Because she doesn’t know. She can’t know what it costs me to let her live. To let her stand here and pretend to give a shit about my dead.

I turn and walk back to the door before I do something I’ll regret. “Lessons start tomorrow at dawn,” I call over my shoulder. “The northern garden. You’ll be training with Amara. Don’t be late.”

The doors boom shut behind me. I lean against the wood and exhale, slow and controlled.

There are a thousand reasons immortals go mad, a gradual rot that eats you from the inside out. So we seek our own destruction, chasing the welcome dark at the bottom of blood-glutted seas.

Even monsters grow weary with the weight of memory.

OceanofPDF.com

18

BRYONY

THE WOLF ACTUALLY listened. I said I didn’t want silks, and he brought me the wardrobe of a soldier: sturdy leathers, practical boots, loose trousers. Garments meant for movement. For action.

I run my fingers over the material, tracing the fabric so different from my Lucinian dresses. As I lift one of the shirts, a scrap of black flutters to the floor. Heat crawls up my neck when I snatch it up and realize what it is. To call it a nightgown would be generous. It’s the thinnest silk and lace, designed to frame rather than cover.

Right. So there it is—the retaliation to my request. The mocking challenge.

Move, countermove. Disarm, attack.

And I can picture it with devastating clarity—his hands ripping this off my body. Golden wings spreading wide as he pins me down. The scrape of teeth along my throat as he—

“Stop,” I snarl, squeezing my eyes shut. My skin feels too tight, too hot.

I stuff the nightgown under the stack of clothes. If he thinks I’m going to prance around in that shred of nothing, he’s delusional. I’ll strangle him with it first.

Jaw clenched, I yank on the leathers. Everything fits perfectly, which is both impressive and unsettling. I wrench open my door—and nearly miss the note pinned to the wood with a long rose thorn. Beneath it, a blade in an ornate sheath dangles from another thorn.

Dear Nemesis,

The kitchen is open to you. Eat after training, and don’t ruin my floors with your bleeding. I just had them cleaned. The dagger is for practice. If you try to keep it, it’ll be the knife I kill you with.

Wolf

“Prick,” I mutter, yanking the note free.

I storm into my room and grab a pen from the writing desk to scrawl a message below his.

Go to Hellevig and tell my sister I’m alive, or I’ll bleed all over your precious stonework. Her balcony is the biggest on the east tower. Don’t be rude.

B

P.S. Your roses need pruning. Maybe start with the ones you used to stab notes on my door.

I push the thorn back through the paper and pin it to the door.

The morning air is frigid when I step outside. A breeze stirs my hair, and I breathe in deeply. It smells different here than in Hellevig—the fragrant perfume of roses, other growing things, magic. His power saturates the entire property.

“Still breathing, I see.”

I turn at that cool, sardonic voice. Amara lands in a crouch, her dark wings settling against her back. The sunlight filtering through the leaves makes the violet undertones in her feathers shimmer.

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” I say, crossing my arms.

“How’s he treating you?” She tilts her head, studying me with those pale blue eyes. “Has he tried to eat you yet?”

“Not yet. Though you wouldn’t care if he did, considering you dumped me here like garbage.”

She shrugs. “He handles oathbreakers. I handle my own shit. I was working with limited options since you were busy dying on a mountain when I found you. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“If he’s supposed to be handling me, why are you here?”

“Blackmail.” She smirks. “It’s a time-honored tradition between the Wolf and me. If he tried to train you himself, he’d snap you in half in under a minute.” Her attention drops to the blade at my hip. “Word of advice? Don’t get too eager to draw that. You need to learn how to make your body into a weapon first.” She rolls her shoulders, loosening her muscles. “Lesson one. Knock me on my ass. I’m real curious to see you try.”

I’m self-aware enough to know she’s trying to rile me up—but some contrary part of me rises to it anyway, snarling. As if it’s been waiting for an excuse to punch something until my knuckles split.

“Come on,” Amara says. “I’m not here to socialize. Hit me.”

I set my stance, trying to remember the way the palace guards stood when they sparred with each other. Breathe in, breathe out. My fingers curl into my palms, and I throw myself into the blow—

And strike nothing but air as Amara weaves out of reach.

The crack of her palm against my cheek steals the breath from my lungs. My vision tunnels, the world lurching sideways as I stagger. I never even saw her move.

“Pathetic,” she spits. “Is this all you’ve got? This is what I’m supposed to work with? No wonder your uncle thought he could gut you like a fish.”

I stand there, clutching my burning cheek, trying to process what just happened.

“Again,” she barks. “Move your ass!”

I lunge for her. She grabs my wrist, uses my momentum against me, and sends me flying. I hit the ground hard and roll, gravel tearing into my hands as I skid across the dirt. I force myself up onto my knees before she can kick my ribs in.

“You’re holding back.” Amara steps over me, planting her foot between my shoulder blades and shoving me down. My teeth clack together with the impact. “All that rage and hurt, and you’re too craven to use it. Get up and make me feel it. Show me why he’s keeping a Devaliant around instead of mounting your head on his wall.”

I spit out a mouthful of blood. “Fuck you.”

She just laughs. “Oh, Princess. You couldn’t handle me even if I let you. Did they breed the fight out of your bloodline along with your dignity?”

I grab for her again, but Amara’s next vicious blow sends me sprawling. Stars burst behind my eyes.

“Aw, did I hurt your feelings?” She crouches over me and grabs me by my hair, wrenching my head back. “Poor baby. Maybe I should fly your ass to the Duehavn and leave you there for the crows. Would’ve saved us both the trouble if I’d let you die like Alexios wanted.”

I wrench away from her, growling through my teeth, but she shoves her knee against my spine and slams me down.

“Did you really think it would be that easy? That you’d waltz in here and suddenly become a warrior? You’re so weak you can’t even handle a warm-up.” She pushes my face into the dirt, her grip on my hair hard enough to sting. “The world has been itching for the chance to tear you apart since the second you crawled out of your mother’s cunt with that special Devaliant blood. Tell me, Princess. What will you give up to keep breathing one more day? Your pride? Your dignity? Maybe if you’re real lucky, you’ll only have to get on your knees and suck the Wolf’s c—”

Something in me snaps.

It’s a dam breaking, years of suppressed rage flooding me all at once. Every hurt, every humiliation, every time I had to lie there and fucking take it.

Later, I’ll wonder what it says about me. How eager I was to turn to violence the moment I tasted freedom. How right it felt to finally draw blood that wasn’t mine, to make something else hurt.

But in that instant, none of that matters.

I yank out of her hold and slam my head backward into Amara’s nose. Light bursts in my vision at the impact, but I hardly feel it over the vicious rush of satisfaction as her grip loosens and she reels back.