Page 57 of The War Queen's Daughter

Except when I considered that exodus, it was before my mother was murdered and our people betrayed. I will not abandon them to whatever puppet Gyster puts on the throne of Heald. Is my aunt even alive? If she is, I doubt he’ll let her take my mother’s seat.

I’ll die before I betray my mother’s memory that way. But Hallick doesn’t need to know that, and he’s useful, for now. So, I lean into the talk by looking up, showing defeat.

“I still don’t understand any of this,” I say. “When we first met, you encouraged me to marry Altar. To fall in line.”

“I needed to take your measure,” he says. “Your mother kept you so well guarded all these years, beating you into a weapon she could wield against us. I had to know if you were in line with her plans or merely a submissive child doing her mother’s bidding.” He snorts. “Both, as it turns out.”

In that moment, I vow I’ll kill him with my bare hands the first chance I get.

His lips twist, eyes raking over me. My dress has been torn, parts of me exposed that are normally covered. While nakedness normally doesn’t bother me, I fight the urge to raise my knees again and hide myself from his hungry eyes.

“I’ve never met your father,” he says. That makes two of us. “He claimed some ridiculous title granted by his kind, an ancient dragon lie that he tried to use against Ranaslo.” Gyster’s father, the first Overking. “He was banished, along with his soldiers, when the war was won.” He watches me carefully. “Who do you think decimated the ranks of the Heald, my dear? The other kingdoms?” Wait, no. That’s not right. “It was the drakonkin who your armies fought and died against, who your mother defeated. Only to bed their leader.” He barks a laugh. “Pure and utterly Jhanette.”

That’s not how the story goes. Our people fell because we sided with the man who became Overking. We joined forces with him to bring the realm together. Except… for the first time, I’m questioning literally everything.

And Hallick sees it in my face, is amused by it. “How does it feel to know she lied to you for your entire life?”

It feels like death.

“Drakonkin, the ones who remain, are allowed to do so, though unlike in Heald, from what I’m told, they are not universally welcomed, even after all this time.” He’s still prodding me, testing me. “The law states that no blood of the dragon’s kind will ever sit a throne of the Overkingdom. The day one does is the day Protoris falls.”

“What did Zenthris steal from you, Hallick?” It’s my turn to prod him because I can’t take any more, even if I have a million questions yet to ask.

“Not from me,” he says. “But from those who, like me, have a vested interest in the power that keeps this realm intact.”

Wait, Mother said something. Before Gyster cut her off.

The blood of the dragons will live in my daughter, just as their power sustains this lie of a—

Of a what?

“Give him to me,” Hallick hisses suddenly. “Or die here, Remalla of Heald.”

I stare him down for a long moment before I lower my head to my knees.

He knows I’ve only played him for answers now and spits as he curses.

“So be it.”

I don’t bother watching him as he stalks away.

Chapter 29

I have to get up at last, the stone floor chilling me to the bone. Survival wins, the narrow bunk, while unsavory of odor and whatever the previous occupant left behind, at least means a straw mattress between me and the cold. I don’t know how long I huddle, mind spinning slowly through the information I’ve been given, but I finally sleep, without my consent.

Since I’ve learned to doze in the saddle, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that my body takes over and gives me the rest I so desperately need. But it feels like just another betrayal. If I’m going to die, let me die. But if I’m going to live, escape, fight back.

Let me fight back.

Something rustles, and the torch goes out. I’m on my feet, closing with the bars, doubt and self-pity banished as I widen my nostrils and inhale. The window above me shows night again, so I’ve slept through a whole day. Or it’s almost morning. I’m choosing to believe that. And the truth my senses are whispering to me.

“Aunt,” I say.

She’s there the next instant, a shadowy form, barely visible in the gloom. I don’t need to see her. I know it’s her. Strong fingers grip the bars, and something rattles, protests with a metallic squeal that has her cursing.

The door creaks open a moment later, and she slips inside, arms out.

“Aunt,” I say, choking. “Vivenne.”

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