Page 86 of The Castle & the Cloister

XXV

Let us find each other in the space between the stars, in the dark of the moon, in the eclipsing of the sun. If there be no place for us in the light, then in the shadows we will meet. Better you than sight. Better you than hearing. Better you than sweetness on the air or the tongue, than warmth or wealth or comfort.

—A CORRINIAN LOVERS’ PLEDGE

Every beat of Ariana’s heart tolled a death knell.

Orden was gone.

Gone.

Gone.

And only now, fool that she was, did she understand the extent to which she’d cared for him. Things had always been difficult between them—they could never have been anything else. But he’d been her salvation when she so desperately needed it, putting her beyond the reach of little knives and their callings, and giving her a way to work for peace with… well, not clean hands. But cleaner hands than she’d have had if she’d bowed to her Matria’s will and become a holy assassin. She had loved him for that, and in spite of herself, in spite of Blessed Lyria, she’d loved him for who he was.

At first, she’d refused to believe he could really be dead. She’d known she needed to act, to ensure Fia was not declared guilty of regicide, and the cloister by association, thoughwhatFia had been doing in the king’schambers, the Beloved Three only knew. Orden had promised not to involve her in his plans until later, when the way to claiming the cloister was clear. But he was eager and impetuous—no doubt he’d wanted to hurry things along. So Ariana had been forced to claim her husband’s death, while telling herself it couldn’t be true. When he returned, he’d laugh his deep, reverberating laugh, sweep her into his arms, and tell her that she’d done well in weathering his absence. That her regard and her strength were his greatest pride.

Surely, surely, a man like Orden Inver couldn’t actually be killed.

Then Lucian had clapped her in irons, and Ariana began to grow cold inside. Orden would never have allowed that, no matter the circumstances. Now she sat in a cell with guilt gnawing at her, eating away at her soul with each passing hour. She should have done better. Should have been better. Should have found a way to prevent the new war that had earned Orden so much ire. Should have handled him more carefully, and understood why he chose this path…

Ariana retreated into herself. She knew it was essential to find some form of grounding—at any moment, Lucian might appear with whatever arcane and sadistic devices he used to torment political dissidents or treacherous nobles or Vesperin prisoners of war. But it was difficult, without her goddess. She couldn’t pray. Couldn’t sing. Couldn’t drop into the vast sea of silence and perfect serenity that was Lyria’s heart, and her gift to her children.

None of that was meant for Ariana now, nor was she worthy of it any longer. So she sat in the gloom of a stone cell and tried to count her breaths. The occasional half-mad cries of other prisoners kept stealing her focus, shattering what little concentration remained. Her mind fragmented, drifting up through the layers of rock above her, wondering what Fia was doing, or the Priest. Wondering why Lucian hadn’t come yet, and where they’d taken Orden’s body.

The last hurt so badly to think of she nearly choked.

A ruddy glow flared in the darkness. Light, surreptitious steps sounded on the stairs spiraling down to the dungeons, followed by a slow and cumbersome tread. Lucian appeared before Ariana’s cell with a torch in hand and a satisfied look written across his unremarkable face.

“At first I was at a loss,” he said companionably, “as to how I should manage you. You confessed so prettily, the moment you heard I’d taken the postulant into custody. And you’re a rare prize, aren’t you, little bird? It isn’t every day an Inver has the pleasure of winning both a throneandthe care and keeping of a treasonous queen who was once a soria. I intend to hand you to whomever takes the crown like the gift you are, and to be rewarded richly for it. Of course, it would diminish the significance of the thing if I spoiled you in any way. But I’ve waited so long to see you writhe. I’ve been so patient these past seven years, while Orden kept you safe in his shadow.”

Ariana said nothing. She stayed where she was, seated on the dank stone floor of a cell the Invers had carved out themselves, because sorias took no prisoners. She trained her fathomless dark gaze on Lucian, and even now, with her behind bars and him holding the castle hostage, he could not withstand the mild look of one of Lyria’s daughters. His eyes faltered and drifted, and his expression shifted from satisfaction to rage.

“I’ve brought you a cellmate,” Lucian ground out. “Someone to pass the time with you until your fate is decided. It seemed a pity for you to be left all alone.”

He gestured to the unseen guards that Ariana had heard behind him, and they stepped forward. Now she saw what they’d been carrying—what burden had weighed them down. Between the two of them they carried Orden’s body, which ought to have been turned over to the Priest for tending hours ago.

The last spark of hope in Ariana guttered and died, leaving nothing in its wake but an endless chasm of darkness. No stars. Only night, bleak and all-consuming.

“You chose him in life,” Lucian said. “Why should you be parted in death?”

Ariana stayed silent. However she’d worked against Orden and struggled to reconcile who she was with who he wished her to be, whatever he’d done to Corrin during that long-ago battle summer, she’d never wanted him dead. To desire someone else’s death was entirely alien to her nature—she had, from infancy, been trained into an empathetic and generous spirit, wishing only goodness and peace for anyone whose pathcrossed her own. Ariana Inver had been forced to make many compromises in life, but Ariana Lyrien could stand before the embodiment of evil itself and offer nothing besides love.

And oh, how she had loved her flawed and foolish king.

The guards filed into Ari’s cell, dropping Orden’s body next to her none too gently. She couldn’t help but flinch and reach out a possessive hand, as if she could protect him in death when she’d been unable to in life.

“He was less than his father before him, allowing himself to die this way.” Lucian looked down at Orden with a disapproving twist of his mouth. “What a waste. I’d hoped he’d do great things, and in the end he proved the disappointing offshoot of a more powerful sire. Well, we shall see what becomes of Honoria now.”

Ariana shouldn’t let Lucian know he’d moved her. But a sob caught in her throat as he leveled an insult at the king, who was no longer able to respond. Automatically, as if she could defend him with her body, the queen lowered herself down, resting her head on her husband’s cold and lifeless chest.

“Pathetic,” Lucian spat. “An Inver doesn’t mourn the dead. An Inver avenges them or supplants them. If you were fit to rule in his stead, you’d know that by now.”

Breathe in, Ariana thought.Breathe out. Please. If I have ever known so much as a moment of favor, let him breathe in. Let him breathe out.

Orden stayed motionless. There would be no more seeking to undermine him, no more grappling with the intemperate nature of his love, no more attempting to placate him by bartering away bits of herself. He’d troubled her in life, but he was an agony to her now, his stillness striking her like a blow.

With a final disdainful glance over one shoulder, Lucian left the cell.