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Everyone’s expressions are stony, but none so much as Stavros’s. “Take the magic off the attacker we all know you sent,” he snarls. “Let’s see what we find.”
Lothar glares back at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You were sneaking around back here for some vile purpose. It’s obviously all connected.”
The former advisor doesn’t stir. He’s got an excellent bluffing face, I’ll give him that.
I guess he’d have to for him to have fooled King Konram and the king before him all those years.
Footsteps creak across the platform. Tinom joins us with a sigh. “I should be able to do it. Where is this attacker?”
I point to the spot where the blood stain is spreading. He wrinkles his nose but bends down and spreads his hands.
My heart thuds a few times more, and then the cloaked woman materializes before our eyes.
“I’ve never seen her before in my life,” Lothar announces.
Stavros lets out a scoffing sound. “You can barely see her now with that hood up. Someone pull it back.”
I killed her, so I figure that really should be my job. I crouch down and tug away the swath of fabric that shaded the woman’s head.
Then all I can do is stare.
Light blond hair spills around the woman’s pale face, turned slightly reddish with the sort of tint that I’ve seen from the juice dyes the outer-warders sometimes use. She’s taller than me but nearly as thin, with a narrow face and a knob of a chin much like mine.
She’s hardly my twin, but the similarities send a shiver down my spine.
Stavros’s jaw works. I don’t think the details are lost on him either.
It’s Alek who puts the pieces together completely. I hadn’t heard the scholar approaching, but his taut voice lifts from a few paces away where he’s gazing down at the figure.
“After she murdered Petra, you were going to say it was Ivy attacking. That the riven sorcerer had turned on the princess who’d allied with her.”
The moment the words leave his mouth, I can see the horrific beauty of the plan. Lothar could have eliminated Petra while displacing any hint of blame from himself and his scourge sorcerers.
Of course the audience would have been all too eager to believe that a monstrous riven could have behaved so abominably. I heard the way they talked when we were setting up last night.
My magic flails to be let out at him, but I keep it tightly contained and fold my arms over my chest. “What were you doing skulking around back here at the same time?”
Stavros scowls. “One of our people found a knife in his pocket. Maybe he was going to jump in and take down the assassin to reinforce the absurd idea that he’s the hero in this scenario.”
Lothar scoffs. “All I hear is a lot of blathering. You can’t prove any part of this incredible story. Now let me return to my place so I can oversee the end of the trials.”
As if we want him setting so much as his eyes on Petra after he’s attempted this scheme. We still don’t even know what his magic is capable of.
I stalk closer and prod his armless side with a swift finger. Maybe I can provoke some kind of reaction out of him. “This seems like a much better place for you. Or we can send you over to sit with your sacrificial accomplices, since you all gave up so much.”
I let sarcasm taint my last words, but Lothar’s face twitches as if he’s restrained a flinch. I pause.
Why would that specific statement bother him more than the accusations we’ve tossed around?
Not the slightest hint of magic drifts off him even when I’m standing this close. That doesn’t mean anything much—I can only pick up on threads of energy being cast out.
But it occurs to me that in all the time I was around Lothar, even when he had me under his control in close quarters, I’ve never felt even a trace of magic coming from him. Never seen him make use of the theoretically impressive gift he should have.
A suspicion trickles through my thoughts that I can’t shake.
I ease even closer, studying Lothar’s face. “Do you even have a gift, or did you give that arm away for nothing?”
