Page 134 of Fearless

I blink. “You really think they will believe that?”

“They don’t need to believe you. They need only to fear you. You will be the Deliverer of Death who has met him and lived. And you”—Kitt’s gaze slides to Paedyn—“have now earned the respect of your kingdom and will be their queen.”

I tilt my head at the powerful lie he’s spun. “So much for never reminding me of Father.”

The study grows stiffly quiet as we all stare at one another. Several seconds pass before Paedyn is clearing her throat and directing our attention to the look of resolve she wears. “I want to see this Wielder.”

Kitt hardly looks surprised by this request. “Paedyn, I’m not sure you will want to see that. His body is in the dungeons and—”

“I want,” she says slowly, “to see. And don’t think I’ve forgiven you yet for what you put me through. What you made me do—whether or not it was truly Kai.”

The king shoves away from his desk, eyes clouded with something close to remorse. Or perhaps that inkling of hysteria I’ve witnessed. “Do you think that was easy for me? Do you think I wanted to watch my brother die, even knowing it wasn’t truly him?” Kitt’s gaze slides to mine, timid as it takes me in. “I hated it. I didn’t want to do it—any of it. And, again, I’m… I’m sorry, Brother.”

I watch his kingly facade crumble beneath the weight of my stare. For the first time, I see just how incredibly lost he is. Where a kind and charming brother once stood, now resides the corpse of duty and power.

A lump forms in my throat as I nod. And then I’m pulling him intoa crushing hug. Kitt clings to me, his hold weaker than I remember. For a moment, we are boys again, seeking comfort during Ava’s death or congratulations after a brawl. His breath quivers, as if he is trying to compose himself before murmuring, “I need you with me, Kai.”

I pull away, clapping my hand on his shoulder. “And I hope to never find out what I’d be like without you.”

Simultaneously, our gazes shift to where Paedyn stands beside us. She’s fighting a smile at the sight of such a heartfelt moment before straightening her features. Swiftly, she steps aside with a gesture to the door. “Lead the way, Majesty.”

So, with a sigh, the king obeys. We head out into the hall, setting a quick pace toward the dungeons. Imperials line the occasional wall, looking unsurprised by my very much alive presence. Even the passing servants hardly glance in our direction, and the utterly unperturbed response has me stating, “The castle already knows it wasn’t me in the arena, yes?”

“They were informed a few hours ago,” Kitt replies, rounding a corner. “And they won’t speak a word of the other Wielder. You know how good the staff is at keeping secrets. They’ve been doing it for decades.”

I nod absentmindedly, knowing this to be true. I’m beginning to think Ilya itself was built on secrets—and I doubt I know the half of them.

The dungeons’ thick door looms before us suddenly, its frame decorated on either side by two Imperials. They nod stoically to their king before swinging open the heavy metal entrance they guard. Stone steps await us beyond, descending into darkness and the dungeons below.

The thick air and accompanied coldness greet us at the bottom of the stairs. It’s as though I’ve been welcomed back to my forgotten den of torture. I haven’t been down here since the Resistance’s Silencer, Micah, occupied one of these cells.

I haven’t been down here since I killed him.

Smothering the memory, I stray behind Kitt and Paedyn. The cells are empty of the few Resistance members who once filled them after the battle in the Bowl. They now occupy the several training rings beyond the castle, sprinkled among the numerous Imperial rotations.

“You know,” Kitt reminisces, his voice echoing off the grimy stones, “the last time I was down here was when I led you straight into the tunnels you were looking for, Paedyn.”

She takes a breath, looking pained. “Not a particularly fond memory, I assume.”

“I understand, truly. There is always a reason for the hurt we cause.”

Paedyn opens her mouth before abruptly shutting it at the sight of an occupied cell. Her feet slow; mine do the same.

A body lies on the stone floor with a familiar silver dagger buried in his chest.

It’s odd, seeing a man with my same power be reduced to such a simple death. I have never met another Wielder, never got the chance before Father’s hunger for power ensured I was the only one of my kind. But looking at this Elite, a part of me wishes I had someone to bear the burden of this ability with.

Still, Paedyn stands there, rooted to the spot outside that cell. Her voice is alarmingly small. “It’s him.”

Kitt steps forward. “What?”

“It’s Adena’s boy from Loot.” She chokes on his name. “Mak.”

My head whips back toward the body, eyes tracing the identical pattern of his vest. Every pocket and every seam—exactly the same.

This is the friend she met at the Fort.

Paedyn staggers into the cell, her gaze gliding over the man. I follow her, taking in his shaggy hair, long enough to tickle the sides of his neck. A silver streak peeks out among the black strands while a scar slices through the corner of his mouth. Brown eyes stare blanklyat the ceiling above, though a vague sort of relief seems to fill them.

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