“Let him out now,” demanded the prince.
The guards bowed their heads, but held their places, gauntleted hands at their sides.
“Rhy,” started Emira, reaching for her son’s arm.
“Get off me, Mother,” he snapped, turning his back on her. “If you won’t let him out,” he told the guards, “then I order you to let me in.”
Still they did not move.
“What are the charges?” he snarled.
“Treason,” said Emira, at the same time the guard answered, “Disobeying the king.”
“I disobey the king all the time,” said Rhy. “You haven’t arrested me.” He offered up his hands. Kell watched them bicker, focusing on the cold, letting it spread like frost, overtaking everything. He was so tired of caring.
“This will not stand.” Rhy gripped the bar, exposing his gold sleeve. Blood had soaked through, dotting the fabric where he’d carved the word.
Emira paled. “Rhy, you’re hurt!” Her eyes immediately went to Kell, so full of accusation. “What—”
More boots sounded on the stairs and a moment later the king was there, his frame filling the doorway. Maxim took one look at his wife and son, and said, “Get out.”
“How could you do this?” demanded Rhy.
“He broke the law,” said the queen.
“He is my brother.”
“He is not—”
“Go,” bellowed the king. The queen fell silent, and Rhy’s hands slumped back to his side as he looked to Kell, who nodded grimly. “Go.”
Rhy shook his head and went, Emira a silent specter in his wake, and Kell was left to face the king alone.
* * *
The prince stormed past Lila in a blur.
A few seconds later she heard a crash, and she turned to see Rhy gripping the nearest sideboard, a shattered vase at his feet. Water wicked into the rug and spread across the stone floor, flowers strewn amid the broken glass. Rhy’s crown was gone, his curls wild. His shoulders were shaking with anger, and his knuckles were white on the shelf.
Lila knew she should probably go, slip away before Rhy noticed her, but her feet were already carrying her toward the prince. She stepped over the mess of petals, the shards of glass.
“What did that vase ever do to you?” she asked, tipping her shoulder against the wall.
Rhy looked up, his amber eyes rimmed with red.
“An innocent bystander, I’m afraid,” he said. The words came out hollow, humorless.
He ducked his head and let out a shuddering sigh. Lila hesitated. She knew she should probably bow, kiss his hand, or swoon—at the very least explain what she was doing there, in the private palace halls, as close to the prison as anyone would let her—but instead she flicked her fingers, producing a small blade. “Who do I need to kill?”
Rhy let out a stifled sound, half sob, half laugh, and sank onto his haunches, still gripping the wooden edge of the table. Lila crouched beside him, then shifted gingerly and put her back to the sideboard. She stretched out her legs, scuffed black boots sinking into the plush carpet.
A moment later, Rhy slumped onto the carpet beside her. Dried blood stained his sleeve, but he folded his forearm against his stomach. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it, so she didn’t ask. There were more pressing questions.
“Did your father really arrest Kell?”
Rhy swallowed. Nodded.
“Christ,” she muttered. “What now?”
“The king will let him go, when his temper cools.”
“And then?”
Rhy shook his head. “I honestly don’t know.”
Lila let her head fall back against the sideboard, then winced.
“It’s my fault, you know,” said the prince, rubbing his bloodied arm. “I asked him to come back.”
Lila snorted. “Well, I told him to leave. I guess we’re both at fault.” She took a deep breath and shoved herself up to her feet. “Come on?”
“Where are we going?”
“We got him in there,” she said. “We’re going to get him out.”
* * *
“This isn’t what I wanted,” said the king.
He took up the keys and unlocked Kell’s cell, then stepped inside and unfastened the iron cuffs. Kell rubbed his wrists but made no other move as the king retreated through the open cell door, pulled up a chair, and sat down.
Maxim looked tired. Wisps of silver had appeared at his temples, and they shone in the lantern light. Kell crossed his arms and waited for the monarch to meet his eye.
“Thank you,” said the king.
“For what?”
“For not leaving.”
“I did.”
“I meant here.”
“I’m in a cell,” said Kell drily.
“We both know it wouldn’t stop you.”
Kell closed his eyes, and heard the king slump back in his chair.
“I will admit I lost my temper,” said Maxim.
“You had me arrested,” growled Kell, his voice so low the king might have missed it, had there been any other noises in the cell. Instead the words rang out, echoed.
“You disobeyed me.”
“I did.” Kell forced his eyes open. “I have been loyal to this crown, to this family, my entire life. I have given everything I have, everything I am, and you treat me like …” His voice faltered. “I can’t keep doing this. At least when you treated me like a son, I could pretend. But now …” He shook his head. “The queen treats me as a traitor, and you treat me as a prisoner.”
The king’s look darkened. “You made this prison, Kell. When you tied your life to Rhy’s.”
“Would you have had him die?” snapped Kell. “I saved his life. And before you go blaming me for putting it in danger, we both know he managed that much himself. When will you stop punishing me alone for a family’s worth of fault?”
“You both put this whole kingdom in danger with your folly. But at least Rhy is trying to atone. To prove that he deserves my trust. All you’ve done—”
“I brought your son back from the dead!” shouted Kell, lunging to his feet. “I did it knowing it would bind our lives, knowing what it would mean for me, what I would become, knowing that the resurrection of his life would mean the end of mine, and I did it anyway, because he is my brother and your son and the future King of Ames.” Kell gasped for breath, tears streaming down his face. “What more could I possibly do?”
They were both on their feet now. Maxim caught his elbow and forced him close. Kell tried to pull free, but Maxim was built like a tree, and his massive hand gripped the back of Kell’s neck.
“I can’t keep atoning,” Kell whispered into the king’s shoulder. “I gave him my life, but you cannot ask me to stop living.”
“Kell,” he said, voice softening. “I am sorry. But I cannot let you go.” The air lodged in Kell’s chest. The king’s grip loosened, and he tore free. “This is bigger than you and Rhy. Faro and Vesk—”
“I do not care about their superstitions!”
“You should. People act on them, Kell. Our enemies scour the world for another Antari. Our allies would have you for themselves. The Veskans are convinced you are the key to our kingdom’s power. Sol-in-Ar thinks you are a weapon, an edge to be turned against foes.”
“Little do these people know I’m just a pawn,” spat Kell, retreating from the king’s grip.
“This is the card you’ve been dealt,” said Maxim. “It is only a matter of time before someone tries to take you for themselves, and if they cannot have your strength, I believe they will try to snuff it out. The Veskans are right, Kell. If you die, so does Ames.”
“I am not the key to this kingdom!”
“But you are the key to my son. My heir.”
Kell felt ill.
“Please,” begged Maxim. “Hear reason.” But Kell was sick of reason, sick of excuses. “We all must sacrifice.”
“No,” snarled Kell. “I am done making sacrifices. When this is over, and the lords and ladies and royals are all gone, I am leaving.”