Page 163 of A Vow of Blood and Tears

“The thing is, I wasn’t always the court artist. I had toworkfor a living. I slaved away in the stableyard for years working for your leech husband. I can tie up a pissed-off, wriggling pig faster than you can blink, and believe me, you are nothing compared to that. If you get any ideas about gutting me or running off on your own, I want you to think long and hard about what it would feel like to stay in that position for days without reprieve. Because if I have to waste my precious time to stop and do it, I won’t be letting you free again. I will hogtie you, and throw you on this horse however I please, and if you think you hurt now, I assure you, that’s nothing compared to what it could be.”

His eyes were a pale, icy jade in the daylight. So cold, I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought them pretty. Everything about him was repulsive, from the smug set of his mouth to the smell of his sweat and cologne.

I needed to outlast him. If I couldn’t run now, I could escape later. I just needed to keep myself in a position to regain my strength and find my opening.

“But, as I said, you’re valuable. I want you to come to terms with the fact that we’ll be together from here on out, and I’m willing to show kindness if you’re willing to behave. So—are you going to give me a reason to use this?”

Together? A chill ran down my spine, but I met those cold eyes squarely and shook my head.

“If you’re very good, I’ll let you have your pen back.” He tied the end of my leash to the saddle horn, giving me only about ten feet of leeway—not nearly enough to make a run for it. I gritted my teeth as Miro mounted the horse, holding out a hand to me. “Come on up.”

I could imagine him kicking the horse into a gallop, the rope between my ankle and the saddle snapping taut…

I took his hand.

He hauled me up, settling me in his lap sidesaddle. Too close, one arm around my waist, the other gripping the reins, and the feeling of his breath stirring my hair made me want to claw at his face.

If there was one thing I’d learned in life, it was patience. This was not my moment.

But when that moment came, it would be very satisfying. I would make sure of it.

He clicked his tongue, nudging the horse into a trot. We were moving east, the rising sun piercing my aching eyes, the mountains looming before us.

I pulled my journal out, balancing it on my knee. Then I turned my head, giving Miro a sidelong look under my lashes, glancing pointedly at my pen.

He smirked, that cocky look that made me want to kill him, and pulled it free. “It’ll cost you later, but I’m feeling generous. I can afford to be, now.”

What makes you think Bane isn’t coming after us?I asked. Deliberately using ‘us’, a subtle manipulation, hoping with enough time he would come to believe us on the same team, and slowly drop his guard.

Miro peered over my shoulder at the question, and laughed. “Here, give me the pen. You’ll love this.”

I handed it to him, and he shifted the reins to his left hand, the pen to his right, and reached around my waist to write in the journal on my lap. It was a bit shaky, given the horse beneath us, but I found myself breathless, a terrible blend of fury and despair filling me as my own handwriting filled the page.

Because he has a letter from your own hand telling him you’ve gone. You hate him. You never want to see him again.

My mind splintered in a thousand directions. Miro had perfectly imitated my writing. If I hadn’t watched him write it himself, I could’ve easily believed I had done it.

“He believes I didn’t inherit my mother’s memory. It’s been a very useful little secret worth keeping. I can imitate anything I’ve seen on paper,” he said smugly, tucking the pen back in my hand. “Any image, any writing. I had yours perfectly worked out in a few days. Ellena’s took a little longer, but she was always writing letters to the Sisterhood, and all I had to do was pretend to be sympathetic to the cause. It made it so much easier to get word to my people, pretending to be her.”

Chills ran down my spine, and I closed my eyes for a moment, putting it together. Ellena had been innocent, a victim of Miro’s game.

“Butyouwere the clincher, Lady Silence.” He laughed, carefree and joyful. “Seriously? ‘Wargs and fiends are the same’? You couldn’t have made my life any easier if you tried.”

I remembered looking at that paragraph, debating whether to scribble it out, debating throwing it in the fire, and failing to do either of those things.

I had ruined myself.

“I left a little note from you, and it’s going to stab him right in the heart.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “I almost wish I could’ve stayed to see the look on his face. All those years of treating me like dirt, talking down to me like I’d never measure up to my saint of a fucking mother, and finally, I get mine.”

Why?I finally wrote, trying to keep my breathing even.What do you get out of this?

“Well, the why is pretty simple.” His hands twitched on the reins. “It’s not just that I have a Forian father. As you can probably guess, she was raped during the war. I’m the son of a warg. Did I ask for that? No. And yet they still treated me like an outsider. You should probably understand more than most what it feels like to always be on the outside of things. Just one little fault in your makeup, one you never asked for, and people will always look at you sideways for it.”

I hated to do it, but I nodded. In a way, I did understand, completely and totally—until I met Bane, I had always been the outsider.

“As for what I get, Hakkon promised me citizenship of Foria. I belong to my father’s people. So long as I bring them something of value, I’m one of his people, under his protection. That would be you.”

Because I’m the Lady of the Rift?I asked, a sour taste in my mouth. I had been warned there was a target on my back, and it had finally hit home.But you forged a letter for Bane. If he doesn’t come for me, I’m of no value to them at all.

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