her hand away and folded her arms over her chest. "Guess it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks then."
"What are you saying?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. You've made up your mind, so go."
For a few more seconds, I studied her in profile as she continued to refuse eye contact. Then I squared my shoulders and set my eyes ahead. "Fine. I'll see you in an hour."
With a deep breath, I resumed walking.
After a few minutes, the palace peeked through the dense woods, a stunning display of marble turrets and pillars, of gold-fringed windows and shimmering steps. How proud I had felt each time I saw this view through my childhood and even into recent years. Now bile bubbled up in my throat.
The closer I drew, the more guards appeared. I had never seen more than five guards at the entrance before, but now I counted twelve. My gaze snagged on Pamil, who joked with the others and jostled the arm of the female guard nearest him, as if he had no care in the world.
Anger flamed through me, rocking me back to my heels at the edge of the woods. But if I wanted to help, I needed to set these feelings aside. Separate.
I closed my eyes for a count of five. Then I trotted forward with a smile.
Pamil's gaze met mine, and his eyes widened. "Epsa! What a nice surprise."
I broadened my smile. "It's wonderful to see you again after all of this time hiding among heathens."
Pamil stepped away from the rest of the guards toward me and lowered his voice. "So... so you're not angry about..."
I let my smile fade as I released a sigh. "Of course not. Sad that it had to happen, but sometimes people are not who we think they are."
Pamil cracked a full smile, and relief deflated his shoulders. "I'm pleased you've grown to understand." Then he flashed a smile and swept a hand toward the gold-plated double-doors. "Let us bring you to the King."
Two other guards left the group to accompany me and Pamil to the King's study. As usual, the King lounged in his chair with Honey in a sleek white gown behind him, gently massaging his neck. Unlike usual, three guards surrounded him.
"Epsa!" The King's smile sparkled. "You look well. I presume this means everything is going according to plan?"
Was it only my imagination, or did Honey's fingers twitch over the King's neck? Forcing my attention to the King, I nodded.
"Yes, Your Majesty. The scheme you devised is playing out perfectly."
He waved a hand and clucked his tongue. "I won't take credit when you are the one doing all of the hard work. Now do tell me — what have you learned?"
"I discovered the location of another Lesser God temple, Your Majesty." One no longer visited by worshipers.
"Hmm." He frowned and cast a glance over his shoulder at Honey, who quickly resumed the massage. "And the rebel base?"
"I don't know that yet, but I'll find out as soon as I can."
His smile ticked in an almost-smile. "Forgive me, I don't understand. How did you leave the rebel base and make it all the way to the palace without knowing where you left from?"
"They took me partway blindfolded," I said. "I told them this is the day my mother died and requested one hour alone to visit her grave."
King Makapu cocked his head. "Then our solution is simple. We send someone to follow you when you return to them."
I shook my head. "They are too careful. If you send someone with me, we can catch one person, Your Majesty. But if you want the location of the base, you'll need to give me more time."
He rolled out his neck as Honey's thumbs smoothed the sides of his neck in circular motions. "How long?"
"Two weeks," I said, and the brazen confidence in my voice surprised me. "Within two weeks, you'll be able to bring down the Resistance."
The King rapped his fingers on the table and hummed, twisting his lips to the side. Then he said, "One week and two days. Bring me the location of the rebel base before those heathens celebrate the Day of Acrador."
I tilted my head in mock consideration. When my gaze inadvertently approached Honey's face, a strange jolt electrified me. I disguised the hitch in my breath with a cough.
"Yes. I'll bring you the information you require before the Day of Acrador."
He dipped his head in a deep nod. "Good. Now, will that be all?"
I fixed him with my most innocent, loyal expression. "Yes, Your Majesty, unless... unless you have any updates for me? Any plans I should know?"
"Plans?" His brow furrowed, and he plucked up his quill and twirled it between three fingers. "What kind of plans?"
I shrugged. "I can help best if I know what my team is doing."
The King plunked the quill in the bottle with a sigh. "I hate to say this, Epsa, but I am afraid we cannot be certain of your security among the Resistance. If they learn you are a guard and torture you for information..."
An echo of Izra's words played in my head in a jarring parallel. If you really think the King might torture you, then you can't go back to him. But the rest of the King's statement did not match Izra's.
"We have to ensure the Kingdom won't be compromised just because you are," he finished.
I swallowed and summoned a collected voice. "I understand, Your Maj —"
That was when I made my mistake.
I met Honey's eyes.
And she wrapped her hands around the King's throat and squeezed.
The King flinched and twitched his shoulders. "Honey, gentle."
