Another fork of lightning splits apart the shrieking silence, and the sky loosens its load, dropping a curtain of water between Rhordyn and I.
Neither of us blink.
He’s watching me, his scrutiny as heavy as my heart. But there’s something more there—like he’s reading every sharp breath, seeing past the skin he’s forced me to wear.
He’s checking for cracks, but I have none. All I have is blood on my hands and a honed resolve.
I have to go.
“Kavan, do you know where to find the morgue?” Rhordyn asks, voice monotone, stare unwavering.
I hear my guard step forward. “Yes, High Master. We’ve had a thorough tour of your castle ... more than once.”
I can’t help but feel that’s aimed at me.
“Take Mishka’s body and have her wrapped. Retrieve her cupla. Since her promised is from the Bahari capital, it’s nowyourresponsibility to return it to him.”
My throat clogs.
Her promised ...
“Vanth, you’ll send a priority sprite so the man has prior warning.”
There’s a long pause, then, “And what about Orla—”
Whatever question Vanth had dies on his tongue the moment Rhordyn turns his head, glancing over his shoulder at the man.
Vanth drops his head in a servile gesture. “Of course, High Master.”
I swallow as Mishka’s body is lifted, leaving nothing but a bloody, putrid stamp I can smell and feel, but can’t bring myself to look at.
Cainon was right. I dug my roots in—hid from a hurting world just as wounded as I am. Rhordyn may have slipped a mask over my face, but I was the one who chose to blind myself to the carnage.
Every second I spend here is another life lost. One more dream that’ll never manifest ...
I have to go.Now.
“Baze,” Rhordyn bites out, gaze narrowed on me again. “Make sure they find their way.”
“Sir.”
More retreating steps, until all that’s left are me and Rhordyn, a felled horse, and this frigid tension I want to shatter.
“This is not your weight to bear, Orlaith.”
“You’ve lost the right to dictate what’s important to me. You’re not my High Master anymore.”
His eyes flash luminescent. “You have no idea how wrong that statement is, Milaje. And fleeing Ocruth is not going to soothe the guilt you nourish simply because yousurvived.”
The allegation is slung at my soul, and I flinch—spine stiffening, fingers curling.
“Get out,” I snarl.
Get out of my head.
Rhordyn’s upper lip peels back. “Never.”
The word is volleyed at me like a threat ...
