Page 78 of Ties of Dust

“The kingdoms of the continent have other plans for Carrack, that’s why,” the imposter said idly. “There’s absolutely no need for you to know what they are.”

“You were behind the attack on Princess Miriam, weren’t you?” Cassius said. “You were willing to go to any lengths to stop an alliance between Carrack and Siqual.”

“If one has a cause,” Sir Keavling informed him, “one must be fully committed to it. One must lay a careful plan, and follow it to the last detail.”

Cassius raised a scornful eyebrow. “You haven’t done so, though, have you? Your attempt to prevent me returning to Carrack failed dismally.”

The other man shook his head. “You wrong me, Your Highness. I had no designs on your life until you declared yourself my enemy. The unfortunate incident with the arrow to your shoulder was an accident. I must thank you for bringing it up—I hoped for the opportunity to clear my name of such clumsiness. The whole situation was regrettable.”

“You placed archers in a tree on my route by accident?” Cassius asked, the man’s falsely benign tone chafing at him.

“Their presence wasn’t an accident,” Sir Keavling assured him. “Merely the unlucky shot that hit you. They were supposed to fire on your party and miss. I was still hoping you’d be more use to my cause alive, you see. All I needed was to show that Siqual wasn’t the only target of attack. From my man’s report, it seems that one of the archers was fool enough to accidentally let an arrow fly while himself being shot down from the tree. The fact that it penetrated your defenses and found a mark is nothing short of extraordinary. If the man weren’t dead, I wouldhardly know whether to congratulate or censure him. It’s no matter, however. The attack on you was sufficiently offensive to your father to assist in my cause.”

“Your cause is hopeless. Carrack will never bow to any authority from the continent.” Cassius’s every muscle was strained in his anger. “Carrack always has been and always will be part of the Peninsula. And we will resist to the last breath any attempt by the continent to interfere with our autonomy.”

The other man’s smile was unnerving. “We’ll see.” With a flourish, he pulled two folded pieces of parchment from his pocket, followed by a pen. “Now. If you’ll kindly copy out this letter in your own hand onto the blank parchment, I won’t need to waste any more of your time.”

Cassius’s brows drew together as he scanned the neat writing that filled the first page. His breath caught in his throat as he took in its substance—a letter from him to his father, stating that he’d been abducted by Torrenese royal guards masquerading as bandits, and was being treated like a prisoner of war. Apparently he’d been very quick-witted in finding a way to sneak the letter to a sympathetic peasant.

“Absolutely not,” he said flatly, pushing back from the table. “I will never write that.”

“Try to be reasonable,” Sir Keavling said, with the long-suffering voice one might use to an overwhelmed child. “It’s really such a simple task.”

“A simple task that will plunge Carrack into war,” said Cassius. “Never.”

Sir Keavling sighed, then gave a nod to one of the burly men now flanking Cassius’s chair. The next thing Cassius knew, the man had sunk his fist into Cassius’s stomach.

He doubled over in pain, a grunt escaping him as the air was knocked from his lungs.

“I urge you to reconsider.”

Cassius raised his head, glaring at the pseudo-nobleman. “No.”

Another blow, this one from the henchman on the other side. Cassius slumped in the chair, pain radiating from his middle. And behind the pain, something else tugged at his awareness. Some additional layer of agony.

Hot, sick realization dropped into his stomach, infinitely worse than the effects of the blows.

Flora.

Every time he was struck, she was feeling the same pain. But twice as potent.

“Stop!” he cried.

The man ignored him, the next punch landing squarely on his jaw.

On Flora’s jaw.

The same one Cassius had so boldly traced in that meeting room hours before this nightmare began, relishing the softness of her skin against the pad of his thumb. He pictured her face as he’d seen it minutes before in the cellar, pale and drawn, holding the panic back from her eyes only by the sheer force of her will.

And now this pain that slashed across his face had been added to her sufferings, only much worse.

It was unendurable.

“Stop!” he said again. One of the men moved closer, and Cassius spat at him. “Enough!”

“Enough already?” Sir Keavling’s tone was one of polite surprise. “So cooperative.” He held out the pen.

Cassius strained against his bonds, trying to master the rage that filled him as he realized how powerlesshe was.

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