Her grip tightened, the pads of her fingers digging into his flesh. He swatted her hand and shook his head, but she only cinched harder. Her teeth grated together so hard they squeaked, and her soft gown rippled over her trembling muscles.
The King's eyes bulged, and he emitted a garbled gulp. Around me, the guards sucked in breaths and stared, wide-eyed. My heart slammed against my ribcage. What was I supposed to do now? Attack the King? Attack the guards? Or prove my loyalty to the King?
Paralysis gripped me.
The guard nearest the King edged a step forward. "Your Majesty? What is your command?"
The King snatched both of Honey's wrists and tugged at them, to no avail. "H-h-h —" he wheezed, and then, a nearly silent rasp: "Help."
The guards rushed her.
In a blur of motion, two guards yanked Honey away from the King, slammed her to the ground, and trapped her arms behind her back. A third drew his sword and pressed the tip to her neck. The other three darted glances between the King and Honey, shifting their feet and flexing hands over sword hilts.
The two guards on Honey jerked her to her feet facing the King. "What shall we do with her, Your Majesty?" asked the same guard who had spoken before.
The King rubbed his throat and swallowed. "Take her away."
As the two guards dragged Honey from the room, I refused to look at her, but the heat of her gaze still singed me. When the door slammed shut behind Honey, the King's eyes returned to me. He smiled — pearly teeth, dimpled cheek, and twinkling eyes.
"Now then... where were we?"
I forced my breaths to even, but I was certain everyone could hear my pounding heart. "Your Majesty, are... are you alright?"
He folded his hands on the table before him. "Of course, sweet child. It would take much more than that to bring me down."
I furrowed my brow and pressed sweaty palms over my thighs, resisting the urge to pinch. "How are you so calm, Your Majesty? Has this happened before?"
He chuckled, a melodious sound strained by a wheeze. "I'm not calm because it has happened before. I am calm because it will never happen again."
Blood coated the back of my throat, tangy and viscous. "Your Majesty, Honey takes care of Makari all the time. He would be heartbroken if... if anything..."
"Epsa." His lips quirked in the guilty smile of someone about to tell an outlandish joke. "Do you think me a barbaric man?"
I swallowed, an unsuccessful attempt to clear the blood from my throat. "Of course not, Your Majesty."
"Then there you have it." He tipped his head and raised a palm. "You have nothing to worry about. Now why don't you return to the Resistance before anyone grows suspicious?"
Heart still thumping, I bowed my head and murmured words saved in muscle memory. "Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you, Your Majesty."
Pamil and one other guard escorted me from the room down the corridor back toward the main entrance. Pamil whistled under his breath as we walked. Just before we reached the door double, a voice called over my shoulder.
"Epsa!"
I swiveled to see Makandi stumbling toward us, eyes bloodshot and bleary. An oversized lavender vest hung open over a wrinkled white tunic. When he stopped in front of me, he wavered on his feet, and the spicy smell of prak blasted me.
I raised my eyebrows. "Yes, Your Highness?"
"Your Highness," he repeated with a head-shake and a strangled snort. He shoved his hands into the embroidered pockets of his vest and sucked in a breath. "Epsa, my mother wishes to speak to you."
"Unfortunately, I don't have time. Tell the Queen we can speak next time."
"Epsa, it's —" His voice broke, and he clamped his mouth shut and swallowed. Then I noticed the wet sheen glistening in his eyes.
My stomach somersaulted. I had not seen him cry since he was a boy... since we were still friends. Softer, I said, "Makandi? What is it?"
Makandi shot an impatient glare at the guards, who nodded at him and retreated. Then his eyes returned to me, and his shoulders deflated.
"Epsa, she's dying."
The words struck my chest like a hammer beating a hollow log. Dying? And in her last moments, she wanted to see me?
But the pang in my chest and twist of my gut were only phantom sensations from a severed limb. While I could not guess her motivation for speaking to me, I had abandoned the delusion that she cared. She had never done anything for anyone.
"Did you know I almost died when I was ten, Makandi?" I said. "I lay on the brink of death for three days, and the Queen never visited me. Not even once."
Makandi's eyebrows jerked up his forehead, and he breathed a laugh. "Is that really what you think? You really don't remember? Epsa, when we all thought you were dying, my mother sat at your bedside for three days straight."
His words hacked a chisel into my heart. The memory swung before me for the millionth time — my mother's face smiling down at me, her hand clasping my own, the loving presence thawing my feverish cold.
But as I shifted the image into focus, it wasn't my mother's face peering down at me.
It was Queen Romalda.
