Page 141 of Conspirators' Kingdom

“You can’t overcome the barrier yourself?” Taisiya asked.

“No. My magic has been dampened. There must be iron nearby.”

Taisiya cursed.

“Would iron break the barrier?”

It was an excellent question. Mereruka poured as much as he could into his spell-sight, straining to see the hidden strands of the magic that kept him confined.

“Well?”

“Not unless that iron was shoved into Itet’s heart. She really did tie this damned spell to her life,” Mereruka answered, almost impressed by his sister’s tenacity.

“Of course she did,” Betrest scoffed. “That she-goat has so little talent with magic, I wouldn’t be shocked to find her sire was an actual animal.”

Mereruka ignored her. He wanted to put his hand on Taisiya’s cheek, to touch her in some way. His son was hurt, and he couldn’t even hold him, couldn’t heal him, hadn’t been able to do anything aside from drop him into the arms of another and hope for the best. Now he couldn’t even take comfort in his wife. Would there ever be a day when he had enough power to leave this sickening helplessness behind him?

“Find somewhere to hide. I will shout if Itet shows her face. If you see her before I do—”

“I’ll skewer her with a bolt of lightning,” she said, her eyes a solemn promise, her palm pressed to the barrier.

“Good. Trust no one, Taisiya.”

Taisiya nodded and turned, reluctance in every line of her retreating form.

Mereruka watched her go until her form was swallowed up by the darkness. Ignoring Betrest’s further complaints, he located the scroll she’d mentioned. Seeing the broken seal, his heart skipped. It was a monarch’s cartouche—but not Khety’s. Using what little of his spell-sight remained, he ran hungry, anxious eyes over the object. Every fibre of the scroll had been meticulously spelled to prevent destruction or decay. Opening the scroll, he hoped against hope that this was what he’d suspected. He read the opening lines several times over, just to be sure.

It had always been a mystery to Mereruka why Khety had killed their mother in cold blood, when it was certain she had but a few decades of life left to her. He chuckled darkly. This was, without doubt, the bait meant to lure Khety. It turned out his long-held suspicions about Mother’s murder had been correct after all.

But if this was meant for Khety, then what was the queen doing here?

He turned his eyes on Betrest, a wicked sense of triumph curling in his gut.

“Betrest, dear, who—exactly—are you bait for?”

Chapter 54

Mererukaheardhisbrothersbefore he saw them. Betrest looked relieved not to have to answer his pointed question, and was quick to run to the barrier. Mereruka followed closely behind, conspicuously placing the scroll within eyeshot of the threshold. He would be curious as to how Khety would react when he saw it.

“Betrest!” Serfka’s eyes went wide with shock and then relief as he raced forward. “No one has been able to find you for a whole day. None of your servants could tell me where you’d gone.”

Ever cautious, as Mereruka should have been, Khety held back Radjedef and Serfka from getting closer. In Serfka’s case, the vizier nearly fell back when Khety grabbed his shoulder with his taloned hand to stop him. Of all his brothers, Khety appeared the most fragile, when in reality he was physically the strongest. Khety looked over the magic and sneered.

“Well, I owe you an apology, Serfka. It seems this was not Mereruka’s doing after all. Though I am a little disappointed that he fell for it so easily.”

Serfka puzzled over the magic now that he’d realised something other than the queen was before him.

“Itet? But-”

“She’s shit at magic,” Radjedef finished. “Her father was probably one of the shifters Mother kept in her harem.”

Serfka pursed his lips in disapproval at the language, and likely the disapproval in Radjedef’s tone. Serfka had long entreated Khety to allow shapeshifters back into court and the administration, to no avail.

As Khety looked over the room, he zeroed in on the scroll. Mereruka held onto a placid expression as Khety’s bright blue eyes blazed with something akin to panic. It took an effort of will not to smile. Khety looked away, pushed his white hair from his bright orange face and sighed, recovering his composure.

“To leave, one must take another’s place,” Khety said.

“I’ll call a few servants to—” Serfka began.

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