“What options do we have? Can the Priests of Nothar intervene? Or Togamar? She named the first Valahant, didn’t she?”
“That is where the conundrum lies. It is believed the prince regent moved against his Valahant because their bond was incomplete. The blame for his death would lie squarely on the regent’s shoulders. However, it was Grimm who struck first. They cannot advocate for an honorable funeral when he broke the velebond himself,” he explained, meeting my gaze. “But this could work in your favor. The people will be outraged, the priests unsettled. The temples will echo with–”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I spat, fingers clutching and tugging the hair near my scalp. “This isn’t all some political game! He was my friend! Sainte’s friend! There has to be something we can do! What of his family? Does he have a family?!” I demanded, scanning the two of them for answers.
Sainte shook his head, lips pressed tight. “He was an only son, and his parents perished in a Howl.”
“Then we will advocate for him. I’ll speak on his behalf.” My desperate gaze turned on Anderz. “The high court must have a say in this!”
“He was the prince’s Valahant. He has the authority to decide his final rites.”
I cursed and buried my head again. Lyana might not understand, but this was unjust. While I didn’t hold much faith in the gods, if this weighed so heavily on Sainte, it mattered.
“He chose to become the prince’s Valahant to protect Lady Lyana,” Anderz murmured under his breath. “He gave his life when he realized his sacrifice was for naught. Lady Lyana gave her body to save him, yet in the end, she could not. One would wonder how her story ends…”
Frustration boiled inside as I tugged at my hair, feeling the strands between my fingers. I despised this sense of helplessness, unable to act while my friends suffered. I’d been told to wait, to be patient. And I was sick of it.
“I want his heart.”
“Hmm?” Anderz startled, head jerking back in subtle disarray.
“I don’t care how you get it, or whose hands get dirty. Gods, I’ll cut it out myself if I have to!” I met his wide-eyed stare. “I want his heart.”
The old man studied me, his mind working to comprehend my request and its implications. After a moment of consideration, he nodded his agreement.
“It shall be delivered by morning.”
I heaved a sigh, the weight on my chest easing up just the slightest. Lyana was devout in her beliefs. She might not grasp Wynterian traditions, but she would value this gesture.
Anderz interrupted my thoughts, holding up the parchment with his slender fingers. He tested its weight before speaking, his gilded eyes burned with warning.
“This came for you,” he said, his tone somber. “I intended to wait, but there’s news. The third rite will commence tomorrow.”
Chapter 26
At dawn, a servant delivered a dark wooden box. In the privacy of my chambers, Sainte watched me open it. As I lifted the red and black silk inside, the scent of iron and flesh hit my nose. A large, bloody organ lay within, its surface slick and glistening in the dim light. I stared at it, fingers trembling. Heavy, damp air clung to my skin, and a metallic tang settled on my tongue.
Was this really what a human heart looked like?
I sought Sainte for assurance, and he clenched his jaw, giving a stiff nod. After a deep breath, I eased the lid shut. My fingers traced the carved swords and shield etched along the woodgrain, and a prayer for Grimm beyond the Veil escaped my lips.
I might not believe in the gods, but it just felt right.
Morning blurred by as seamstresses stitched a dress onto me. Sainte, ever modest, faced the door during the most revealing moments. Only when the dark green fabric fully concealed me did he turn.
The kiss of silk caressed my skin, cool and smooth. The thin material offered no warmth. Thick wool trousers layered beneath stopped at my knees, providing a semblance of heat, but I still shivered, my torso covered only by the evergreen fabric.
Gold-embroidered snowflakes began at the waist, condensing as they drifted to the hem. The full skirt demanded to be hiked up as I walked. As if the lack of layering on the top wasn’t enough, the seamstresses pulled the silk off my shoulders, gathering it over my arms to expose my collarbone. I frowned at the amount of skin exposed to the chill, but the women just tsked and worked around me.
They supplied a necklace with a large Tiger’s Eye gemstone at its center, with smaller sunstones embedded into the thin gilded chain. The gold ring placed onmy finger depicted a rearing griffon with emerald eyes framed by snowflakes and sunrays.
My signet, a gift from my father at birth.
I clenched my fist, and the sunstones set into the band caught the morning light.
I was ready.
After weaving golden leaves and polished citrine into my braid, they wrapped it around my head into a crown. The final touch, a soft fleece shawl with gold threads woven into the fibers. The maids laid it atop the table before they drifted out, giving me a moment before Anderz collected me.
