“Should she fail,” Heira chastises, “the Gods will still expect blood to be spilled. They will not let this slide without punishment. Without an equal dose ofatonement.”
“So long as there’s something left of her for me to tuck away.”
Heira lifts her chin, looking at me down the line of her nose. “A public whipping. And a lifetime sheathed in a metal spur. You’ll also have to keep her out of the public eye so they believe the Gods have taken their due.”
“A sacrifice I’m willing to make.”
Silence stretches, and I can feel her thoughts churning in the whirl of wind between us. In the way she looks at me as though she’s worried Jakar might rip the sky apart and turn me to glass this very second. “The Gods will also expect extra donations to the cause.Healthyones.”
“Of course. They can be taken from the islands. I have an influx of refugees, and drownings are common with the high seas and rough weather. Especially at bay. It’ll be easy to explain to the mourning parents.”
Her eyes soften. “So be it, but you’re making a grave mistake.”
Probably, but I want Orlaith. Want the fire she ignites in me.
The fearless gleam in her eyes.
Want her to look at me the way she looks athim.For her to fall in love with the way I fuckingconsumeher.
My tongue tingles, and I swallow.
Heira’s gaze turns contemplative. “This was supposed to be political, but you’ve transfixed on the girl …”
I shrug, plucking another grape from the bowl and tossing it in my mouth, bursting it between my teeth. “Maybe.”
She releases a deep sigh, scouring me with a look that picks me apart. “Careful, my boy. Big feelings can wound.They can stab you in the chest while you’re sleeping. You know that better than most.”
I lift my cup and stare out across the city again.
Yes, I do.
The jungle opens into a verdant clearing drenched in sunlight and the smell of young grass, a lone tree at the center, long forgotten—as though the wild half swallowed it many moons ago. Its thick, bleached trunk is knotted and gnarled and pocked with gloomy holes no bigger than my fist, its branches strung with little rusted lanterns, the glass panes tarnished or smashed.
A mail tree.
We draw closer, moving beneath a stretch of pale branches that bear no leaves, and I’m led to the other side that’s cushioned by a dense shrub dusted in wee blue flowers that look like painted stars.
The sprite darts around the bush, then hovers, reminding me of the tiny nectar-eating birds that fluttered about the gardens at Castle Noir. She wiggles her fingers, gesturing for me to follow, then threads between the foliage and disappears.
Huh.
I glance over my shoulder at the Irilak nesting in the dense jungle shadows, watching, making my skin prickle. At least they don’t look so scared of me anymore.
The injured sprite quivers against me, and I tuck her closer to my warmth.
Rescue this life.
Make her safe.
I nudge some branches aside, revealing a small cleft in the tree’s trunk, its edges smooth. Tucking the sprite closer to my chest, I crouch and poke my head in, contorting my body as I wrestle past the bush, its twiggy fingers ripping at my clothes.
Sliding one leg into the cleft, I wriggle through to find myself in a tight cavity, dappled light filtering past the bush’s foliage. “Is this place common knowledge, or …”
The sprite hovering inside the entrance rattles off a string of unfamiliar words, then beckons me with a wave of her hand.
“Silly question,” I mutter, and clamber over a maze of gnarled roots to follow her down a hollow, the air rich with the smell of damp soil.
The faint drone of beating wings fills the space, and I frown.
