Secondary witness. That means Lucien’s already spoken to them. Did he tell them the truth? No—if he did, I would already be in chains. So he must’ve lied. But if I don’t tell them the same story, then I’ll suddenly become a magnet for suspicion. And if the ministers dig into my story, they’ll surely find who—what—I really am. And I can’t afford to be thrown in the dungeon and tortured. Not while the valkerax is on such a short lease of life.

I focus my eyes on the throne, on King’s Sref’s still, expressionless face. Lucien learned that particular move from his father, not Varia. The other ministers watch me with judgmental eyes. The Minister of the Blood was the one who sneaked me into the Vetrisian court with some bribes on Y’shennria’s part, undoubtedly not knowing I was truly a Heartless, but he’s definitely not on my side anymore. At this moment, I have no allies at all.

you have me and only me.

Even though Varia has returned, even though the king is happier now, he still retains that persistent air of perfect calm. His mask is, and always has been, impeccable. He knows I’m a Heartless, a creature he’s spent his whole life fighting and killing, and yet nothing betrays on his face. Varia told him I was benign, and it shows. He trusts Varia wholly. How can any father not want to trust his child?

“I understand,” I say quietly. The Minister of the Blood sits back down in his chair and motions to the king.

“Your Majesty, we may begin with the inquiry.”

The king’s gray eyes move over my face as he straightens in his throne. His voice is quiet, somehow downtrodden despite the fact that he’s been so happy lately. Is this because of Gavik, perhaps? In the king’s eyes, Gavik was someone for him to rely on. My mind flashes to Varia. How much self-control must she have had, after being forced to hide for five years, to not tell her father who forced her to hide in the first place?

My lips open, and for a moment I think the barest thought of telling the king Varia is a witch. It rests ready and willing in the fibers of my tongue: Varia is a witch. It sears through my blood and surfaces into my throat, but as quickly as it rises, the heavy, total iron block of the thought of getting my heart back snuffs it out.

“Lady Zera,” the king says slowly. “I will ask only once. In that clearing, did you see who murdered the archduke?”

I have to lie to the king. Anything less and he’ll have me arrested, tortured, used as a wartime test subject for the polymaths within Vetris.

I inhale, pause, and then, “No, Your Majesty. Everything was a blur.”