I kneel.
At least I have him, I think. At least someone in this family is left.
Zed stands. He holds my parents’ swords.
If I tried to speak, I’m sure nothing would come out. But Egan’s voice is firm when he says, “Put them in the armory.”
It’s his first command as king. Zed nods, then shoots into the sky, toward the castle.
One by one everyone leaves, but I remain, kneeling among the cinders, cursing war and everything it took from me.
Cursing the Nightshade ruler who killed my parents.
Grimshaw, heir to Nightshade, is moving into the castle.
It’s a condition of the end of the war—a way to try to ensure his father won’t simply ignore the terms of our treaty.
He’s placed in the prisons, where he belongs.
According to Zed, he goes willingly. “With a smirk on his face,” Zed says, jaw tight.
Enya is frowning into her tea.
“What is it?” I ask.
Ever since her mother died, she’s been a husk of herself. The quips and smiles are gone. What remains are glassy eyes and pinched lips. She shakes her head. “I keep thinking ... Nightshade was winning. I don’t ... I don’t understand why they agreed to a treaty. It doesn’t make sense. If they kept going—”
They could have won. I’ve had the same thought but have always come to the same conclusion.
The Nightshade ruler and his heir are heartless monsters. If there was a way to win, they would have taken it, no matter the cost.
Unless—
“You think they’re planning something,” I say.
She nods.
Zed gives us a look. “And what’s the plan? Him rotting in the prisons? Tied down in as many ways as possible and pissing into a bucket?”
She sighs. “I don’t know. I just—it doesn’t make sense.”
I turn to Calder. He’s remained quiet, as he mostly is, but he looks pensive. “What do you think?”
He stretches his long tan legs out in front of him. “I think the same thing I’ve always thought. War doesn’t have winners. People fight for causes most often because they’re ordered to.” His eyes shift to mine. “And none of us are our fathers.”
We are not our fathers. I remember that day, in the biting snow. I remember the moment his words sunk in.
But this is different.
Anger rises in me like a tempest. “Did his father force him to strike down everyone in his path with his shadows? Did his father force him to kill even the ones that begged for mercy, even the injured, even the ones that surrendered?”
Calder says nothing.
I stand.
My hands are shaking. So is my voice.
“Did his father order him to vanish the bodies, so their families wouldn’t be able to have a proper burial?”
