Read Chapter 26: The Debt Called In

The throne room was empty, save for the shadows.

Voss stood in the doorway, sword drawn, watching the sorcerer circle the dais like a wolf testing a fence. The man wore a servant's face—someone Voss had seen a hundred times carrying trays and lighting sconces—but the power rolling off him crackled in the air like a coming storm.

"You killed the wrong man," the sorcerer said without turning. "Ten years ago, in that cellar. Did you ever wonder why he died so easily?"

Voss's grip tightened on the hilt. "I wondered why he smiled."

"He smiled because he knew you'd never find the real threat. He was a decoy, a willing sacrifice. I paid his family well." The sorcerer turned, and the servant's face shifted, the features melting and reforming into something older, sharper. A face Voss had not seen in twenty years. "Hello, old friend."

Voss's sword wavered. "Malachai."

"Did you think I'd forgotten our arrangement? The King promised me a place at court. You promised to make it happen. And then the Queen—" Malachai's lips curled. "You panicked. You always did lack nerve."

The words hit like a blade between the ribs. Voss's jaw tightened, and he stepped forward, sword leveled at the sorcerer's throat. "You killed her."

"I did nothing of the sort." Malachai spread his arms, a man welcoming an embrace. "You did. You and your poisoned wine, meant for me. Do you remember how it burned through her? How she looked at you as she fell—not with anger, but with confusion? She trusted you, Commander. She thought you were her ally."

"She trusted me because you made her fear everyone else," Voss growled. "You whispered lies into her ear for months. You made her doubt her own council."

"I made her doubt you. There is a difference." Malachai circled the dais, and Voss matched his movement, keeping the blade between them. "But you were the one who put the poison in the cup. You were the one who watched her drink it. And you were the one who buried her and told the King it was a fever that took her."

"I did it to protect the kingdom."

"You did it to protect yourself." Malachai's voice dropped to a whisper. "Because you knew if I died, the King would never learn the truth. But I didn't die, Voss. I've been here the whole time, wearing faces like gloves, watching you serve a king who would hang you if he knew the truth."

Voss's sword point dipped an inch. His breath came hard and fast, and for a moment, Malachai saw the soldier he'd known decades ago—young, hungry, loyal to a fault. A man who'd believed he was doing the right thing.

"Tell me," Malachai said softly. "Have you finally realized that there is no right thing? Only choices and their consequences?"

"I killed you once," Voss said through gritted teeth. "I can do it again."

"Can you?" Malachai's hand moved, and the onyx ring on his finger caught the candlelight. "Because if you strike me down now, the curse that binds the princess will bind her forever. Elara was right about that much. But I'm the only one who can unravel it—and I will, on my own terms, when the time is right."

"You expect me to believe you'll help her?"

"I expect you to believe that I want to live." Malachai smiled, thin and cold. "And the only way I live is if the princess breaks the curse willingly. Which means she must choose to forgive you first."

Voss's face went gray. "What?"

"She loves you, Commander. You've been her shield since she was a child. If she learns you killed her mother, she'll never trust anyone again—which means she'll never remove the ring, which means the curse will eventually consume her mind entirely." Malachai stepped closer, close enough that the sword pressed against his chest. "So you have a choice. Kill me now, and watch her fade into an empty shell. Or let me live, and tell her the truth yourself. Beg her forgiveness. Make her believe that even the worst crime can be redeemed."

"The debt," Voss rasped. "The King's debt. He called it in tonight. He asked me to end you."

"And here you are, servant to the end." Malachai's expression softened into something almost pitying. "But whose servant are you, really? A man who kills to protect his king? Or a man who kills to protect his own shame?"

Voss's sword trembled. His knuckles were white, the blade pressing a thin line of red against Malachai's chest. The sorcerer didn't flinch.

"Ten years," Voss said. "Ten years I've carried her death like a stone around my neck. And you—you've worn her killer's face every day, eating at her table, breathing her air."

"I have worn many faces," Malachai agreed. "But I never wore hers. That weight is yours alone."

Something broke in Voss's expression. The rage that had carried him through the palace corridors drained out of him like water from a cracked vessel, and the sword lowered an inch, then another, until the point rested on the marble floor.

Malachai watched him, patient as a spider. "What will you tell her?"

"The truth." Voss's voice was hollow. "She deserves that much."

"She forgets it every night, you know. Whatever you confess tonight will be gone by morning." Malachai's smile returned. "But I'll remember. And I'll make sure she knows exactly what you are—when the time is right."

Voss looked up. His eyes were wet, but his jaw was set. "You'll tell her?"

"I'll tell her everything. In time." Malachai turned away, walking back toward the dais. "Go, Commander. Fetch your ledger, write your confession if you must. But know this—when the curse breaks, when the ring falls from her finger, there will be a reckoning. And I intend to be there to watch it."

Voss stood alone in the throne room for a long moment, sword hanging limp at his side. The candles guttered, and somewhere in the palace, a clock began to strike midnight.

He turned and walked out, but not toward the princess's chambers. He walked toward his office, where the secret passage still yawned open beneath the floor, where Elara's empty cell waited in the dark. And it was there, in the silence of the underground, that he knelt and wept for the first time in a decade.

But when he rose, his face was stone again, and he climbed the stairs with a purpose that had nothing to do with forgiveness.

He was going to find Anya. And he was going to tell her everything.

Even if she forgot it by morning.