Dareus stood his ground. “Thousands will die if we wait, your highness. Tens of thousands.”
“Then I’m certain the other kingdoms will be happy to meet my terms.” King Esger turned his head to one side, dismissing them. “You may leave now.”
Not without the prince. Innis took a deep breath, ready to move at Dareus’s signal.
Prince Harkeld spoke. “Father.”
King Esger looked at his younger son. Displeasure was evident on his face.
When Prince Harkeld had entered the throne room he’d had the arrogance of a king’s son; he no longer did. Gone was the confidence, the pride. His skin was pale with shock, and beneath the shock was something that looked like fear.
You are right to be afraid, Innis told him silently. You’re one of us now, an abomination. They’d kill you if they could.
Muscles worked in Prince Harkeld’s throat as he swallowed. “Father, I must break the curse as soon as possible—”
“Be silent.” It was a command, flat and final.
“But—”
“Or I shall have your tongue cut out.”
Prince Harkeld closed his mouth. Innis saw on his face the realization that his father hated him.
“The curse will reach Osgaard,” Dareus said into the silence.
The king shrugged. “Not for many months. And I have the means of stopping it before it does.”
“But whole kingdoms will be emptied!”
King Esger smiled slightly, his cheeks pouching. “I’m aware of that.”
There was a moment of stillness, of silence. Innis stared at the king. Disbelief grew inside her. No one could be that—
“You intend to use the curse to increase Osgaard’s wealth?” Dareus asked. His voice was uninflected, without censure.
King Esger shrugged lightly. “It’s my duty to expand Osgaard’s territory.” He lifted a hand from his belly, waved it in dismissal. “You may go now.”
Dareus didn’t move. “It will be the worst kind of butchery, your highness.”
King Esger lost his smile. He straightened on his throne. “Get out of my palace.”
Innis tensed. She took hold of her magic. Clarity expanded in her mind. She inhaled, feeling magic running under her skin, stinging—
“No, Father!” Prince Harkeld stepped forward. “Osgaard loses its honor if you do this. I won’t allow it!”
“Allow?” King Esger laughed, a loud crack of sound. He leaned forward on the throne, hatred twisting his face. “You’ll do as you’re ordered! You are nothing here. Nothing!”
Prince Harkeld shook his head. “I refuse to wait.”
Silence stretched in the throne room, tight and brittle, and then King Esger sat back in his throne. “If you disobey me, I’ll place a traitor’s bounty on your head.”
Prince Harkeld stood his ground. “If you kill me, the curse can’t be broken.”
The king smiled, his lips stretching across his teeth. “I don’t need you alive,” he told his son. “I only need your blood.”
“Prince Harkeld’s hand must touch the anchor stones,” Dareus said. “Or else the curse can’t be broken.”
King Esger glanced at him. “But Harkeld doesn’t need to be attached to his hands, does he? He doesn’t even need to be alive.”
Prince Jaegar stirred. Innis glanced at him. He was watching his half-brother. His mouth moved, as if he savored a sweet taste on his tongue.
“The choice is yours,” the king said. “Your obedience—or I take your blood and your hands.”
Prince Harkeld swallowed. He touched his hip, as if reaching for a sword—but he wore no sword belt.
Dareus glanced back over his shoulder. He raised his hand, a tiny gesture. Now.
Innis inhaled deeply. She let the magic rush through her body. “I choose honor,” she heard Prince Harkeld say. “I’ll have no part in your—”
She held the image of what she wanted to be firmly in her mind—a lioness—and changed. There was a dizzying second when she was neither one thing nor the other, when magic poured through her, stinging, a sensation close to pain, and then everything was solid and real again. Scent and sound rushed at her: the sharp smell of fear, the hiss of swords being drawn from gilded scabbards, the scrape of hobnailed boots as the guards scrambled to protect their king and his heir.
“Kill it!” Fear made King Esger’s voice shrill. “Kill the witch!”
A guard brandished his sword at her. The blade trembled.
“Kill Harkeld!”
Prince Harkeld’s personal armsman, the torque gleaming silver at his throat, raised his sword, his eyes on the prince.
Innis charged past the guard, bunched her muscles, leapt. In human form she would have been too late; as a lion, she was swifter than the armsman. She struck the man with her full weight. He dropped his sword as he