Текст книги "The wolf and the crown of blood"

Автор книги: Elizabeth May

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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

45

BRYONY

THE PALACE MATERIALIZES out of the mist as Evander dips into a tight spiral. Towers of opalescent stone cut through the clouds, their surfaces catching the sunset and breaking it into red and gold shards. The compound spreads across the mountainside as if someone had carved it directly from the peaks.

This is Alexios’ palace? I ask Evander.

Silence. Like a psychic door slamming in my face.

Still sulking, I see. Lovely.

Evander dives, sending my stomach plummeting. Details resolve as we plunge closer—gold and silver tiles on the roofs, copper accents glinting along the crenelated battlements and turrets. The entire place gleams red and gold in the waning sunset.

Everything rests on a precipice of rugged rocks. Teal runes flare on the walls, humming with power—the magical equivalent of a raised portcullis.

We soar over the manicured gardens dotted with pale winter blooms. Frost rimes the topiaries and fountains, the spitting streams frozen into glittering crystal arcs. Courtiers wander down the paths in silk dresses, dripping in glowing gems with trapped flames.

The flagstones rush up to meet us—until Evander snaps his wings out, bringing us to a jarring halt. I fight down a surge of nausea as he sets me on my feet.

Alexios lands beside us in a flurry of feathers. Bastien touches down a beat after that, his wings a shifting shroud of shadow.

“Blade,” Alexios says coolly, “escort Evander to the cells. Princess, you’re with me. I’ll show you to your room.”

I brush my hair out of my face. “No thanks. I’ll stay with Evander.”

Evander makes a furious sound from behind me. “Go with him.”

I whirl. “Oh, now you’ve decided to acknowledge that I exist? How big of you.”

He just glowers at me.

Alexios’ burning gaze flicks between us. “Spare me the lovers’ quarrel. If the girl wants to wallow in a cold dungeon all night, that’s her prerogative. Blade, take her to the Wolf’s cell, but don’t let her inside. If he gives you any trouble, remind him what it feels like to be in the pit.”

“Understood,” Bastien says. He turns his void-dark stare on me and Evander. “Come with me.”

We fall into step behind him as he stalks off down the path. The breeze carries snippets of hushed conversation from the courtiers, and I feel their stares as I follow Bastien through the looming doors into the palace.

The atrium unfolds before me in a dizzying sprawl of polished marble. Columns wrapped in gold vines rise on both sides, supporting arches adorned with delicate metalwork. Chandeliers scatter light across the glossy floors. To my left is a fountain shaped like a serpent with water burbling from its open jaws.

Courtiers linger through the halls in a sea of multicolored wings—vibrant purples and emerald greens, deep indigos and ambers. Their cold stares sweep over me, some openly repulsed, others unreadable. No one offers a reassuring smile as we pass.

Every conversation dies the deeper we walk through the halls. My skin prickles with the electric hum of their power, as if they’re braced for a threat.

Their stares keep dropping to my wrist—to the glowing eight-pointed star that marks me as the Wolf’s Chosen—but there’s no awe in the staring. All I see is disgust. Contempt. As if I’ve stolen something that was never meant for me.

It takes a moment for it to fully sink in—I’m not just a human; I’m a Devaliant. Some of these demis probably watched my ancestors butcher their families. I’m sure they’d rip me apart without Evander’s mark protecting me.

“You good?” Evander’s deep rumble snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts.

I swallow hard and nod. Evander’s brow furrows like he wants to say something else, but—

“Wolf.”

We both turn as a familiar demigoddess with dark hair and silver wings stalks toward us. Arcadia. The demigoddess who’d touched Evander in the garden that day like she’d done it a thousand times before. Who’d grabbed him for a kiss like she owned him.

She doesn’t slow down or hesitate, just storms up to Evander and slaps him across the face. He staggers back a step, a red print already blooming on his cheek.

