Page 48 of The Scarlet Star

Xerxes’s tongue flexed and he fought the urge to shout.

Instead, he said in a low, calm voice,

“Let them try.”

“Go hunt down Alecsander first. Go destroy him.”

“First kill the maiden.”

“Kill everyone.”

Xerxes carried his sword to the training field. “Quiet,” he muttered at the voices. It was impossible to focus this morning with their ruckus.

He’d lain awake all night thinking about the soldiers’ news. Imagining Alecsander of B’rei Mira making Xerxes his next target. During breakfast he hadn’t been able to speak a word as the councilmen talked and talked andtalked, coming up with lame speculations and pathetic strategies that would never work to hunt down the B’rei Mira spies. Xerxes didn’t eat; even the sight of jam had turned his stomach. Instead, he’d watched the councilmen, separating the newest members and wondering how difficult it might be for a B’rei Mira spy to pose as a Per-Siana councilman. He did the same thing with every servant who carried out hot breakfast items. And then again, as he headed out of the palace to the training field. Every single subject he passed looked to have the makings of a spy. He’d go mad at this rate.

Folke stood at attention across the field. The training grounds were just inside the outer palace wall and surrounded by lush flower gardens, pomegranate shrubs, and almond trees—the most beautiful place for any soldier to sharpen his skill. It was where Xerxes had learned to fight.

“We’ll be doing extra training in the days ahead. I want every single one of you able to defend yourself against our enemies,” Xerxes said. “We’ll train from dawn to dusk if we must.”

“But, Your Majesty, what about the dance tomorrow night?” a bystanding organizer piped up, and Xerxes closed his eyes.

These wretched Heartstealer trials. They would be the end of him.

“Cancel it,” he stated.

He hadn’t noticed other organizers were even there, hovering by the footbath of the Turquoise Peri Pond of Blessing, until they all started gasping.

“We can’t! The kingdom would be in an uproar! They live for news about the Heartstealer trials!” he said. “Please, Your Majesty, these events are all your people have to look forward to!”

Xerxes opened his mouth to protest and scold the organizer for objecting. But he realized how difficult it was going to be to contain the gossip about the four soldiers from the border. The Intelligentsia would already be overworked trying to conceal the truth and rewrite the story so the citizens didn’t panic. Truly, as much as he hated it—dancing—it was an event that would be a promise to the people that everything was normal in the palace. Even if it wasn’t.

Xerxes rolled his eyes and walked to the edge of the field. He shook off his coat of nobility and tossed it to a servant, then he locked eyes with a Folke and pulled his sword from its sheath. He felt like pummelling a few guards this afternoon. “If anyone goes easy on me,” he warned, “I’ll get angry. And none of you want to see what happens when I get angry.”

Xerxes was slick with sweat three hours later, his silk shirt ruined. His sleep-deprived body begged him to stop, but he refused.

It had been a while since he swung a sword. His extensive combat training had ended when he turned fifteen. He was surprised to discover how much of it was still second nature to him.

Folke guards rolled into the grass in exhaustion when they thought he wasn’t looking. Xerxes should have punished them, but instead he sighed and turned away to take a long drink of water, giving them a moment’s rest. As he drank, his gaze fell upon a slender silhouette scaling down the palace wall into the garden. He wiped a drip of water from his lip, his eyes narrowing on the dark-haired maiden.

“I’ll be back,” he said as he handed his water glass to the nearest servant.

Xerxes marched past the pond and into the orchard, ducking around shrubs until he was close enough to hear her heavy breathing over the wind. He waited at the foot of the palace, watching her make every careful move, watching her leap the last few feet, watching her boots find the ground. Watching her turn around.

She nearly screamed. Her hand flew over her mouth and all that came out was a high-pitched shriek.

“Estheryn,” Xerxes said. “How many times have I warned you not to try to escape? Hmm?” He raised a brow at her, too tired and sore to show much expression.

Instead of panicking, dropping to her knees, and begging for mercy with repentance—which was what any normal person would do—Estheryn’s face broke into a sheepishsmile. Something flipped in Xerxes’s chest when he saw it. “Don’t do that,” he instructed.

“What?” Estheryn asked. Still smiling.

Xerxes glared at her mouth. He tore his gaze off a second later and glanced toward the nearest tree. The sky. Anything.

He cleared his throat. “I heard you’re causing trouble. There’s a rumour in the Mother City that you…” Xerxes bit his tongue. He wasn’t sure he could spit out such an absurd claim. “…healedthat beggar.”

“Ah. Yes, that man was healed.” She nodded and Xerxes’s gaze fired back to her. “But not by me, King. I’m not that powerful on my own.”

“She’s alone out here, did you notice?”

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