“How could you do this to Elene?” she asked.

He walked past her and strode through quiet corridors, up the stairs to the queen’s apartments in a fog. The ka’kari flicked out of his hand into the form of a dagger, then sucked back in. Out, in, out, in. Was it always this simple for Vi? Some flirtation, a little innuendo, and your deader isolated herself, arranged your entry, and helped keep your presence secret? After the lengths to which Kylar had gone for some kills, walking in an unlocked door seemed like cheating. The guards hadn’t even taken the dagger from his belt.

Leaning against the door frame, he breathed deeply. He’d seen so much death in this place. Terah Graesin’s room was Garoth Ursuul’s old room. There had been statues of dead girls in the room bare weeks ago. What had they done with those statues of flesh made stony? If he ever found Trudana Jadwin, he would make Hu Gibbet look kind.

Such bloody, bloody thoughts. Kylar knocked.

There was the scuffing of bare feet on marble, and then Terah Graesin opened the door. Kylar was surprised she was still fully clothed. She stepped close and kissed him softly, luxuriously, their only contact in their lips. She moved slowly backward, sucking on his lower lip. He followed, letting her take the lead. She closed the door and stepped into his embrace.

“We’ll have to be quick,” she said, in between kisses on his neck. “I can’t miss my own party, but if your tongue is half as talented as you suggest, I guarantee to reciprocate very soon.” She giggled wickedly.

What surprised Kylar was how easy it was. Terah was taller than Elene, and her lips not as full, but teasing her was the same. He traced fingertips down the backs of her arms, then, feigning growing passion, slid one hand to the back of her neck and the other to soft curve of her buttock. From the interplay of starched stiffness and yielding flesh, he could tell she’d removed her undergarments.

He lifted an eyebrow and she giggled again. “Like I said, quick and clean. Later we can do long and dirty.”

You poor bitch, you don’t even know what this is. What was he doing? Why didn’t he end this sad farce? Finish the job, Kylar.

Kylar closed his eyes as Terah pushed him onto the bed, but as soon as he did, he imagined Vi standing beside the bed. She looked pissed. Kylar’s eyes flew open as Terah crawled over him. She tugged her neckline down. “Kiss me,” she said.

Vi seemed to be standing right there, her eyes flaming, daring Kylar to do it and feel her wrath. The image made no sense, but that didn’t make it any less powerful.

Terah made a pouting sound and tugged her dress lower, brushing her bare breast against Kylar’s face. His ear felt suddenly hot. Sickness and revulsion washed through him. His stomach cramped.

There was a wordless scream of animal rage from the doorway. Kylar blinked his eyes furiously, trying to clear away the black spots swimming in front of them. Terah barely sat up before a body collided with her, knocking her off of Kylar.

Kylar fell off the bed and staggered to his feet. As his vision cleared, he saw Luc Graesin on top of his sister, pummeling her with his fists and screaming obscenities. Finally, his chest heaving, Luc pulled himself off of her. “You killed Natassa,” he said, drawing a short dagger from his belt. “You killed our sister.”

“No,” Terah said. “I swear.” Blood was pouring from a gash across her eyebrow and her lips were fat and bloodied from Luc’s fist.

The last piece of darkness Kylar had seen in Terah’s eyes fell into place. “She sent a messenger to the Godking,” Kylar said, “telling him Natassa was traveling to Havermere, and she arranged for there to only be two guards with her.”

Terah gaped, but Luc’s eyes never left her face. The guilt written there was plain. “I did it for us. She was going to betray us! For the gods’ sake, help me, Kylar,” Terah begged.

It was a mistake. She could have faced Luc down. The last thing she should have done was remind him of the other man she’d been about to fuck. Luc screamed again and stabbed her in the stomach. She shrieked and Luc cowered back, then attacked again, gashing her arm as she lurched to her feet. He stabbed at her back as she ran to a wall, caught the ribbing of her dress and dropped the dagger.

Terah found a bellrope and yanked on it over and over.

Luc picked up the bloody dagger and walked toward her, his face a mask of grief and rage, weeping and cursing. He stood in front of his sister as she collapsed on the floor. Kylar wondered if Luc saw what he saw. Terah Graesin without power, without the hauteur, was a pitiful shadow. She hunched into the corner, blubbering. “Please, Luc, please. I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Perhaps Luc did see the same thing as Kylar, because he stopped, paralyzed. He still held the dagger, but Kylar knew that he wouldn’t use it now.

Terah’s wounds weren’t fatal, Kylar was certain of that, especially not with a green maja in the castle. Terah would recover, and she would owe the Chantry an enormous debt. She would put her brother to death and she would capitalize on people’s sympathy for her to move against her enemies real or imagined. Poor Luc Graesin. The weak bastard wasn’t even eighteen yet.

Kylar slapped the young man, hard, and plucked the dagger from his hands. Luc fell. “Look at me,” Kylar told him.

The Royal Guards were on their way. They might arrive any moment. Kylar could cut Terah’s throat, knock Luc senseless, climb out the window, and rejoin the party. Luc would be beheaded for treason and murder and Logan would be made king. Doubtless, whoever had told Luc about Natassa’s betrayal intended exactly that.

Luc met his eyes and Kylar weighed the young man’s soul.

Kylar cursed loudly. “You’re no killer, Luc Graesin. You marched right up here, didn’t you? Walked past a dozen witnesses? I thought so.”

“What are you doing?” Terah demanded. “Help me.”

Kylar looked into Luc’s eyes again and saw a young man bound in chains not of his own making. Luc was no saint, nor purely a victim, but he didn’t deserve death.

“Tell me one thing,” Kylar said. “If you could take the throne, would you?”

“Hell no,” Luc said.

He was telling the truth. “Then I give you these, Luc: first, knowledge: you’re no killer. These wounds won’t kill your sister. Second, your life. Make something of it. Third, I spare you a sight that would never leave you.”

“What?” Luc asked.

Kylar punched him in the forehead. Luc dropped like a stone. Kylar rubbed Luc’s bloody hands against his own. He cut Luc’s tunic in two places with the dagger and finally stabbed him in the meat of his shoulder, shallowly.

Terah was aghast. “What are you doing?”

Kylar drew the mask of judgment over his face. “I’ve come for you, Terah.” He let the ka’kari sink back into his skin.

She screamed. He grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her to her feet. He planted the dagger in her shoulder, and with his right hand free, pressed it against her wounded stomach to get it bloody. He wiped the blood on both sides of his face and pulled the dagger out of her shoulder. He stood behind her, using her body as a shield between him and the door. She was begging, screaming, cursing, weeping, but Kylar barely heard her. He sighed and when he inhaled, he smelled her hair. It smelled of youth and promise.