“You soulbonded with a Devaliant?” Arcadia hisses, wings flaring. “Have you lost your fucking mind? Did someone knock the last shred of sense out of your skull when I wasn’t looking? Or did you just decide to spit on everything we lost?”

A ripple goes through the assembled court. Shame scalds my cheeks. The back of my neck prickles as the weight of a hundred judgmental gazes settles on me.

“Lovely to see you too, Cady.” Evander rubs at his face. “Been practicing that slap? Got some real power behind it.”

Cady again. I know it’s stupid to be jealous. He’s lived for centuries before me. But the possessive part of me—the part I didn’t even know existed until Evander—wants to claw her eyes out.

“You think this is a joke?” The hardness in Arcadia’s voice cracks, revealing something raw beneath. Something that makes me want to look away. “Why her? Of all people, why would you Choose—” She swallows thickly and glances away.

I suddenly feel like I’m intruding on something private. Something I have no right to witness.

“Arcadia.” Bastien’s voice is oddly gentle. Like he knows exactly what she’s feeling. “That’s enough.”

She sends him a venomous look before whirling on me. Those mercury eyes dissect me from head to toe like I’m something she found rotting on the bottom of her boot. “You think you belong here?” she sneers. “You’ll never be one of us. The Wolf might have Chosen you, but you’re just a pet he’ll get bored with. You’re not a queen.”

She storms off. I stare after her, my blood roaring in my ears. Pet. The word burrows beneath my skin like a splinter. I’d been so focused on saving my sister and not dying that I hadn’t let myself consider the rest—that if I win Evander’s freedom, I won’t just be bound to a male.

I’ll rule beside an Eternal.

Bastien’s eyes meet mine, and I read the unspoken accusation: my presence is salt in old wounds, a living reminder of everything they lost.

Evander’s hand grazes the small of my back, steadying. “Eyes front. Don’t let them see you flinch.”

I nod, grateful for the grounding touch.

We leave the main hall, following Bastien down a labyrinth of corridors. With each turn we take, the press of bodies thins out until it’s just the three of us, our footfalls unnaturally loud.

Before long, we arrive at a spiral staircase delving deep into the crags of the mountain. More runes flare, bathing the walls in red as we descend, the air growing colder with every step. The lights from above fade until there’s nothing but the weak illumination of the sigils lighting our way.

At the bottom, cells line the narrow hallway. The torchlight catches on dark stains covering the floor. I’ve spent enough time in Hellevig’s temple to recognize dried blood when I see it.

“In,” Bastien orders his brother, swinging open the nearest cell.

Evander steps inside without argument. The cell is barely big enough for him to stretch his wings. He stands motionless, not even flinching as Bastien secures a set of thick cuffs around his wrists and ankles. The metal ignites, flaring with pale light as the restraints seal into place, and the stink of seared flesh fills the air. My gorge rises as I realize what I’m seeing.

Turpori steel. The only thing in the realm capable of suppressing an Eternal’s power.

“What happens if he fights?” I ask. My voice emerges steadier than I feel. “Alexios said something about a pit.”

“Where Evander was headed before your bargain.” Bastien winds a set of chains around Evander’s torso, immobilizing his wings. “Complete sensory deprivation. Magic-suppressant cuffs. A long climb through miles of dirt to reach the surface, depth depending on the king’s mood.”

A shudder runs through me. “You’ve experienced it?”

His hands pause as he tests the final cuff. A minute tell, his composure fracturing for the span of a blink. “Twelve years. It’s unpleasant.”

And then he’s striding from the cell and slamming the barred door behind him.

I sink to the floor and arrange myself against the wall, as close as I can get to the male on the other side.

Bastien looks at me, unreadable. As if he’s trying to puzzle out the shape of me. To slot me into predetermined boxes with neat, tidy labels.

“I’d advise selecting proper quarters,” he says. “A bed, a bath, a door that locks from the inside.”

I almost laugh. “Thanks, but I’m good here.”

