Page 85 of Of Kings and Thieves

I remained pliant, too preoccupied to feel shame at my nakedness. I tried to act indifferent about the ring when a servant removed it and placed it on a dresser next to the bathtub, but I couldn’t help glancing at it occasionally to make sure it stayed put.

My thoughts raced with questions about what The Harrow had planned next. The servants’ detached silence only heightened my unease. What new torment did Moredanea have in store?

When the servants finished, I was hauled from the bath and bundled into a fresh gown, my wet hair left to drip down my back. The fabric was finer than my previous garment, which did little to reassure me. To my relief, the ring was placed back on my finger.

Where did you go? Col asked.

Apparently I needed a bath. What’s happening?

They’ve planned another banquet.

I didn’t have to ask who “they” were. After being returned to my chamber, I paced the small space like a caged animal, but I didn’t have to wait long before my door opened again. This time, I had prepared and hidden my ring in a new crack that ran behind the bed.

I was escorted into the great hall, the sounds of revelry already in full swing. My gaze found Laney immediately, flanked by guards at a table across the room. The sight of her whole and unharmed brought some relief. She was even eating, which was better than anything I could have hoped for.

The Harrow presided over the head table, his lined face creased in a satisfied smile as he took in the spectacle. Moredanea lounged nearby, a jeweled goblet dangling from her long fingers. Her sharp eyes tracked me as I was led to my seat.

I averted my gaze from the gruesome torments being inflicted as the evening’s “entertainment.” The opulent feast turned my stomach after so many nights of hunger, even as servants in rich livery attended to my every need. How often had Laney and I starved while The Harrow and his ilk indulged themselves?

Knowing I had to eat, if only for strength, I forced myself to choke down the roast fowl and fruit in front of me.

Col sat rigid in the seat next to mine. Our eyes met, mutual disgust passing between us. Beneath the table, he took my hand and ran a thumb over my palm in a reassuring way.

As I sipped diluted wine, I let my thoughts drift to Laney, taking comfort in her presence. I clung to my plan to keep my head down and wait for the right moment.

The evening ended with one death and two maimings. With Laney’s safety at stake, I didn’t dare speak up, and Col didn’t either.

I won’t forget, he told me later when we were both locked away in our respective rooms. Every death, every trauma, every foul insult will be answered.

Make sure you leave some of that answering for me. I sank onto the edge of my bed, the frigid stone walls leaching what little warmth remained in my body. I’ve been practicing the song about your sword, trying to strengthen my voice. But I don’t know all the lyrics. Will you teach them to me?

Of course, he replied without hesitation. I could almost see his nod, dark hair falling across his brow.

As the melody filled my thoughts, I did my best to capture every nuance—the rise and fall of the notes, the vivid imagery. I etched each verse into my memory until I could sing it back flawlessly.

When I finished, Col was quiet. Then pride warmed his voice. It sounds perfect. I know the power of your song will prove itself soon. And Bloodsong will taste our enemies’ blood once more.

I clung to that image, letting it kindle my own flicker of hope.

All the days that followed blurred together, their bleak monotony broken only by my pacing, fitful sleep, and the constant listening for any hint of my sister or news from the outside. The servants who came bearing food and water moved silently, their faces impassive and void of emotion. They changed out the pail I had been given as a toilet but offered nothing more. No matter how many times I tried to extract information from them, they remained silent, isolating me further and underscoring my powerlessness.

My thin gown offered no protection from the chill, and I shivered constantly, knowing the lack of proper clothes and bedding was a deliberate attempt to weaken me. I wrapped my shivering form in the inadequate blanket, memories of the cloak Col had bought me stirring feelings of warmth and safety. I wondered where that cloak was now.

“Damn you, Moredanea!” The curse burst from my lips, raw anger flaring hot and fierce in my chest. I refused to wallow in despair. So I practiced Col’s song, quietly so no one would hear me, and attended banquet after banquet. They all began and ended in the same way, with opulent feasts and dead people.

One morning after waking, I discovered a folded piece of parchment had been slipped under my door. With trembling fingers, I unfolded it and found a brief note scribbled in an elegant hand:

Samara,

I have eyes on your sister. No harm will come to the girl as long as I draw breath. Plans are in motion to get her away from this place.

- K

I read the words again and again until they were seared into my mind. Then the note smoldered in my hands, fine ash sifting through my fingers as the last evidence burned away. But Killian’s message remained—there was a plan to keep Laney safe. I embraced the small measure of relief and comfort it brought.

In the absence of company, I passed the hours by singing softly to myself. The lyrics of the ancient ballad poured from my lips, the tale of Bloodsong steel resonating deeply. When I reached the unfinished verses, I began to improvise new lines telling of the sword’s thirst for vengeance:

The raven prince in exile longed to reclaim his stolen throne,