Page 190 of Mother of Death and Dawn

“You are just so easy to trick,” I said to her. “It’s like you want nothing more than to underestimate us.”

I pushed deeper into my magic and relished the way it felt flowing through me. The bountiful feast slowly withered, the sour-sweet stench of death replacing the mouth-watering aromas.

It felt good to finally release the magic I had been hiding all this time. Merick had made sure that my dose of Chryxalis was, today, as mild as he could get away with under the watchful overseer’s eye.

But even drugged, I felt like a phoenix.

At first, they all stared at me, too shocked to move. Nura struck first. I heard her steps behind me, whirled out of her grip and caught her slender wrist.

She didn’t break eye contact, barely wincing as decay ate at her skin.

Over her shoulder, I glanced at the entrance to the great room. Bright gold streaks of sunset splashed over white tile. Laron stood beside the door, hands clasped before her. She lifted her chin to me in confirmation of what I already knew.

“You’re looking for Max?” I said. “No need. He’ll be here soon.”

Nura’s brow knitted. “What?”

I could not have planned it better than the way it unfolded. At that moment, a foreman rushed into the room, half-stumbling over the guests in a way that earned a glare from the Zorokovs.

“I couldn’t stop them,” he panted. “I couldn’t—no one would fight, and—”

The guests whispered uneasily. Lord Zorokov rose. “Full sentences,” he snapped.

The foreman swallowed, trying and failing to catch his breath. “The west,” he said. “An army.”

The whispers became murmurs.

“—and the east,” the foreman spit out. “And they’re here, they’rein the house.”

East?

That part I didn’t know about.

Lady Zorokov asked, “Who?”

As if on cue, the double doors opened, and we all looked to the entrance of the great hall.

I expected Max to be standing there.

But it wasn’t Max. It was the King of the Fey.

CHAPTERSEVENTY-TWO

MAX

Icouldn’t believe how good she was.

We marched into the city through the west side, crossing over a series of bridges across the canals. The guards just let us pass. The ones that were slaves knew we were coming. The ones that weren’t were so lethargic they were nearly unconscious, half-slumped over at their posts, in no shape to stop us. Sammerin paused to examine one of these men, forcing open his eyes to look at his pupils.

“This was magic,” he said. “By a Solarie flesh-worker who specializes in potions. Solid work. It won’t wear off for days.”

How did Tisaanah do that? Arrange the drugging of so many guards? It’s a strange thing, to be proud of your lover as you walk past piles of slumped-over bodies, but I felt it, nonetheless. Even Ishqa was somewhat awed. When he had arrived in Orasiev, he hadn’t bothered to hide his annoyance at our sudden acceleration of plans. It seemed like he was growing a bit more convinced now, as we saw the measures Tisaanah had taken, even from captivity, to make this a success.

As we advanced through the city, though, dread supplanted that pride. Many of the slaves that allowed us to pass were disfigured—hands gesturing us forward with missing fingers, hair barely hiding burnt-off ears, faces marked with streaks of scar tissue. The Zorokovs had sent Tisaanah the deaths of hundreds of innocents for nothing more than petty revenge. What could they have done to her during her time here?

This is too easy,I thought.It cannot possibly be this simple.

I reached into the leather pouch at my hip—secured bymultiplebuckles—and touched the petrified heart. Magic pulsed at my fingertips, stirred merely by having it close by. Actually, my magic was unusually active today, like a boat on top of a churning sea.

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