Page 65 of Merciless Is My Crown

“No matter how tomorrow turns out, I thank you for your generous gift, Adele. A golden wyvern…” The High Priestess shook her head in mock sadness, her eyes glinting with greed. “The Shadow King went to great lengths to wipe them out, you know, five or six centuries back. Curious that he allowed one to survive, but no matter. I shall not let him go to waste.”

Every muscle in my body clenched in rage, but my mother just smiled back as if everything was working out perfectly. “Until tomorrow, then.”

But Vireena was looking at me, her moonlit eyes skimming over me with utter contempt. “Tomorrow at moonrise in the Arena, we will fight for the red throne. Then we will see if you are worthy of that scion mark.” Everything narrowed down to her slithering voice, those hateful eyes boring into me.

“But you will fail, girl. I have ruled the Barrens longer than any other, and I will not lose my throne to a half blood.”

That night, curled on a cold stone floor in the corner of a storage closet, I dreamed I was nobody.

Not the bearer of a monstrous magic, not someone who had so much blood on her hands she was practically bathed in red.

I would have continued with that fantasy had Tavion, of all people, not crouched before me in the darkness, his pale eyes gleaming. “You aren’t real,” I told him stubbornly. “This is a dream.”

He lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. “Yes, but why can’t we talk to each other in our sleep, Anaria?” His hair hung loose around his shoulders, a sheath of white that was fine as silk. “I couldn’t bear you being alone, so I followed you through your dreams until I found you.” He looked around. “Where is here, anyway?”

“A closet.” I blew out a long breath, sending up a puff of dust. “Dane is outside the door, so no one can get in unless they go through him.” Tavion’s face relaxed slightly, a muscle in his jaw flexing.

“Adele trapped us. Now I have to fight Vireena and I doubt I’ll win.”

Tavion considered this for a moment, his face grave as he lowered himself beside me, some phantom heat sinking in when his hand smoothed gently down my side.

“You have your magic,” he reminded me gently. “You were trained by Zorander Vayle himself. You are not helpless, Anaria.”

“She’s a warrior. She’s stronger than me. Well trained, from what I can tell.”

His palm cupped my cheek and tears pricked my closed eyes, my throat burning from the pressure of the sobs I held back. “When has that ever stopped you? This contest is one you can win. One you must win, and not for me or Tristan, but for yourself.”

“I don’t want the throne or the crown or her power. I don’t want any of this.”

“I know, love, but that’s not the point.” His eyes were so sad, a shimmer of tears gleaming there before he blinked them away. “You must study her carefully tomorrow. All day, until the sun sets. Watch how she moves, which side she favors; use everything to your advantage. Then you have to exploit her weaknesses, no matter how unscrupulous. Cheat if you have to but you must survive.”

Tavion’s head jerked up as if he’d heard something I didn’t, his body tensing.

“I’ll watch her but it won’t help.” I shook my head. “She’s too?—”

“I have to go.” Tavion’s voice shook. “I’m sorry, Anaria. Tomorrow you have to?—”

Then he was gone, his absence a brutal stab to the heart, the cold, damp room closing in around me with its unrelenting darkness, my heart beating out of my chest. Was Tavion hurt? Why did he have to leave so fast? Were he and Tristan in trouble?

Fear turned to anger in the space of a heartbeat, then to pure, undiluted rage.

These bloodthirsty creatures wanted me to prove myself?

Something dark and dangerous raised its head inside me, a hunter scenting her prey, and I wasn’t entirely sure I’d rein my monster back this time. Maybe I’d unleash myself tomorrow and wipe them all from this realm for imprisoning Tavion and Tristan.

For that greedy, malicious gleam in their eyes, for what they planned to do to them.

Fuck trying to convince these witches to become allies.

It had felt good to kill Solok. To know he would never hurt another soul. To watch him writhe and suffer and reap the consequences for everything he’d done. Evil felt good, but that was the trap, I supposed, the honey pot that pulled you in then kept you trapped until you were corrupt and ruined.

Maybe that’s what happened to the Oracle.

To Adele.

Maybe I’d end up a monster, too, if I wasn’t careful, but it appeared there were only two ways to escape the High Barrens—in a box or as its priestess. And if I died, so did Tavion and Tristan, and most likely Dane.

I curled into a tight ball to conserve my body heat, one hand gripping the keystone in my pocket, trying to summon some of its calming magic. But there was nothing there, as if the stone had given up, too.

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