His eyes narrow, and I know I’ve surprised him. Stepped outside whatever narrative he’s constructed for me. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He starts away, but I scramble to my feet and hurry after him.

“Wait.”

Bastien turns back, the broad line of his shoulders rigid.

“Why did you help me earlier?” The words tumble from me in a rush. “With Alexios. You didn’t have to talk me through that negotiation, but you did. Why?”

A pause. I watch the restless movements of his shadow wings. “Your mind was a smoldering wreck when I looked through it earlier. It offended me.”

“Oh,” I say faintly. “I can see how that would be unpleasant, but I’m not sure what it has to do with—”

“Buried in all that pathetic mess, I found what someone more sentimental might call love. For my brother.” His gaze flicks to Evander, then back to me. “He let me beat him half to death without fighting back. For you. When you’re involved, he clearly operates on a policy of idiocy, so keeping you alive seems like the most efficient option.”

“So you helped me for him?”

He glances back at Evander again. Something complicated moves across his face. “He loves you, and he’s survived enough loss to last ten lifetimes. But let me make one thing clear—if you’re the instrument of his destruction, I will personally make sure you spend whatever remains of your miserable life begging for death, and I won’t grant it. Ever.”

I nod, fighting back a cringe. “Has anyone ever mentioned you have all the social grace of a battering ram?”

“Lies are a waste of time.”

“Well. In the spirit of that honesty, I don’t suppose you’d help me again?” At his flat stare, I press on. “My uncle took daggers from me in Hellevig. Turpori steel—a gift from Evander. I think I may need them for my tests.”

Something cold and furious enters his features. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve miscalculated, if he’ll snap my neck. “Girl,” he says, very softly, “if you’d like to keep breathing, never mention my brother handing out my weapons again.”

Yikes. Okay. Well, I’m having doubts about whether I’ll survive this conversation intact.

“You know what?” I step back, hands up. “Forget I said anything. Great talk! Really productive!”

His eyes narrow. Then he turns away and strides off down the corridor. Such a charming male. Like talking to a rock, only less pleasant.

I sigh and return to my place beside Evander’s cell, easing onto the ground.

“Nemesis,” Evander says from the other side of the bars. “What in the name of fuck did you say to my brother? His face nearly arranged itself into an actual expression. It was like watching a statue contemplate murder.”

“You could have warned me that he was the one who forged my daggers. I would have gone to the grave never mentioning them.”

Evander winces. “Ah.”

“Your brother is… a lot. Did you know he flayed my thoughts wide open earlier?”

I decide not to mention the way Bastien laid bare all the messy, tangled snarls of feeling squirming in my chest where Evander is concerned. All that desperate wanting.

“Of course he did. Invasive prick.” He sighs. “I don’t know what I did to offend the stars that they cursed me with a lunatic of a Chosen. A madwoman intent on courting her own destruction.”

I just flash him a smile. “You’re welcome.”

“Don’t you dare sit there looking all innocent.” He gives his chains a pointed rattle for emphasis. “You haven’t done a single sane thing—”

“Which instance of insanity are we talking about? The one where I’m voluntarily sleeping in a dungeon, or the deal with Alexios? I’m doing my best to keep you on your toes.”

“Every single idiotic choice you’ve made since you ended up in my keeping, starting with me. I’m the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“But you’re my favorite bad idea.” I reach through the bars, wiggling my fingers in invitation. “Hold my hand. I need comfort.”

“No. If I weren’t chained up, I’d bite you for being such an insufferable pain in my ass.”

“Why did I tie myself to you again? Refresh my memory.”

“Temporary insanity?” A shrug. “Good dick?”

I angle myself to better see his face. “I love you. I suppose that’s the reason.”

He goes still, not even breathing—as if I’ve reached into his chest and squeezed his heart in my fist. “Loving me doesn’t mean throwing yourself on a blade for me, you impossible creature.”

