Page 56 of The War Queen's Daughter

I stretch and bend and test myself again. I’m capable of battle or flight, whichever presents first. Both, likely.

Assessment complete. Now, strategy.

I laugh at that thought, hopelessly, before jerking myself back under control. There’s always a way, always. I turn to the locked, barred exit, examine the keyhole. It’s big, cumbersome. With the right tool, I might pick it. The hall beyond is more rough stone, a single torch flickering at the far end when I lean against the pitted metal to look, rust tart in my nostrils as I press my cheek against it.

The scent of metal reminds me of my mother, and I have to clench my jaw, squeeze my eyes shut, only to see her smile, the bolt in her eye—

Plan. Yes, plan. Break out, douse the torch, find an exit. Kill anyone who gets in my way.

Mourn when I’m free.

I have my plan. Now, act.

The gods hate me as much as everyone else because as I turn to find what part of the cot or bucket I can convert to a lock pick, the door in the distance slams again, this time followed by the grating sound of footsteps approaching.

Time to play far too hurt to escape.

I sink back to the floor and lean against the cot, arms around my drawn-up knees, forehead resting there. I can see enough as I pretend to rest, who it is that has come to call, the swish of his robes giving him away as much as that unwelcome scent of overripe fruit.

“Hallick,” I say, surprised to hear my voice is a rasping purr. I don’t clear my throat or try to correct it. Let him think me vulnerable. Sometimes the appearance of weakness is the best weapon, no matter what Mother thinks.

Thought.

Fuck.

He stops outside my cell. When I look up, I find him smiling.

“Quite the predicament you’ve found yourself in, Princess Remalla,” he says. “A pity, truly, to see the mighty fall. All that ambition, all that strength… wasted.”

“You set my mother up,” I say, my voice raw for different reasons. “Did you know all along I’m drakonkin?”

He chuckles, a thin, unpleasant sound. “Of course, I did,” he says. “I was told a long time ago. It’s why I was so surprised to find you here, to see you vie for the Overprince. A curiosity I decided to see through. Because it meant one of two things.” He taps the bars. “One, either you didn’t know who your father was, or…”

“Or,” I say. I prompt him because his pause is vile, and he’s enjoying this far too much.

“Or you really don’t have any idea why having dragon blood is such a disaster for you. Or both.” He laughs. “I think it’s both, isn’t it?” His delight turns to a deep chuckle. “Jhanette,” he says. “Always playing her secrets so close while those around her betrayed her anyway.”

Amber. That bitch. It has to be the ambassador. Yes, she fought with us in the dining room, but who else could it be? She’s been here for years, privy to knowledge entrusted to her by my mother. And she shared it.

With Hallick.

“Tell me then,” I say, “and show me how clever you are, Chancellor. Why my father’s bloodline is such a problem for the realm.”

He tsks softly as he exhales a deep and satisfied breath. “I would have mentored you, Remalla,” he says. “I would have protected your secrets as I’ve guarded your mother’s, though she never knew I did so all this time. But you had to poke your nose in where it wasn’t meant to go. You had to join forces with those who present an even greater threat than your mother ever did.”

What is he talking about? Wait. “Zenthris,” I say. I don’t mean to, but he’s there with me, in that moment, and I can’t stop his name from leaving my parted lips.

“The drakonkin pretender and his little rebellion.” Hallick might as well be speaking another language. Rebellion? Pretender? I’m so lost, and feel like I always will be, because though I need information, vitally so, no one tells me what will save me. “I could still help you, Remalla.” His voice drops, his tone wheedling, almost alluring. Does he know how much he disgusts me? “Just tell me where it is. No, not even that.” He waves off that request. “Tell me where he is. I’ll take care of the rest. And when I have him in my grasp, I’ll see to it that you’re freed.”

He doesn’t know anything about me or anyone of Heald if he thinks I’ll betray Zenthris to him. On the other hand, if Amber is all he has to go by, perhaps he’s already formed judgments about my people.

That she’s justified.

“I’m listening,” I say. “Though if you free me, where will I go? Not back to Heald.”

“No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he says. “You’ll be killed on sight, naturally. But a warrior of your strength, courage, and resourcefulness would do well on the pirate queen’s vessels, no doubt. Or even beyond the Wastelands where the Southern Kingdoms lie.”

Exile. Honestly, it’s crossed my mind before now without his suggestion, so I’m not surprised he’s bringing it up.

---