Page 131 of Thorn Season
I smiled bleakly. “The news of an Ansoran coming to court didn’t sit well with Rupert, did it? He feared a change in the winds. Perhaps he worried that Erik’s favor would shift to another. Either way, he demanded too much of you. So you tried to debilitate him.”
“How do you—?”
“His spoiled rum,” I said. “The case came from your own distillery. I heard your merchant eager to palm it off to Rupert on the first night of Rose Season. You spiked the drink with wayleaf, correct? But wayleaf is a tricky substance, and knowing more of cards than poisons, you made the dose too weak. Rupert was confined to his chambers for two days, but nothing more sinister came from your efforts. His resilience frightened you, and you surrendered to his demands once more.” I made a flourish toward the coins on her vanity. “Hence your renewed ferocity at the Games Hall.”
“It was the only way,” she said tightly.
I didn’t agree; I believed there were plenty of ways to get around Rupert’s blackmail. But I wasn’t here to counsel or judge her. I was here for one thing alone.
“Was the compass on Wray’s body when you found him?” I asked.
Her brow creased. “I—I didn’t search him.”
I sighed. “I expected as much. Or else you would’ve recovered this.”I fished Nelle’s chamber key from my skirts and dangled it before her.
This key hadn’t belonged to the killer. It hadn’t even belonged to Nelle. It was likely a servant’s copy—one of many—which was why Nelle had never noticed its absence and had never changed her lock.
“I assume Wray stole it from the servants’ quarters,” I drawled. “It must’ve fallen from his pocket when you dumped his body in that alley.”
Sabira’s eyes glazed as she realized, after seven years, that she’d made a fatal mistake.
“The nobles’ halls were guarded back then,” she whispered. “The royals’ halls were not. I found the passage in my closet, connecting my chambers to Nelle’s. I told Wray to come through her suite... Nobody would know.”
“Somebody did know.” I returned the key to my pocket. “You never suspected who killed him?”
“The Hunters have many enemies: sympathizers, Wielders in hiding. It could’ve been anyone.”
“This person must have been watching you. They had free rein of the palace, and they knew when Wray would be at his most vulnerable. Didn’t you ever try to—?”
“No,” Sabira snapped. “Wray was already gone. I wouldn’t make myself a target by playing detective.” Absently, she rested a hand on her abdomen. “I couldn’t afford the risk.”
It took me several seconds to understand. Wray’s anxious secrecy, the burning of his journals... Suddenly, his behavior sounded familiar. It sounded like Father’s behavior in the weeks before I was born.
“You were pregnant,” I breathed. “You were planning to run away together, with the child—”
“I lost the child at birth,” Sabira said roughly, before my thoughtscould travel further. I felt a twinge of pity as her head lowered in sorrow. And I realized why she’d started wearing armor over her stomach—why she’dkeptwearing it seven years later. To honor the memory of what she’d been trying to protect. “Wray would have wanted to be there,” she murmured, her gaze falling to the ring he must have given her all those years ago. “He was unlike the others. He was kinder than he showed.”
Judging from my cold memories of Wray, I had to wonder whether Sabira’s grief clouded her recollection, or if love simply went hand in hand with delusion.
At last, I smoothed my skirts and said, “I believe you.” Sabira sagged in relief, and I almost felt guilty for the words that followed. “Let’s see if Briar believes you, too.”
She leaped up, ferocious. “You know I didn’t kill Wray.”
Of course I did. Even as I’d goaded her, I’d known that a woman who’d murdered a Hunter—and was now slaughtering Wielders—wouldn’t have let Rupert blackmail her for seven years without taking more action than a feeble dose of wayleaf.
But I gave a small, commiserating smile. “I’ll vouch for you. But I can’t predict how Briar will react to the truth of her brother’s death. I suspect you’re about to discover whether your mercenaries truly match the strength of the Capewells.”
Sabira seemed halfway between bursting into tears and clawing for my throat. It was an undignified look on someone with so much self-importance.
But the right words could bring anyone to their knees.
“Do you have any idea what it is to be afraid?” she rasped. “To live life looking over your shoulder?”
I didn’t reply.
Sabira wheezed and slumped back onto the bed, all strength lost. “I watched you for a while. I was curious to see what fresh hell-spawn the Capewell line had produced. Even without your mother alive to raise you, I’d hoped her blood would cleanse you of their mark. But I suppose some stains can never be washed out.”
Remembering that Sabira’s mercenaries had fired arrows into the foreheads of sixty-three sympathizers, bile scalded my throat.