“But that’s what happens when you tie your soul to someone else’s.” My fingers find his. “You get all of it. The ugly parts. The broken pieces. The stupid, reckless need to put yourself between them and pain. My methods are questionable, but my heart is sure.”

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Love isn’t pretty words and tender touches. It means standing in front of a blade meant for the one who holds your heart and bleeding so they don’t have to.

It means hurting to spare them from pain.

“You have no idea what’s coming,” he says, fingers tightening around mine. “The shit Alexios will put you through. He doesn’t play fair, and he doesn’t lose.”

“I’ve been playing games with men who want to hurt me my entire life, Wolf.”

I watch as the firelight from the wall sconces limns the angles of him gold, casting the rest in stark shadow. There’s a terrible beauty in those contrasts—the light and void, the dualities comprising this god I’ve bound myself to.

“Just tell me why,” he says softly. “Why make that bargain?”

“Because I can’t watch you suffer. Because you let me touch your wings after everything you said at the griefwood.” I stroke my thumb over his, slow and tender. “No one’s ever belonged to me before. That means I don’t run when things get too hard. I’m staying and fighting even if your people despise the queen you Chose.”

The bond shudders between us. I feel him, the fiery star-bright heart of him, even muted by the Turpori steel cuffs. If he didn’t have those on, I know I’d experience a swell of emotion like back in the clearing, as if his love for me was a blaze devouring us both.

“I don’t remember when I stopped hating you,” he murmurs. “I lied when I said I did. You were so bright, it hurt to look at you, and I hated what that did to me.” A ragged inhale, like every word is being dragged out of him. “I’d rotted in my own pain for centuries. Then you swept in—a living reminder of my grief—and suddenly I couldn’t breathe through how badly I needed you. It’s hard to let go of hurt. But they’ll adore you. Because I did. I do.”

My smile goes soft. “I think that makes you a good male.”

“Only for you, vicious girl. And you don’t have permission to die on me. Come back to me every night. Swear it.”

“I swear.”

“Good. Because if you don’t, I’ll rip apart the Void between this world and whatever comes after. And I’ll never let you out of my sight again.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat or a promise?”

“Both.” He brings our joined hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “Always both with us.”

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46

BRYONY

I BARELY MANAGE an hour of sleep all night. The dungeon’s damp seeps through my clothes, settling in until I can’t remember what warmth feels like.

“Get up. I can hear your teeth chattering all the way over here.”

I peel my lids open to find Evander watching me from his cell, his amber eyes glowing in the shadows. His chains clink together as he shifts closer to the bars separating us.

“There’s a big comfortable bed upstairs with my name on it,” he says. “Use it before you freeze to death.”

I tip my head against the wall behind me. “What kind of Chosen would I be if I abandoned my post?”

He lets out an irritated huff. “A live one.”

Before he can lecture me further, footsteps echo down the corridor. A servant rounds the corner, pale green wings tucked tight to his back like he can’t bear the thought of this place sullying them.

“The king summons you to the dining hall, Princess.”

“Be careful, Chosen,” Evander says.

I offer him a wry smile as I push to my feet. “Aren’t I always?”

“No. That’s what worries me.”

The servant doesn’t wait. He turns sharply on his heel, expecting me to follow. I head after him through the winding corridors to the upper levels, where the chill of the dungeon gradually gives way to warmth. I shake feeling back into my numb fingers as we head through the corridors.

The palace shines even more in the daylight. Tall, arched windows line the hallway, offering views of the snowy mountains beyond, with the deep vermilion hues of mid-morning light catching on the iridescent blue veins in the marble.

A few courtiers linger in the halls. They go quiet, sending me hostile looks as I pass, and I try not to fidget under the intensity of their stares. Arcadia’s words echo through my memory.

You’ll only ever be his pet. Not his queen.

We come to an imposing set of double doors. The servant pushes them open, spilling warm light into the hallway.

