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I flinched, and Marth nodded, his gaze still on the wild garden below us. “That’s where Lorian is right now. I had to look Sybella in the face, knowing I am one of the reasons Cavis isn’t coming home.”
I couldn’t imagine how painful it had been. Marth and Cavis had been friends for decades. He’d treated Sybella as a younger sister, gently teasing her and spoiling Piperia.
“You’re not to blame, Marth.”
“Spare me your meaningless platitudes.”
“Tell me, then,” I said, attempting to keep my voice calm, level. “Tell me how it’s your fault.”
He slowly turned his head. And for the first time since I’d met him, he looked truly dangerous. “You want to hear all about how I failed my best friend? Do you enjoy tearing scabs from other people’s wounds, Prisca?”
Plucking the bottle of wine from his hand, I took a long drink, ignoring his growl. He snatched it back, and I faced him. “I don’t see any scab, Marth. I just see a bleeding wound that you refuse to let heal.”
He sneered. “You’re one to talk. Have you cried yet, Pris?”
“We’re not talking about me.”
“That’s convenient.”
I’d known he was in a dark place. So had Lorian. But I hadn’t realized just how bad it was.
“Cavis would—”
“Don’t talk to me about what Cavis would want. Cavis would want to be here right now, with his baby in his arms and his woman by his side. And he’s not, because I paid no fucking attention when he told me he was seeing things. When he talked about strange dreams involving webs.”
Oh gods.
My mind threw me back to the night at the inn, soon after Thol had arrived. I’d found Cavis wandering the hall, clearly exhausted. Confused.
Not one of us had paid attention. It had never occurred to us that Regner could have gotten to Cavis.
My throat ached, and I pressed my hands to my eyes.
“You can’tblame yourself, Marth. No one else noticed either.”
“I spent the most time with him out of everyone,” he snarled. “But I was so busy being focused on my next fuck, I didn’t listen to him when he told me he was losing time. He’d still be here if I’d paid attention. So don’t tell me it’s not my fault.”
I lifted my head. He’d raised the bottle to his mouth again, and I reached for it. I tugged, and when he let go, I wasn’t expecting it.
The bottle slipped out of my hands, smashed against the marble, and splattered both of us.
I stared down at my dress. It looked as if it was covered in blood.
Marth shook his head. “That was your first mistake today, Prisca. Pretty dresses don’t belong in your future. The only things either of us have to look forward to are more blood and death.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Marth refused to discuss the subject any further. Instead, he’d found another bottle of wine, ignoring me until I left him alone.
Making my way back to my room, I swapped the wine-stained dress for leather leggings and a tunic, Marth’s words playing on a loop in my head.
“Pretty dresses don’t belong in your future. The only thing either of us has to look forward to is more blood and death.”
He was probably right. Pulling my hair into a thick braid, I went in search of the training arena.
A fae woman pointed me in the right direction, and I walked down a winding stone stairwell beneath the castle. The walls seemed to close in on me, but I managed to breathe through the claustrophobia, silently counting the steps until the stairs widened and I emerged into an open cavern.
The arena was illuminated by fae orbs, along with clusters of glowing crystals. Equipment stations had been set up around the perimeter—balance beams, climbing walls, weapon racks, and archery targets. I was underground, but the ceiling was so high, the space felt expansive.
