She arches an eyebrow. “Matters involving Annora, I presume?”
“You’re as perceptive as always.” I pour myself a goblet of wine from the tray on the table between us.
“How did she fare?”
“She obeyed.” The words taste bitter, and I wash them down with a long sip of wine. “I needed to ensure her loyalty.”
A frown pulls at Asha’s mouth as she traces the edges of the map before speaking. “You’re troubled.”
“Don’t be absurd.” I set the goblet down with a thud as images of Annora flood my mind—the shock, the hurt, the way her hands trembled after the deed was done.
I had expected reluctant compliance, perhaps even anger, but not the pain that radiated from her.
Asha brushes her fingers against the map as she continues. “You did what was necessary.”
“Did I?” I ask, even though I know it was a test—a way for me to know with certainty that Annora would do as I said.
“Is that regret I hear?” Asha asks, amusement thick in her tone.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I force a smirk. “I feel nothing of the sort.”
“Good. We can’t afford weakness.”
My father’s voice echoes in my head. “Weakness makes you nothing. You are nothing.”
I reach into my surcoat, feeling the weight of the false gold.
“And what would you know of weakness?” The words slip out before I can stop them. “You’ve never had to prove yourself worthy of existing.”
Her eyes narrow. “I lost my son. Don’t lecture me about—”
“—that’s grief. Not weakness.”
“Is it? Compassion gets you killed.”
I want to laugh at the irony. Here she stands, lecturing me about weakness, while carrying a portrait of her dead son everywhere she goes.
But I hold my tongue and roll the false gold between my fingers, remembering the excitement I’d felt when my father first placed it in my hand—before he crushed my joy with his cruel words.
“Sometimes strength lies in mercy,” I say, thinking of the grain we distributed to the starving masses. Their grateful faces. The way it felt to do something that wasn’t tainted by ambition.
“You sound like Annora,” Asha says in a flat tone.
“And you sound like my father.” The words burn my tongue, but I don’t wish them unsaid. “Perhaps we’re both wrong.”
Her eyes flick to the gold in my hand. “Are you still carrying that old thing around?”
“Some reminders serve a purpose.” I slip the rock back into my surcoat. “They keep us focused.”
“Just ensure your focus remains on our goal,” she says as her attention shifts back to the map. “House of Crimson won’t conquer itself.”
I clench my jaw. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Good.” Using her index finger, she taps a spot on the map. “Our forces are ready, and with Annora’s magic under your control, Jasce doesn’t stand a chance.”
Finally, my chance to step out of Jasce’s shadow, and yet, Annora’s eyes haunt me. Her pain, her anger.
“Alek…”
