Mortal

understand.”

“I understand you, my lady, all too well.”

“You understand nothing about me, or my allegiances.”

“Is that what you call blind loyalty to your brother?”

“I’m talking about the boy.”

He barked a laugh.

“Do you understand anything of the thin line I’ve walked since waking from stasis?” she demanded. “Did you just expect me to run out and proclaim my allegiance to the boy?”

“After betraying us at the Citadel, you claim allegiance to the boy? No. It may have been nine years ago, but it is no more.”

“True. It’s faltered. None of what was supposed to happen has come to pass. And no matter how much Rom thinks I can work a miracle in the senate, my hands were tied the moment I was brought out of stasis before Jonathan claimed his majority.”

“You’re loyal to no one but Saric. Or is it only to yourself?”

“I died once, and what did that gain me? Die and you will see how it changes your perspective on life. No. This time, I mean to do things my way.”

He slipped his knife from its sheath and squatted, one leg forward. Spun the blade in his hand. “Maybe you should try dying twice. It would help my perspective.”

“Kill me and lose the boy’s most powerful ally.” Her nostrils flared. Roland took in the scent of indignation, of anger, fear. And of something else he could not name.

“Ally? You all but admit your loyalty is to no one.”

“Yes, I questioned. But that was before what I saw last night.”

“And what did you see last night? A mad boy bathing in blood?”

“I saw something that I understand,” she hissed. “Better than even you, Prince.”

“And what was that?” His elbows rested on his knees, knife twirling loosely between his fingers. “That what I said was true? That we would crush your brother’s army, no matter how strong? That you needed to run to warn him?”

She took a deep breath and lifted her gaze to Michael, coming up behind him with the horses.

“I saw you would never trust me,” she said, her eyes back on him. “Now you prove it.”

“You’re right. And now you prove why I can’t trust you.”

“You know nothing of my intentions.”

“And Rom does? You must have had quite the romp in the meadow with him.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know him as well as you think. But you’re right. He doesn’t know me. I’m not a girl any more than he’s a naive boy. There is an entire machine waiting for me.” She jutted her chin in the direction of Byzantium. “One backed by my brother whom I have to manage. You can’t know how dangerous he is.”

“There, you’re wrong. I have every idea.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I died for Jonathan once. Does this mean nothing to you? Do you understand all that I have done?”

He raised his brows and grinned. “Enlighten me.”

“You not only owe your life to him for the blood in his veins… but to me.”

“Why did you run?”

“I knew you had no intention of allowing me to leave. Rom perhaps, but not you. If I don’t take more blood tonight, I die. I’m dependent on Saric’s blood, or didn’t Rom tell you? It doesn’t matter. We both know you wouldn’t have let me leave on my own, having seen your camp.”

“And yet by fleeing on your own you seal your fate even more.”

“So now you kill me. And what does that win you?”

“All Dark Bloods must die. It’s the only way for my kind to survive.”

“Are you so blind? Or do you simply refuse to see that I can help you?”

“You can help me by revealing where Saric holds his forces.”

She gave a brittle laugh. “And lose all of my leverage? No. I am your key to destroying Saric.”

“Are you? Then show me your intentions. Tell me where his fortress is.”

“Even if I did, you would stand no chance.”

Roland stood up and walked closer, rounding to her left, knife snug in his right hand.

“Kill her now and be done with it,” Michael said.

“You of all people know Rom’s request is impossible,” Feyn said, voice now tight. “Putting Jonathan in power with Saric alive will only invite a full-scale war. I didn’t create this mess; I was resurrected into it. Now I have to fix it. My way.”

“The only way I’m willing to consider is via the death of all Dark Bloods,” Roland said, glowering at her through lowered lids.

“You can’t provoke war. You’re outnumbered!”

“I don’t think you realize how powerful we are.”

“Oh, but I do, and I tell you… it’s not powerful enough.”

Roland flipped the knife. “Then there’s no reason to prolong the inevitable.”

He stepped behind her and grabbed her hair. Jerked her head back, exposing her neck.

“No bargaining?” he said. “No begging for your life?”

“No,” she whispered. “We both know you never had any intention to let me live.”

Roland laid the blade against her throat. “You’re right.”

He was about to express a final passing word of consolation-as much as he hated the Dark Blood there was something noble in this Sovereign who’d once given her life for Jonathan. But two things quickly came to his attention: The first was the drumming of horse hooves, of a single rider quickly approaching. The second was that the rider was upwind. He couldn’t determine whether the rider was Mortal or Corpse, Dark Blood or Nomad. Killing her now, he might lose a valuable hostage and any leverage she offered.

Then he knew. The leader of Keepers had discovered them missing and followed them. Rom, come to save his woman.

Roland’s first impulse was to pull the knife across Feyn’s throat and be done with it. He was in no mood for weakness, a trait that seemed inexorably ingrained in Rom’s psyche. But the sight of Feyn’s veins pumping their black blood onto the ground would prove too much for the man. They could not afford division now. Perhaps in Feyn’s attempt to escape Rom had found an ounce of sanity.

“Hold still. Not a word.”

To Michael: “On my right, stay hidden, bow ready.”

She ran in a crouch to a tree, upwind, dropped to one knee, bow strung already.

Roland held his ground, watching the crest of the hill.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ROM HAD PUSHED HIS HORSE without mercy, following both tracks and scent in a pell-mell rush south, desperate to catch Roland before it was too late.

A hundred thoughts had relentlessly pushed through the fog in his mind, chief among them the question surrounding Feyn’s attempt to escape.

Why?

Had she planned her move all along? Were other Dark Bloods waiting for her to exit the camp? Had he been played the fool, captured by misplaced love and hope?

But the most unyielding thought of all was Roland. Rom knew the prince had pushed her to the conclusion that she had no hope of leaving the valley alive. That when it came to Feyn, he possessed not a bone of trust. Nomads had always seen the benefits of life as their due inheritance-the prize awaiting them after generations on the run. Roland’s obsession was not love or truth but freedom and power, and in his mind Feyn posed a direct threat to