Page 88 of Between Smoke and Shadow

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Malek says. He settles into his chair, smirking at me. “Servants die of natural causes all the time. Who’s to say it didn’t happen on our watch?”

I stiffen, not at Malek’s cruel words, but the fact he’s saying them to me. He’s baiting me, I realize. Goading me into action, and that can only mean one thing.

I don’t respond. I tighten my jaw and look at Joran, who remains near the Tower entrance. His stance is steady and casual, but I can tell he’s cataloging every detail in this courtyard. His hands are balled into fists, and flickers of red dance between his clenched knuckles.

“I am not playing your game, Malek,” I say. When I turn back to him, he’s still grinning. “If these servants are guilty, the Architect will punish them. Not you.”

“If?” he asks, eyebrows lifting. “I didn’t take you for a servant sympathizer, Harrick. Then again, you’ve given one our fucking name, so what do I know?”

I can’t keep myself from reacting. I lunge forward, grabbing Malek by the throat and ripping him from his throne. He makes a horrible wheezing sound, and I squeeze, feeling his life pulse against my palm. There’s something ridiculously satisfyingabout the thought of killing him, not with magic, but with my bare hands.

His hand lifts, and at first, I think he’s going to lash against me. But then, I realize he’s waving off the guards. Three of them are on the stage now, one to each servant. Rune and the two other rebels stand against the far corner. A quick glance finds her at the center of them, hands braced as if she’s holding them behind her.

As if she could possibly protect them from the malice that’s about to be unleashed.

“How.” The word drops from my lips before I can stop it. I know it doesn’t matterhowhe knows, only that he does. Only that my options just became excruciatingly limited.

Don’t be rash, I remind myself.Learn what he knows.

“You thought you could hide it?” he asks. “Fromme? I’ve been watching you, Harrick. Fucking a servant was one thing, but having a marriage agreement drawn…I had to intervene.”

I tighten my fist, relishing the way his breath strains. Malek, of course, only grins at me. His words are rough, choked from my hand, but his eyes light with manic glee.

“The Architect was furious. Didn’t help when he realized the rat-whore had a whole scheme built up with her friends.” Malek grabs my wrist, sending a flicker of magic from his palm. I flinch at the raw sting of heat, but I don’t loosen my grip. “The only question now is…did you know, brother? Were you in on whatever pathetic scheme they’ve spent cycles building?”

I don’t respond. There’s nothing to say, nothing that will get me out of this horrible reality. One where Rune dies if I say the wrong thing, one where I’m imprisoned and she’s slaughtered and?—

“The Architect will be here soon,” Malek continues. Both hands are on my wrist now, his eyes wide. He can still breathe, and I hate that I’m letting him. I can almost hear Tora in theback of my mind, whisperingyou held back. Malek lets out a wheezing laugh when I look away from him, my eyes settling on Rune. He sparks my wrist again. “If you’re smart, Harrick, you’ll back down. Admit defeat. Beg for his mercy. He’ll kill you if you don’t.”

I look at Malek now, not because he’s stung me but because his words awaken something in my chest. I can’t remember the last time he’s spoken like this, like we’re just talking, not verbally sparring. He’s not taunting me, I realize. My brother, the cruelest of jokers, is being serious.

I think, in his own twisted way, he’s trying to save my life.

“You made an error,” I say. It comes out as a snarl, ripping from my throat. “You made a fatal error, Malek, in targetingher. I will fuckingdiebefore anyone harms her. I willkillanyone who tries, and that includes you.”

Malek’s eyes narrow and his upper lip curls. He sends a wave of magic against my wrist, shocking me hard enough I lose my hold and stumble backward. We’re both casting before we’ve fully regained our balance. Red mist swirls from Malek’s palms, transforming into a bear-wolf hybrid. Standing on massive haunches, the creature looks down at me, baring long, curved teeth. Its eyes are translucent, and yet, I can feel the hunger in them, the rabid determination.

I take another step back, casting thorn-covered vines from each hand. Distantly, I’m aware of the guards, their palms lit with magic, and the servants, still huddled in the corner. I whip my vines around us, smacking them against the wooden stage and forcing everyone else back.

“He’s mine!” Malek shouts. The guards don’t release their magic, but they maintain their distance. “Nobody fucking interfere.”

“I wanted us to be brothers!” I scream. I don’t look at anyone else, just Malek. He stares back at me, the rain pounding harder over the courtyard.

“I wanted that too,” he says, surprising me. There’s something unreadable in his expression. Pity, perhaps. Or maybe it’s guilt. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this, Harrick, but you make it too hard to let you live.”

Panic flares in my chest. I’ve lost to Malek too many times, and if I don’t win now… I shut the thought out. There’s no time to be scared or hesitant. If I’m going to do this, I can’t be afraid.

I look at Rune in the corner. Her blue eyes are already on me, and her lips are moving. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but she’s crying. Her shoulders tremble, and she steps toward me, against the guard’s hold, like she wants to help. Like she mighttry.

I look away. Raising my arms, I feel every ounce of magic pulse within my bones. It collects like a rising storm, like the brutalest of seasons in this godsforsaken land. It builds to the point I’m vibrating, until my vision tints red.

Malek’s eyes light, not with fear, but excitement. For a moment, we are children again. We’re standing in the Royal Training Arena for the first time, and the Architect is pitting us against each other. We’re gaping at each other, shocked at what we’re expected to do.

Like then, Malek is the first to strike now.

His beast surges across the stage, reaching me in only three lumbering steps. It is almost twice my height, with the body of a bear and the gaping jaw of a wolf. It swipes me with its massive paw, launching me across the stage. I don’t even attempt to block the blow. I crash against Malek’s throne, using my vines to keep me from falling over the edge.

I lurch back to my feet, forcing my movements to slow, as if I’m injured. He needs to think I’m hurt, that he’s already won.

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