Page 14 of Claws of Death

As if reading my mind, Lady Andraya pulls a canteen from the same spot she’d been hiding the bread and hands it to me. “We’ve had people stock up the carriage with water and dried provisions since Erina sent out that pamphlet announcing he’d marry the Milevishja princess.” She points under the bench where two boxes are sitting half-hidden behind her legs. “Just in case we’d get a chance to break you out sooner.”

“Just in case,” I murmur, mind grappling for things to make sense.

The water definitely helps, cooling my throat and my head as the weakness gradually fades.

“The rebels are always ready to aid a Milevishja royal, my princess,” Pouly explains, but all it does is raise more questions.

“Rebels?” A glance at Lady Andraya in her pants and the roguish grin on her face informs me they mean it.

“I’ve been part of the rebels since long before you can remember, Wolayna.” The lady gestures at me with more warmth in her eyes than her expression should allow. “When your mother packed up her bags and left Meer with you after your father’s death, I should have known. I should have known that a Milevishja executed meant he posed a danger to the Jelnedyn throne.” Her throat bobs and her brow creases as she studies me in the half-light the moon and stars provide. I could swear the sun is nipping at the darkness, for from the corner of my eye, I can make out an orange hue that doesn’t belong in the night.

“He was murdered.” It is Pouly whose voice shakes with anger.

“He was executed for treason,” I correct, but the words don’t feel right anymore. I know the truth now, that my father had sent an assassin to kill Erina and his family. He wanted to claim his birthright and got caught.

Lady Andraya and Pouly share a glance that makes my stomach churn.

“I learned only recently why he wasexecuted,” Pouly admits, “or I’d have called for aid the moment you set foot over the threshold of the palace.”

I’m not sure what touches me more—that he has committed himself to a cause that aids my bloodline or that he’soutraged on my behalf. If there was any shred of doubt they mean me no harm, it’s wiped out now.

“How long have you been in Erina’s service?” It’s the first question I can think of because I can’t remember the man from my first captivity in Meer.

Pouly folds the cloth over the bread and sets it down between us on the black leather of the bench. “I used to be stationed in the south”—his eyes meet Lady Andraya’s once more in an unreadable gaze, and the woman shakes her head—“but I asked to be transferred to the palace.” He clears his throat. “And before you ask how I gained the king’s trust so fast that he allowed me to escort his prisoner bride through the palace, our group has ways of advancing people up the ranks.”

Drawn by the lack of decoration on his shoulders, my eyes wander to his uniform. “You aren’t high up in the chain of command,” I assess what I remember from my childhood spent between Tavrasian nobility and military, and from what I observed during my captivity.

“That’s on purpose. I needed to remain inconspicuous. A reliable puppet to execute the king’s orders.” His features twist as if remembering what those commands entailed. “Since I hold no responsibility in the chain of command, it will be a day or two until they notice I’m gone. That’s why we waited until yesterday to get you out.”

When I open my mouth to ask what he means, he continues, “It had to be on my day off so I wouldn’t be missed right away. This ensures us a head start.”

“Your group must have a lot of influence in order to place people in the right spot to rescuesomeone so fast,” I note, eyes still on Pouly’s uniform, trying to process the reach of the rebellion—and that there is a rebellion at all.

Lady Andraya shrugs. “Enough. We have people all over Tavras, from the southern ports to the borders of Askarea. For generations, we’ve been building a small, reliable network. Especially in trade where lots of information travel alongside goods.”

“It helps that our cause is supported by plenty of wealth and Erina’s court works on coin and power.” Pouly gives me a meaningful look.

“But why not just kill the Jelnedyn king then?” Kaira has a point there.

Lady Andraya merely shakes her head at her. “That would have been rash. Assassinating the king without a Milevishja heir to take over the throne would have alerted the Jelnedyn line to our existence. If an assassin got captured and spoke under torture, there is no guarantee they’d keep our secret. We’d be discovered and eliminated one by one while the next Jelnedyn sat on the throne. No, thank you.” Emphatically shaking her head once more, she pins me with a gaze full of hope and pride. “For so long, we’ve been waiting for word of a real Milevishja heir to reach us. And here we are.” She gestures at me like at a treasure, eyes lighting up with reverence. “The last Milevishja princess. Queen of Tavras.”

“And a fugitive,” Kaira adds, sitting up with a wince.

My heart swells at the sight of her grin. “You could have warned me someone was coming for me,” I scold her lightly, forgetting the twisting and turning knot that is my stomach, if only for a moment.

“Now where would be the fun in that?” Her voice is a croak, her hand clutching her side where fresh blood stains her garments. But the smile is genuine, and it means everything.

“Let me take a look at that.” Lady Andraya notices the wet spot the same moment I do and motions for Kaira to lift her shirt, which she does to expose a sickening array of dark blotches on her stomach and ribs where she must have been beaten, and in the midst of them, a stab wound.

“It’s nothing,” she murmurs, but the way she’s gritting her teeth only reinforces the image of how she’s been brutalized. Pouly reaches under his bench, pulling out a box with medical supplies, and pours something on a piece of cloth.

“This will make sure it doesn’t get infected,” he says as he presses the cloth to her wound without warning.

I gasp alongside Kaira as a flash of her thoughts flares in my mind. “Fucking Eroth’s Veil, that hurts.”

Lady Andraya clasps her hand as she’s fighting tears.

“Only for a little while, but it will save your life.” Pouly seems to know what he’s talking about for he exposes his forearm to show us a jagged ten-inch scar that looks nothing like it’s been stitched and properly bandaged at any time. “Got that in a fight with a Tavrasian soldier years back when they tried to ferret out our rebel group. They got too close to the truth, so we chose to confront them.”

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