That’s when I see the people.
They lean over railings and windowsills, faces twisted with anger, betrayal and hatred. They hurl their red emblems of allegiance at us—atme.
The dragon’s low warning growl pulls my attention. A small crowd has formed behind us, following, their expressions hard and furious. The closest man must catch the confusion on my face.
“We know what you did!” he shouts.
For a fleeting, foolish moment, hope sparks. Maybe they know I saved them from Calista’s destruction. Maybe casting off the red means they’ve rejectedher.
Then another male voice cuts through.
“Traitor!”
“The Sibyls announced it!” a woman yells. “You forfeited, gave up your power to Zyrel! You tricked the good people of Calcatra!”
The street erupts with shouts before I can even open my mouth. So I keep walking.
And with every step, the realization sinks: no one, not even the Sibyls, understands why I did what I did. How could they? There were no Divinity Gazes to witness the atrocity that unfolded.
To them and to the world, I abandoned victory for no apparent reason. I betrayed them.
My hands begin to shake. Not only did I fail the thousands who trusted me, but they believe Ichoseto do it. I might convince the women of my temple that I fought until the very end—and even that is uncertain, after all the death they saw me wreak at Rust Hollow—butthe rest?
Who would ever believe me?
I quicken my pace, desperate to reach the inn, to lock myself away from the world I have so thoroughly failed. But the crowd takes it as guilt. As retreat. Their shouts grow louder.
“Traitor!”
“Coward!”
“Liar!”
“Murderer!”
Something strikes my leg.
A potato. Another hits my shoulder. The dragon snaps toward the source, a warning growl rumbling through her chest. I press my hand to her side, urging restraint as more vegetables and trash fly. We move faster.
My only concern is Peonica, shielding her from the barrage of debris. Relief floods me when the dragon folds her gnarled wings protectively over my sister’s body. I can endure anything they throw at me. But if even one of them were to strike my sister, I don’t know if I’d have the restraint to stop myself—or my magic—from retaliating.
The inn finally comes into view.
Whether it’s the dragon sliding Peonica carefully into my arms before wheeling on the crowd with a deafening roar, or the fact that everyone knows better than to cross Micheline, the mob doesn’t press closer.
As I step through the inn’s door, one final shout follows me inside.
“You’re no ray of light! You’re the ray of blood!”
After laying Peonica in bed upstairs, I go straight to the bar, where Micheline is already serving her regulars. I slouch by the bar. Micheline’s scrutinizing gaze darts towards the green dragon slumped outside the doors, unable to fit through the doorframe. A small crowd of people gathers to point and gasp, no one daring to get too close. This can’t be good for business.
“New pet?” the proprietress asks.
“Don’t ask.” I shake my head and lean over to grab a bottle of whiskey, then take a gulp. The hot liquid burns as it slides down into my empty stomach.
Micheline takes a deep, sorrowful breath, glancing at the Divinity Gazes that light up. Soon, the Threadbinding ceremony will begin, and the Sibyls will officially announce Zyrel as the new Archpriest of the kingdom of Calcatra.
I look away.
