Page 54 of Kingdom of Dance

Her voice wasn’t growing in volume, but there was an intensity creeping into it that made Obsidian grip her arm more tightly, not out of anger this time, but out of an instinctive desire to shield her from whatever was coming.

“I wasn’t sent to war,” she said, her eyes glinting in the strange white light of the crystals. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what it’s like to watch others suffer, and be powerless to prevent it.”

She took a shaky breath. “I know you’re watching me every day. I know you want to know what’s happening,” she waved a hand at herself, the gesture tight and agitated, “inside. I’ll let you in on the secret.”

And before he could react, she’d grabbed hold of both of his arms, her grip strong enough to be painful as she let out a cry of pure emotion, at least as potent as his own had been. Her wordless shout was deafening in the small space, stunning him into stillness with its sustained intensity. He didn’t know how she had so much breath in that slim body, but her cry seemed to go for ages. The crystals showed no sign of color, but the white light exploding from them was blinding in its brightness.

And then, quite abruptly, the sound ceased. Zinnia’s grip on his arms slackened, and she slumped forward. Obsidian caught her instinctively, his grip all that was holding her up as she collapsed against him.

Chapter Twelve

Obsidian stood frozen, not sure whether he was more shocked by the princess’s violent outburst, or by the fact that he was suddenly holding her in his arms. Pushing his own reactions to one side, he focused on the girl pressed against him. Her body was shaking, and he realized that she had once again succumbed to tears.

“I have to—” she murmured brokenly, “but I can’t—and if I don’t—”

Her words made no sense to him, and he was sure she was being prevented from speaking freely. It must be magic, although he couldn’t detect a whiff of it on her.

“Zinnia,” he said desperately, barely realizing that he’d made use of her invitation to call her by her name, “what’s really happening? Who’s doing this to you, and how can I stop them?”

All thought of simply finding information and handing the problem over to the king to solve was long gone. Obsidian was determined to make whoever had brought the princess to this state pay tenfold for whatever exactly they’d done.

Zinnia gave him no answer. The brief storm of her tears had already passed, but for a heartbeat longer she remained pressed against him, her hands fisted in his tunic. Then, with a shuddering breath, she pushed herself upright.

“I’m sorry,” she said, with a weak attempt at a smile. “That was embarrassing. Letting out frustration is supposed to help me get on with life, not fall apart more.”

She ran the heels of her hands quickly down either cheek, attempting to scrub away the evidence of her breakdown. Obsidian watched her unhappily, wishing he had words to make it better, but with no idea what would help. He didn’t want her to feel embarrassed around him, and not just because his task would become more difficult if she started avoiding him again.

His logic asserted itself, identifying that he was making the mission too personal, and his effectiveness would suffer as a result.

“Even if I can’t feel it for some reason, I don’t doubt there’s magic involved in your silence,” he told her seriously. “I’m not asking you to confirm it. I can see you can’t. But you know King Basil has tasked me with finding out the truth, and there are things I need to know. Is the threat bigger than just your own safety—and that of your sisters, however they’re mixed up in this? Is the kingdom at risk in some way?”

Zinnia just stared at him miserably, giving no indication by word or gesture that she had even heard the question.

Frustrated, Obsidian took a step back, running a hand through his hair. Should he tell her that he knew about her clandestine activities in the city? Would that help the situation or make it worse?

He still didn’t know for certain whether she was silent because she was forced to be, or because she was under threat. Hadn’t Queen Wren’s silence back in Mistra been voluntary—not directly enforced by magic, but coerced by the threat that if she spoke, deadly magic would be unleashed on her brothers? What if he managed to force something out of Zinnia, and in so doing incurred a terrible price for her, or someone else?

“You told me earlier that I don’t need to be worried about your loyalty,” Zinnia said, her tone giving no sign of whether she was responding to his question or starting a new topic.

He nodded, watching her carefully in the dim white light created by their quiet conversation.

“Did you mean that?” she pressed.

He nodded again. “Of course.”

“Swear it to me,” she demanded, her voice suddenly fierce.

She stepped toward him, seizing his hand and hauling it upward, then slapping it clumsily over his own heart. Her smaller hand stayed put, holding his in position and sending warmth racing out from her skin to his.

“Swear to me on your life and on your honor that you’re loyal to my brother, and to Entolia.”

He met her eyes, his brows drawn together as he tried to make sense of the intensity of emotion behind her words.

“I swear it,” he said calmly and clearly.

She searched his eyes for a moment, then let out her breath in a visible slump. Dropping her hand, she stepped back again, relief evident on her face.

“Thank goodness for that,” she muttered. After a moment, she drew a breath, not quite meeting his eyes. “All that’s left to say is that I’m desperately sorry for…for any trouble I may have brought on you.”

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