The dining hall takes my breath away. White marble columns rise up to support an arched glass ceiling. Above, the sky is a perfect crystalline blue. Chandeliers hang in midair, suspended by nothing I can see, slowly turning to cast rainbow patterns across the glossy floor.

At the center of the chamber sits a table laden with food. Meat glistens with honey and herbs, fruits overflow in golden bowls, and bottles of wine stand ready to pour. The mingled scents of cinnamon, clove, and anise permeate the air, making my stomach twist with hunger.

Alexios lounges at the head of the table in an imposing thronelike chair, his prodigious wings draped around his shoulders. Tiny sections of his hair are braided at his temples, pulling the black strands away from his face. He wears a leather jerkin that’s worn in places—a warrior’s clothes rather than a king’s, revealing the tattoos covering his arms. The script along his forearms leads into constellations on his biceps.

When his burning crimson eyes meet mine, I see the calculation kindling in their depths. Like he’s imagining how my organs would look arranged across his fancy table.

“You look half frozen.” He tips his head, still studying me. “Though I suppose that’s what happens when you insist on staying in the dungeons.”

I cross my arms. “I’m sure my comfort is low on your list of priorities. Just above watching paint dry.”

His lips twitch in what might generously be called a smile, then his gaze drops to the chair at his right. “Sit. Even half-frozen Devaliants need to eat.”

Not with a knife aimed at their bellies, I nearly snap.

But I clamp my teeth around the words and sit.

“Eat,” Alexios orders.

Everything in me rails against obeying, but I have to be smart about this and choose my battles.

So I fill my plate with whatever is in front of me, spear a morsel of meat, and slip it between my lips. It’s almost offensive how good it tastes. I force down a moan and eat. Chew, swallow. Chew, swallow. By the time my plate is clean, I feel marginally more human. I set down my cutlery and lace my fingers in my lap, staring at him with all the poise expected of a princess.

“There,” he says, satisfied. “A simple lesson in obedience. You can be taught.”

“I was hungry. If you expect a trained pet, you’re going to be disappointed.”

He studies me like I’m an interesting insect he’s considering crushing. “You’re nothing like her. Amalthea. When she came begging during the war, she called me her salvation while her kingdom burned. The war had gone on for decades, and she was half mad with grief. But then, so was I. It’s funny how pride crumbles when you’re choking on ashes.”

I don’t let my attention waver from his. I spent too damn long on that altar to be afraid of him now. “Amalthea Devaliant drowned herself in the bathtub ten years after the Accords. Did you know that?”

Nothing. Not a flicker of regret or empathy in that beautiful, cruel face. “I’d heard something to that effect. And I can feel it when my Claimed die, little sacrifice.”

“Then I assume you can feel the fact that Devaliants don’t make it past fifty because sacrificing ourselves for your precious Shroud drives us all to madness. Or do you not care about that little detail?”

There it is. The change in the air. A building pressure against my skin. “You don’t want to ask me what I think your family deserves. You won’t like my answer. You ought to be grateful I let any of you live at all.”

I let him see all my hatred. The anger that’s been festering with every death, since my uncle took me to the Duehavn and sacrificed me to this god like I was nothing. “I died over and over while you lounged in your palace, and then you yanked away my protection on a whim, so excuse me if I’m not feeling grateful.”

The temperature plummets. Pressure builds against my eardrums like I’m sinking to the bottom of a lake. I can’t move. Storm clouds gather past the glass dome of the ceiling.

“Is that what you think I’ve been doing?” He’d seem calm were it not for the sudden rumble of thunder outside and the sudden pulsing glow of those blood-red eyes. “Lounging?”

The chandelier above us trembles, and lightning skitters across his skin. I can’t breathe—the air has turned solid in my lungs.

Then he blinks.

The clouds vanish like they never existed. The pressure releases. I gasp, sucking in air like I’ve been drowning, my fingers clutching the table’s edge.

