Page 108 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
“But I knew I would be a suspect for their deaths since I was the last person seen with them. Even though I wasn’t openly questioned, I was watched more carefully than ever. And if that continued, it would keep me from accomplishing my purpose. So I had to fake my own demise. Stefa simulated burns on my face that night, after the orgy, and the next morning I lay down with my head in the ashes, right before my servants came in to prepare me for the day. They never touched me, only screamed and ran for the healer.
“Once Stefa pronounced me dead, I was wrapped up and taken to the ice-house. She let me out later and gave me Thranwright’s face. I needed more flexibility, and I needed to be able to move around more freely to continue my culling of the guests. So I thought Thranwright would be a safe option. Vienne needed him to investigate, to manage things, to move among different types of people in the palace. Of course I had to leave the real Thranwright alive, to go about his regular duties. I couldn’t waste all my time running the palace and pretending to conduct some phony investigation.” Cowen chuckles.
Apparently Ruelle doesn’t appreciate his levity. She jabs inward, behind his ear, and he screams. When she pulls back, her blade is shining scarlet.
“You won’t die from that,” she croons. “Not just yet. I barely grazed your brain. I suggest you talk faster though. Ducayne isn’t the only one whose patience is wearing thin.”
35
“We had planned to wait a little while after my presumed death, to let the tension build before we ended anyone else,” Cowen continues in a voice that shakes slightly. “But after what Bazra did at the orgy, we had to end him immediately, and Nonni too. That girl had been damaged worse than any of the others. I went to their room with Stefa, in the guise of Master Thranwright. Once Bazra let us in, I blew a sleeping powder into his face to knock him out. We tied them both up, as you saw, Princess. I was going to take my time with Bazra and let Nonni watch so she could enjoy a little vengeance—but then you broke in from the balcony and saw me, so I had to end them both fast.”
“When you interrupted Cowen, I was in the bathing room, getting a few supplies for the torture,” Stefa says. “When I came back, Bazra and Nonni were already dead. You robbed me of the kill I had most anticipated, Princess.” Her lips tighten.
Ducayne shifts back a bit, leaving more space between Stefa’s throat and the knife he’s holding. “Bazra certainly deserved death. I don’t blame you for wishing it on him. I’d have done it myself if I could.”
“But that’s the thing, isn’t it?” The healer’s lips twist in a sneer. “You all could have done something. Ended him. Put a stop to the horror. But you were all too afraid for yourselves. Too eager to protect your reputation, your wealth, your family’s holdings, your pride, your life. Cowen and I were bold where the rest of you were weak. And we succeeded.” She turns her head to see him, and they exchange triumphant smiles.
Ducayne’s expression softens as he looks between them.
But I have no time to feel soft for murderers. I drag my knife across Cowen’s forehead, opening the skin in a long red line. “I didn’t ask for a lecture. Continue your story.”
Gasping, Cowen says, “I had to do a face change after you witnessed me in Bazra’s room. Vienne sent one of her bodyguards to check on Bazra, and the guard had the right body type for me, so we used him.”
“I have to magically scan the features I’m going to copy,” Stefa explains. “Then I can mold someone else’s features to match. I scanned Thranwright when I was healing him from scratches Vienne left on his face.
“When Vienne’s bodyguard arrived, he was stunned to see a double of Master Thranwright. So stunned, in fact, that I stabbed him between the ribs before he could react. I scanned his face and applied it to Cowen. My fastest physical alteration yet. Drained my magic very low, but it was worth it.”
Cowen picks up the tale. “I put on the guard’s clothing and armor, and then Stefa and I dragged his body out through the back parlor, which was closed and darkened at the time. We dumped him on the veranda for later disposal. With my new face, I went back to Vienne and reported Bazra’s death. And that pushed her over the edge.”
“She was never far from the edge,” I admit. I hate the twinge of pain that flexes through my heart at the mention of my sister. I never loved her, I didn’t. Even before my mother ran away, she and I never had the relationship of true sisters, playtime and whispered stories and shared imaginings. Always we have been rivals, with me ever on the losing end. I’m glad she’s dead. But she has been a powerful entity in my life for decades, and there is a ragged, bleeding hole where she once existed.
“We didn’t expect Vienne to begin a massacre.” Stefa’s voice trembles. “And when she ordered everyone to partake in the truth elixir, I knew we had no choice but to move immediately. We had to kill everyone. Ward had plenty ofhannasblend already made, so he prepared the truth elixir additive and rolled the sticks while I added the drops. I put my own toxic ingredient into the elixir while he wasn’t looking—the same toxin I used on Lombard and Jilleen. And then I substituted a harmless counteragent in five of the sticks. We spared Ward, of course, and you, Princess, along with your thrall.”
“That wasn’t the plan,” Cowen cuts in, with an aggravated glance at her. “You changed the plan at the last minute, Stefa. You, Ward, and I were supposed to be the only survivors. But you turned soft on me, spared these two, and now look where we are. Bound to tables, when we should be gathering loot and preparing to leave this fucking place for our new life.”
For the first time since the interrogation began, I can feel my calm cracking. “Why?” I ask, and it’s not the tone I use for torture sessions. It’s weak, vulnerable. “Why did you spare us?”
“The two of you are so new to thralldom, not yet corrupted,” Stefa says quietly. “And when you asked for your thrall to be healed first after the slithershark incident, I realized there was love between you.”
“But there was love between Luthia and Sherad, too,” I protest. “And Khal’s thralls seemed fond of him.”
“None of the people we killed were guiltless,” Stefa says calmly. “We made our choices well.”
Ducayne lays down his knife and begins clapping slowly, a sardonic grin on his face. “And you proved yourselves every bit as maniacal and monstrous as the rest of the nobility. Cheers to you both. You’re as bad as they are.”
The healer’s expression darkens. “Don’t forget who committed the first massacre—the Crown Princess. I knew she was capable of terrible things, but her actions today proved her to be far worse than even I knew.”
“I challenged her once, at Wintertryst, when I refused to participate in the using of Nonni,” Cowen says. “She never trusted me after that. Suspected me of anti-thralldom leanings. So I had to keep up appearances by joining with Zurai and Anvel here at Summerglee, even though my heart was not in it.”
“Yet you asked Ruelle if you could have me,” Ducayne says.
“Ah yes. Well, I was going to feign passing out drunk and spare you a fucking. But then the poisoning occurred—very convenient, that.”
“Was that your doing or Vienne’s?” Ducayne asks.
Cowen smiles, exchanging glances with Stefa. “I think you’ll find it was neither.” He looks pointedly in my direction.
I pinch my lips together, conscious of Ducayne’s gaze swerving to me. “Ruelle? What is he talking about?”
