Chapter 23 · The Lock He Left Behind

"You lied to me for three weeks." I didn't look at Virrak. I kept my eyes on the metal box sitting in the center of the map table. Blood—my blood—still glowed faintly on the parchment underneath it, tracing out grids I didn't understand and an army I couldn't see.

"I didn't lie," Virrak said. His voice was steady. Too steady. "I didn't tell you. That's different."

"That's exactly the same."

"No." He moved closer. I heard the scrape of his boot on stone. "A lie is when I say the council wants you back. The truth is they want you dead, and I've known that since the day they exiled you."

I turned. He stood three feet away, arms crossed, expression hard as the frozen ground outside. The torchlight made the scar across his jaw look deeper.

"And you thought I'd be fine with that?"

"I thought you'd survive long enough to matter," he said. "I was right."

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to walk out. Instead I looked back at the box. It was small, iron, covered in scratches and dents like it had been dropped more than once. No keyhole.