Chapter 11 · The Death Order

"You don't get to die before you answer me."

My palm stayed pressed over the oath mark at Dorian's throat. His skin burned under my hand, too hot and too dry, while the same pain twisted through my ribs. Every breath he took scraped through my chest like broken glass.

Dorian caught my wrist. His grip was weak, but he still tried to pull me off him.

"Move your hand."

"No."

"Mara."

"You told me you saw Calder's fake memory." I leaned closer, my knees braced against the cracked stone floor. "You knew I hadn't killed the heir. You knew the evidence was forged. So why did you put chains on me?"

His jaw tightened. The blue lines around the oath mark pulsed beneath my fingers.

"Because Calder gave me a death order."

The memory cylinder hovered over the old archive well, throwing pale light across his face. The projection had frozen on the younger version of me, one hand wrapped around a knife, my mouth open around words the cylinder had failed to play.

The younger Dorian stood behind me in the recording. His uniform was clean. His face was harder.