A knot rose in my throat, and tears pricked my eyes. I pushed against the reaction, unwilling to feel this now. Three days could not make up for all the times she turned me away, for the barren cold she offered each time I needed warmth, for her indifference to the King's evil acts. Only the Resistance deserved my loyalty now, and Izra would not wait much longer.
I opened my mouth to tell Makandi that this revelation didn't matter — that it was not enough — but different words slipped out.
"Take me to her."
As Makandi led me back toward Queen Romalda's chambers, I noted our surroundings with new eyes. The table where the Queen downed medicine-laced prak each night. The stiff armchair that always swallowed her frail frame. The lifeless landscapes and dim lanterns decorating the long corridor to her bedroom.
The Queen lay in her rickety single bed, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, thick animal hide tucked under her arms. A silent servant stood at her bedside with his head bowed. On the other side, clear liquid shimmered in the jar on her night stand. Sickness hung heavy in the air, medicinal and acrid.
For a moment, Makandi stared at the Queen, biting his lip. Then he jerked his head toward me and ducked out of the room.
I dragged a wooden chair to the side of her bed and lowered myself down, eyes on the Queen's unmoving face. "Queen Romalda?"
Her eyes peeled open, and her head swayed toward me. "Epsa." A dry croak. "I wasn't sure you would come."
A default response played on my lips. Of course I would come, Your Majesty. Why wouldn't I? But the words stuck in my throat. Instead, I nodded.
"I almost didn't. Then Makandi told me that when I was dying, you stayed at my bedside for three days."
"Ah." She closed her eyes. "I did."
"Why?"
A humorless smile twitched at her lips. "I suppose only the imminence of death could persuade me to do what I should have been doing all along."
The knot in my throat tightened, and a vice compressed my heart and lungs. "So is that why you called me here then? To assuage your guilt before you die?"
A rattling sigh. "No, that's not why." The Queen glanced at the servant beside the bed and lifted a trembling, bony finger to point at the door. As the servant shuffled toward the exit, her eyes returned to me. She asked her next question with routine dispassion.
"That rebel leader — Izra — do you love her?"
I stiffened, and my eyes flitted to the closed door before returning to the Queen. "Why would you think that?"
A miniscule shrug of one shoulder. "I was in love once."
I raised my eyebrows. "In love with who?"
A humorless chuckle rattled her chest. "With Makapu, of course."
"I thought it was a strategic marriage."
"It was. I barely met him before the wedding, but after... why, he was charming and handsome and utterly devoted to me. So at the beginning, I overlooked every clue about his true nature.
"I was pregnant with Makandi the first time Makapu bedded another woman. I decided to withhold myself until he repented, but he only filled the void with more women, including the Claimed. Over time, I withered away while he grew stronger. And eventually, he decided to help along my withering and ensure I stayed weak."
Her eyes traced the ceiling as though reading the story there. "That was when Honey began slipping poison into my sleeping medicine."
I darted another glance at the door and then leaned in toward the Queen. "What did you do when you found out?"
Another tiny shrug. "Nothing. If I told anyone, Makapu would deny involvement, Honey would be killed, and Makapu would Claim someone else in her place. Still, Honey has been more careful in the last ten years, so I only know when it has been poisoned from the change in taste and the cold in my bloodstream."
I stared at her, mouth dry. "In the last ten years? How long has this gone on?"
Queen flicked her wrist. "Enough about me. I know you must leave soon, so listen closely. Chief Taroom has given Makapu a choice — to give up the crown and remain a powerful chief, or to keep the crown and face Fooja's army. To raise funds for war, the Royal Guard will enter Busk right after the Day of Acrador and capture Lesser God worshippers to sell as slaves."
Only when she finished talking did I realize I had forgotten to breathe. I sucked in a breath and shook my head. "Your Majesty, I... why are you telling me this?"
But her body had already deflated, head lolling and eyes growing glazed. I scooted to the edge of my seat and laid a hand over hers on her belly. Twenty years ago, her touch had spread warmth and strength through me. Now she felt so cold, so fragile.
"Epsa?" She blinked at me, but her eyes remained unfocused. "Are you still here?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." I squeezed her hand. "I'm here."
She shook her head. "You shouldn't be. You must go now. You must go, and you know what you must do."
Tears blurred my vision, and I gripped her hand tighter. "Your Majesty, the story you told me... I don't understand. If you knew the sleeping medicine was poisoned, why did you keep drinking it every night?"
She smiled, a twist of the lips laden with years of accumulated weight.
"Because it helped me sleep, child. It always helped me sleep."