“Yes, I suppose it must have seemed that way to you,” he says, almost gentle now.

I’ve struck a nerve. The realization should be a victory, but all I feel is the certainty that I’m about to pay for my mistake.

Alexios’ eyes flick to a servant. “The Blade. Is he still here?”

“Yes, my king.”

“Get him.”

The servant hurries off.

Alexios settles back in his chair, just watching me.

“Another threat?” I ask.

He smiles. “No. I’m feeling indulgent.”

Footsteps approach, and Bastien strides through the doorway, his shadow wings rippling behind. White hair falls carelessly across his forehead, softening the sharp angles of his face. Snowflakes are dusted along the shoulders of his long coat. Evander’s brother looks like a creature of winter, of ice, and dark, cold evenings.

He clasps his gloved hands behind his back. “You called?”

“The Wolf’s human seems confused about my duties.” Alexios’ voice holds dark amusement. “You’re uniquely qualified to deliver a lesson.”

“Which aspects?”

Alexios props his chin on his fist, studying me. “Yes, I suppose she’s used to incompetent rulers, isn’t she? The kind who drink themselves stupid while their kingdoms crumble. Don’t bother with court sessions and territory maintenance. Focus on my additional obligations.”

Bastien’s void-dark gaze cuts to me. “You want me to quantify the Shroud’s metaphysical burden?”

“In terms blunt enough that a dense child could grasp them, yes.”

Bastien nods and steps toward me. I flinch back instinctively. His power rises, a dark wave threatening to crash over me—

“Wait.” Alexios crooks a finger at me. “Here, Princess. I want you close for this. Skin to skin.”

So, this is to be an intimate dissection.

My heart slams as I peel myself out of the chair. Alexios grips my wrist and tugs me down into his lap, sliding an arm around my waist. I can feel every inch where we touch—the heat of him through my clothes, his chest against my back expanding with each breath. He smells of woodsmoke and thunderstorms.

His thumb brushes Evander’s Claim on my wrist, the touch almost contemplative as he traces the points of the star. “There we go. Much better.” He turns his attention to Bastien. “Link our minds but keep the barriers solid. I’d rather not have the Wolf battering down my door because I’m touching what’s his.”

Bastien’s gloved hand finds my nape. His grip tightens past the point of comfort as he splays his other palm over Alexios’ brow.

“Breathe,” Bastien instructs. Then, “Open.”

And seven thousand years of consciousness slams into me without mercy.

Alexios’ thoughts slice through mine like broken glass, leaving bleeding cuts behind. I try to fight, to push back, to find some corner of my mind that still belongs to me, but there’s no escaping him. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but drown in him.

“Shh, easy.” His fingers slide into my hair, smoothing it back. “Struggling will only make it worse, trust me.”

And then the voices start.

At first, they’re just whispers. Distant conversations I can almost understand—but they multiply, growing louder, more desperate, seeping through the cracks of my consciousness like water through broken stone.

The whispers become murmurs.

The murmurs become words.

The words become screams.

Thousands of them. Millions. All crying out at once—prayers and pleas and curses and secrets, pouring into me until there’s no room left for anything else. My skull is too small to contain them all.

A sound escapes me—half sob, half whimper—and Alexios’ arms tighten around me in response. He’s not holding me to hurt me now; he’s holding me together.

“Do you hear them?” he asks in my ear. “That’s the smallest fraction of what crawls through my mind every second. Every prayer. Every fear. Every pathetic little whimper from everyone carrying my Claim.”

I try to answer but only manage a strangled whine. His hand slides up from my stomach, fingers encircling my throat in a hold that’s not quite a threat but far from gentle.

“I want you to imagine me going about my duties with this. Tending to the Shroud’s maintenance, spreading tithes through the foundations. Receiving the petitions from my people and making sure their needs are met. Visiting the memorials of the war’s fallen to honor our dead with all this fucking noise. And there you were,” he whispers, “thinking I was just sitting on my ass while you bled.”

