Out of the Grave: A Dark Fantasy (The Shedim Rebellion Book 2) Read Free

across her face, but her green eyes shimmered. Hours after giving birth, she looked unnaturally pale, her ghostly cheekbones made more white by raven hair and dark circles beneath her eyes.
    Everyone feared the heir had been kidnapped, but Tyrus suspected the truth. Ishma had sent the newborn away and planned a poor revolt against her husband. Most of his life was spent guarding the royal couple until they started a war on each other. He dreaded choosing between them, but the choice was simple. Ishma came first. He would have died a dutiful death for Azmon: stoic, honorable, and perhaps futile. For Ishma, he committed crimes, betrayed his oaths, and murdered his own soldiers. She inspired the worst butchery.
    He remembered holding her and worrying that the heir was alone on the night road. His armor kept her warmth at a distance. People could call him dark names, but he had never dishonored Ishma.
    She leaned into him. “I never wanted any of this.”
    “I am still your guardian. I will protect your daughter.”
    “You’d kill her if Azmon asked you to.”
    “You think I could do that? To a baby?”
    “Look at what we’ve become. We use those… monsters to destroy paradise. My own people want to murder me. The whole world wants us dead.”
    Torn between comforting her and watching her bedchamber door for servants, he didn’t know what to do. Ladies of Rosh did not embrace soldiers.
    “Ishma, this is not proper.”
    “I know.”
    “If anyone should see you being so informal—”
    “Even you fear him?”
    “No, but I fear for you.” Tyrus waited for her to stop, but she clung to his armor. “You will anger Azmon.”
    In his memory, he downplayed the unpleasant parts. Ishma survived at court by being as devious and manipulative as any noble, but he preferred to think of her as the victim. She had sacrificed everything to protect her daughter.
    She asked, “Do you remember the Fardur Pass?”
    “Of course.”
    “I think about it all the time. What if we had taken a turn and never went to Rosh? What if—?”
    “The Hurrians would have run us down.”
    “You could have killed them. I know it. With time to heal, you could have done anything.”
    He heard a strangeness in her voice. They never spoke of Fardur Pass. She sounded distraught, suicidal. She would have to be to steal the emperor’s child, but Tyrus had not understood that then. Maybe she had lost hope before getting pregnant. Only days later, while chasing down the kidnapper, had he fully understood. If he had listened better, had paid attention to the little details, he might have saved her then.
    Recriminations ruined the memory. He should have found a way to save them both. Instead he had rescued a baby and left Ishma behind. Looking back on it, he saw a dozen options, but at the time he had improvised and skirted disaster.
    Drip-drop.
    The heavy door creaked open, and Klay hesitated before entering. The torch had gone out, leaving the cell dark and quiet. Klay stepped into the hallway and returned with a new torch. They both saw in the dark, but the theatrics were for Biral. Tyrus stood in the corner, lost in his memories. At some point, Biral had passed out, and Tyrus had not noticed. He grimaced. They would revive him and begin again.
    Klay asked, “What did you do?”
    “Nothing.”
    Klay checked Biral’s pulse before calling to the hallway for blankets. “Last thing we need is him catching his death.”
    “He knows nothing.”
    “That isn’t how this works. You never take the first answers. We question them for days and see if their stories change. The less they change, the more they are lying.”
    “That makes no sense.”
    “The more rehearsed the lies, the less they change. Real memories change. You remember more the longer you think about it. We ask the same questions dozens of different ways to see what changes.”
    “I need to know if Ishma lives.”
    “Leave this work to us.” Klay attempted a smile. He was a young man,