She missed him throwing up after.
Now the only thing that gave him even a moment of peace was the salt-smoke-mint smell still lingering in the blanket they’d once shared.
He didn’t know how many times he could cry into it before the smell of her would be lost for good.
More?asked the Owl clerk.
More, Fie said.
Khoda’s instructions had been simple: Fie would want to go into the catacombs, and Tavin would take her there. They would both be looking and listening for anything strange, and if he found anything, he was supposed to act surprised.
That had been the plan.
It had not involved Fie kissing him.
He should have known better, but she’d looked ill ever since stepping into the catacombs, and it was his own damn fault for fussing over her until she decided to shut him up, and twelve hells, he’d missed this. He’d missed her more with every heartbeat. It could all be nothing, it could just be her playing along, but he wanted to believe she missed him, too, he wanted it like a drowning man wanted air. If he didn’t look at the glamour on her face, he could pretend all was as it had been, that there were no lies, no secrets between them.
He could pretend she might forgive him.
And now he was inches away from committing a blasphemy with her on Ambra’s casket. Though, admittedly, blasphemy had been something of a hobby of his as of late.
She was supposed to hate him. He was supposed to make her hate him so that when this all came to a bloody end, it would hurt less—at least for her.
It was selfish, this, in the most terrible way. And it was one more sin she would never forgive.
“Do you see the problem?” he asked.
His mother looked at the repulsive decrees spread across her desk, delivered from the queen’s footman not an hour ago. “First off, I won’t approve a single one of these. She’ll have to wait until after the coronation to exercise her right to command the military.”
Tavin had taken a gamble, reaching out to his mother after Aunt Jasindra’s room had burned. From Rhusana’s panic, whatever had been in there was critical to her, and from the shift he’d seen in people around them, he had a hunch what that was.
His mother had all but confirmed it, the loss of Rhusana’s influence, as she’d merrily issued orders to light the plague beacons.
“Look closer,” Tavin said.
Draga did. Then she covered her mouth.
“It looked close enough. Rhusana didn’t check further.” It was one of his prouder moments: every single order Rhusana had put in front of him was signed not withJasimirbutJasindra. Every one was worthless.
Except for one. He pulled a parchment from his sleeve, one signed by both Jasimir and Rhusana and bearing the royal seal. “I have a proposal,” he said. “And I think you’ll approve.”
“You know this is it,” Khoda said.
It was only hours before Rhusana’s final ball. He was ready, or at least he thought he was.
He’d done everything he could.
“The master-general won’t chase you. But getting out, that’s on you. Fie and Jasimir will have their hands full.” Khoda shook hishead. “If you can make it to the Shattered Bay, give my name to the ferrywoman who works the sundown shift. She can make arrangements to get you across the sea. But there will be no place in Sabor for you after tonight.”
Tavin let out a short, harsh laugh, one that made Khoda give him a sidelong look. “Did you think there ever was?” he asked.
He’d done everything he could, given everything he could. He had no more left to sacrifice.
By every dead god, he hoped it would be enough.
The teeth did not offer her more, and Fie did not ask this time.
She sat in the garden, teeth clenched so tight in her palm that a distant part of her thought she might draw blood.