His mental presence expands, sinking into my psyche and wrenching. Stars explode behind my eyes as pressure builds in my skull. I can’t contain him. I’m too fragile. Too human.

A raw animal scream claws its way out of my throat.

“Alexios,” Bastien says from somewhere far away, his usual monotone sharper. “Her limits—”

“Are not your concern.” Alexios’ fingers tighten on my throat, not enough to choke, just enough to remind me who’s in control. All of him pressed against all of me. “Our princess wanted to understand what I carry. I’m being generous enough to show her. Aren’t I, little sacrifice? I’m being indulgent, right?”

I’m coming undone. Splintering apart in his arms while he watches. My eyes roll back as his power surges again, and he just hums. Croons. Like he’s soothing a frightened animal.

“Let me show you the Shroud next. My favorite burden. Your ribs will feel it first, I think. Right… here.” His palm flattens against my sternum, fingers splayed wide. “Don’t worry. I won’t let them actually break. This is just… education.”

My chest constricts, invisible bands tightening. I strain for breath. Darkness smothers my periphery, and I’m sure my bones will crack. I dig my nails into his forearms, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t loosen his grip. His chest rises and falls against my back in that same calm rhythm while I’m suffocating in his power.

“The Shroud spans the breadth of the Duehavn mountains and plunges to the depths of the Rionese,” Alexios continues. “And every competent engineer knows the cost of skimping on the underpinnings. That pain in your chest? It’s a taste of the rot caused by Hellevig’s deficit when all those citizens decided your gates were preferable to the fingerprick I require. You created quite the fucking mess.”

Agony flares through me, and I finally try to speak. “P-Please.”

“So many selfish little leeches,” Alexios says, ignoring me, “gorging themselves on the fruits of my mercy while doing fuck all to shoulder the load.”

“The lesson is done,” comes Bastien’s voice. “Unless you want her brain leaking out her ears before your trials begin.”

For a terrifying moment, I think Alexios might rip me apart just to prove he can. His breath comes faster against my neck.

Then suddenly, blessedly, he withdraws.

The silence crashes over me. I scramble off his lap, the marble floor tilting beneath me. Then my stomach heaves. I double over and retch until my throat burns.

The stench of vomit clogs my nostrils. I stare down at my own sick, watching it blur and swim before my eyes.

“That,” Alexios says from behind me, “is a fraction of what I endure. Every single day, without rest or reprieve.” A rustle of fabric as he rises. “You think I lounge because you can’t fathom what goes into keeping this realm and yours at peace. The sacrifices I make. The cost.” He reaches my shoulder and leans down. “So consider very carefully,” he whispers in my ear, “how much longer my patience will last if you continue pushing me. And act accordingly.”

Then he’s stalking toward the arched doors. “Blade,” he calls without looking back, “get her to the nearest toilet. She’ll be vomiting again in roughly three minutes.”

“Fuck,” Bastien mutters, hauling me up. “He chose to stop. I failed to account for mental trauma in your negotiations. Remember that.”

Alexios was only off by thirty seconds.

*   *   *

An hour later, I step onto one of the palace balconies, wincing as sunlight reflects off the snow.

My head still pounds, but my stomach has settled. Bastien grudgingly brought me bread and tea after I cleaned up and changed. I’m wearing a pair of loose trousers and a plain shirt brought to me by the palace servants—too thin to keep me warm. Freezing to death would be a convenient end for me, I suppose.

The mountains loom in the distance, their jagged peaks obscured by wispy clouds. Far below, a half-frozen river snakes along the passes, glimmering like molten silver.

Alexios stands motionless at the railing as he stares out over his territory, his red and black feathers ruffling in the chilly breeze. I can’t help but study him, knowing that he’s enduring the clamor of human thoughts and the crushing force of the Shroud. The Eternal of Asteria hides his pain like a secret.