They were my only hope of avoiding this fight. If we retrieved them from Adastrus’ hiding place, I could prove my favor with the gods, and the rite would dissolve as if it were nothing more than a bad dream.
Yet that moment lingered out of reach.
My body ached from endless hours of sparring with Sainte, wrestling him with dagger against dagger. Each defeat ached like a personal failure. He taught me the simplest blocks, but I remained at a severe disadvantage. Adastrus, with his greater size and strength, wielded a shortsword that outmatched my reach. Despite my bravado in the dining hall, he was more skilled than I was. Anderz’s advice to keep my brother focused on our fight worked, as he spent his days training as intensely as I did.
It wouldn’t matter now. Without those stones, he’d kill me.
The morning of the rite dawned, and a sinking feeling settled in my gut. I rose to meet Anderz for breakfast, but the sight of food turned my stomach. He shook his head.
The God Stones remained lost.
I sat at my table, eyes closed, heart shattering into a thousand pieces. All this effort, wasted. Sainte hid me away for most of my life, and for what? I endured hunger, neglect, lived in squalor, only to face an early death.
At least my friends were well on their way back to Landing’s End, beyond my brother’s reach. He couldn’t harm them there.
Fragments of conversations from the high court echoed in my mind. Adastrus was closing the borders, preparing for something ominous—it felt like war.
My friend’s safety might be fleeting.
My gaze drifted across the room, finding Sainte against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes, darkened with shadows, stared into the distance, unseeing. He moved his jaw, teeth grinding, lost in his thoughts.
His life would be sacrificed.
As tradition dictated, when I died, he would take a blade to the heart, following me across the Veil… and I could do nothing to stop it.
Regret washed over me. I chose Sainte as my Valahant, binding him to a fate he didn’t deserve. He shouldn’t have to die for me. An overwhelming urge to tell him to run surged within, but I knew he wouldn’t.
Taking a deep breath, I turned to Anderz and forced a smile. “Pardon me, Counselor Dyre, I have a rite to prepare for.”
Anderz’s golden gaze softened as he sighed, shaking his head before pushing from the table. “We’ve done all we can,” he said, placing a warm hand on my shoulder. “You’ve surpassed every expectation.”
I closed my eyes, his words feeling like a farewell.
“Wynterborne will remember you.” He squeezed lightly, then stepped away.
I waited until his footsteps faded and the door whispered shut before glaring at the table, blinking back the threatening sting of tears. My heart shattered further with each beat. There were no more rites, no gods to invoke, no time to seek magical stones or plot a coup.
This marked the end of my story.
Historians would note the brief life of Wynterborne’s Lost Princess, ending with her brother clutching her head in front of an adoring crowd. Adastrus, firstborn to Veiled King Vardis, would have many years recorded—years that would see the downfall of Wynterborne. I felt the truth of that deep within my bones.
How could Togamar and Nothar let this happen? Nellium? Was it my fault? Had my disbelief kept them at bay? Would they punish an entire people for one person’s faulty faith?
“This is it, then?” I asked, voice cracking with emotion, a rogue tear slipping down my cheek.
“It has come to this,” Sainte rumbled, his eyes closing in silent pain. He rose, pushing himself off the wall and walked over to me, resting his hand on my shoulder.
“No hope of running now?” I half-sobbed, half-laughed.
He ground his teeth, shook his head, and wiped away the tear with his thumb. “For what it is worth… I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your–”
He silenced me with a finger over my lips. “I brought you here. This is my doing, Ellie.” His voice grew raspy, and he cleared his throat. “I am truly sorry.”
My smile wavered, and I pulled away from his stare, focusing on the table. Sometimes words weren’t needed. Assurances that didn’t ease the pain only added weight. This was one of those times.
Sainte was dying inside, convinced he led me to my demise. I harbored no blame toward him. Until now, we had a chance. He fought to shield me and salvage a realm—a daunting task for a lone recruiter. My hand found his, resting atop it, a brief respite from the impending storm—one last moment in this sanctuary from prying eyes and intrusive whispers. Ahead was only my death, a spectacle for the masses to witness.
