Page 190 of Fearless

I watched my brother die yesterday.

Beneath the illusion, his name was Makoto Khitan.

Calum told me how he found a Wielder outside the Bowl after that third Purging Trial. How his mind screamed of grief and rage for the seamstress who was killed. But it was Paedyn he blamed for her being there in the first place.

So I offered him a chance at revenge. Ironically, I used the tunnels to sneak out into the Bowl, then down the path toward Loot. I needed one final push for Ilya to fall into line, accept my changes to the kingdom. But I would not risk throwing Kai into that Bowl. Because I knew he would let Paedyn kill him.Because my brother would die to save her, not kill her to live with me.

Makoto agreed to fight Paedyn. But the hefty sum I paid him to put on a good show was futile. He didn’t leave the arena alive.

Paedyn Gray has a way of making people care about her.

There are holes in my memory. I ignored it at first, but now I think the Healers are right. The Plague is eating away at me—my mind.

Paedyn Gray is the daughter of Iris Moyra. She is an illegitimate child. And I could not risk being found out as the same. So when she told me what she learned from Calum, how she believed him to be a Dual, I went along with her theory.

Calum could read the apology in my mind before I shoved my sword through his chest. It was nothing personal. Truly. But I refuse to be reduced to a bastard. Not after everything I have endured, everything I have planned for Ilya.

They bowed before her. All of the slums.

She has a claim to the throne. And I won’t let her overthrow me. I need this. Doesn’t she know I need this? She has already achieved greatness in my Trials. This is mine I need this legacy I need her gone I need to be great—

CHAPTER 70Paedyn

Kai didn’t move from Kitt’s side until his body grew cold.

Even then, it took three Imperials to pull him from the pool of blood. He let them, of course, unlike the dozens prior who dared drag the Enforcer from his grief before the sun rose timidly through the study’s window. Rays of light stroked over Kitt’s still body, memorializing the sickening scene as though it were a painting—Kitt, a canvas of scarlet streaks.

For as long as Kai kept Kitt company, so did I.

By the time our aching knees rose from the worn rug, blood was crusted atop our skin and caked into our hair. I followed Kai numbly to his rooms and filled the tub with steaming water. He didn’t fight me when I peeled off his soiled clothes or urged him into the bath.

His eyes were distant, hollow. But they were on me, and that was something. I lathered a bar of soap across his skin, smelling so distinctly of pine and the man I fell in love with. With a soft sponge, I scrubbed at every patch of hardened blood. His eyes never strayed from mine, shutting only when I softly asked it of him while wiping the stained face of sorrow itself.

He didn’t stand from the tub when I finally lowered the sponge. Instead, he moved with an intent I hadn’t seen in half a day. Water dripped from his arms as he unbuttoned the back of my dress. As soon as it had slipped down my body and into a puddle of fabric on the floor, he pulled me into the tub.

He wouldn’t let me touch the sponge. The fearsome Enforcer of Ilya swiped every speck of his brother’s blood from my skin. It was the gentleness with which he loved, even when he grieved, that made me break. We held each other, weeping for a brother, a broken boy, a loss to the world. Our bodies shook, tears rolling down the shoulders we clung to.

Though, Kitt was not mine to grieve. In the end, he was a shell of the boy I once knew, one who saw me as an obstacle to overcome. But I did not resent him. Rather, I ached for the brother who Kai had lost, not the king with a broken mind. I ached for Kai, as though his grief were my own.

So when the water had gone cold and each breath began to slow, Kai spoke his first words since Kitt uttered his last.

“Thank you.”

The second day after the king’s death was arguably the hardest. All of Ilya had learned of the kind ruler’s cruel death. It was advertised as a tragic accident, though the people searched for a more exciting tale to tell. Rumors rippled through the kingdom, every mouth speculating how Kitt had met his end in order to fill the void of withheld truth.

They would likely wonder for years to come, and still, we would not tell them. Kitt, even in death, was to remain the kind king he was always meant to be.

Kai pulled his grief back like a tide, hauling it in long enough to panic over the gift we had left in Izram. The crate of roses was likely opened weeks ago to loose a Plague on the entire city. But before we were given the chance to spiral further, a letter was found wedged beneath the castle’s towering front doors.

In neat, elegant writing, it read:

I do hope it was not you, Paedyn Gray, who attempted to infect my kingdom. This is said in jest, as I knew you truthfully believed the roses to be a gift. No matter—I sensed what awaited in that box before you ever set foot off my docks. Alas, I have little use for your Plague, but I suppose your king thinks differently. Perhaps he should have tried polluting another kingdom. Then again, I hear he is no longer with us. My condolences.

Any further attempts to infect my people will result in an unpleasant retaliation. Do not take my overlooking of this crime as a sign of weakness. I know the laced roses were not your doing. But I do wish for us to have a fruitful relationship.

Your fellow queen,

Z

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