Page 101 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

I choked on my food.

Reina casually offered, “A nod will suffice if you require me to dispatch a shadow to fetch the bite.”

What the…? This is who Owain was raised by?

She was an angry badger with ten-inch claws wearing the finest silk. I cleared the blockage and inhaled deeply, gasping for air as I recovered.

“The Assembly doesn’t want to kill him,” I said, the words scraping my throat raw as worry bloomed outward from my belly. The world narrowed to the memory of his body broken and bloody on my floor—eyes empty, unable to move, because they’d almost done it anyway.

Reina briefly lost her composure, pupils leaking into the irises. “Tell me what you know.” Then, like frost locking over a pond, it reappeared, back rigid and her face grave. “I can’t be of service if I don’t possess the required information.”

Uh oh. In for a copper, in for a purse of gold with these people.

“The mercenaries who attacked us said that mages provided them with the ring that allowed Owain to be tracked.”

Reina desperately tried to mask the murderous glint trying to spread across her face. “Mercenaries? A ring?”

There’s that Nocthel protectiveness.

“…Yes, outside Selmont. He didn’t tell you this?” I didn’t know whether to feel guilty about accidentally telling her or not. “Owain took the ring with him when he returned to the Tir. The mercenary said the mages wanted him ‘back in their care.’”

“That’s much worse. And if they’re using an artifact…” She gently set down her teacup, concealing the tremor in her hands. “The Assembly employs mercenaries solely to create a buffer between themselves and their sins.”

I nodded.

“Lady Lunette, my work is easier when fewer people can guess what I will do next. So let’s keep what I’m about to say between us.” She took a dainty bite of her own food. “I think Berian’s illness is part of an assassination attempt. The Assembly is fomenting chaos in Gelida, why not here too? I already have people investigating because Queen Theresa is dead under similar circumstances—and she was all the way in Freuxcourt…” Reina harrumphed like she hadn’t just thrown a torch onto a barrel of tar. “Yet another thing no one else knows about—yet.”

The queen was dead. Dear gods, Berian had no children. One poisoned king could start a war. But a dead queen made their plan a well-strategized one.

And Owain was next in line. The bread in my mouth turned to chalk.

As if reading my thoughts, she asked, “You had a look inside. Do you think it possible the king’s illness is not natural?”

“Yes.” The warmth of the tea spread through me as I gathered my thoughts with another long sip. “He may have been poisoned, but I think it’s more likely that magic similar to my own created much of the damage.”

“Explain, please.” The black had leaked out of her eyes now, but her voice still held quiet command.

“The scarring I noted on his organs. It could be natural—or more likely, frequent, small doses of targeted damage could’ve caused it. I don’t only heal. I can also rend flesh.”

“Show me,” Reina ordered.

“How…?” I wasn’t certain she knew what she was asking.

She rolled up one sleeve and showed me her open palm. “Make it small and heal it afterward if you’re worried,” she insisted.

My eyes widened. “But…”

Her answer was to plop her upraised hand on the table in front of me.

“Okay…” My magic obeyed as I dragged a single finger across the fleshy part of her palm. A crimson stream began to flow as the skin cleaved, revealing a raw, gaping wound.

“Holy gods,” she cursed, pulling her hand away to cradle it to her chest. Her eyes were as black as Owain’s. “And that fast? By all the magic, you aren’t to be underestimated, are you?”

The destructive part of me had no patience for restraint. I’d spent years watching people’s expressions shift the moment they understood what I could do—the subtle reorganization of how they looked at me, from person to danger or, worse, weapon.

I searched Reina’s face for it, but she just looked at me, steady and unsurprised, as if the only thing she’d registered was that I was still sitting there.

“Yes.” I nodded, gesturing for her to present her hand again. “Rending is far simpler than healing.” Healing the tiny wound took barely a spark of magic.