Page 50 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

When the cabin came into view, Lunette led the horses toward a small shed beside the vegetable patch. Just under the overhang sat an old trough, the water inside reflecting the rainbow of leaves above.

I cast her a sidelong glance.

She brushed a stray curl behind her ear. “I leave it for the deer that wander down from the ridge every morning.”

Of course she did.

I opened the mercenaries’ saddlebags, searching for grain or feed. There wasn’t much, but enough to tide the horses over. We emptied the meager rations into the trough. The animals dipped their heads gratefully, already calming in the quiet of her home’s little clearing.

Returning to the cabin, I steeled myself for the inevitable conversation. The pain in my side flared again, yet it was nothing compared to the torment of what duty would force me to do next. I followed her in and collapsed onto the bed, since I wasn’t certain I wouldn’t fall over completely. I let out a heavy breath, some of the dread I carried trying to escape with it.

Tail twitching, Muffin made a displeased sound from his perch in the rafters.

“We missed lunch,” Lunette said.

“I can’t take food from you,” I said. “I’ve relied too much on your goodwill already, and now I’ve brought danger your way.”

She spun toward me, the fading light glinting off the bread knife. “My life has always been dangerous, Rowan.”

It shouldn’t be, I thought. You should be surrounded by every comfort my kingdom can give you.

She continued. “And as you saw, I’m not defenseless.”

“Yes, what…was that?” I asked cautiously.

Her lovely face contorted into a snarl. She wore righteous fury like a crown—head high, shoulders back, beauty on proud display. I loved seeing it. “My magic has two sides.” She turned her face away before confessing the rest. “I severed the tendons of his wrist and his hand’s connection to his brain—all at once.”

The water I’d been drinking nearly came flying out of my mouth. “You…what?”

“It makes sense,” she said, still turned away, nervously adjusting the utensils on the counter. “If a fractured bone heals badly, the fix is to re-break it and reset it. I can rend flesh. It’s…actually easier than healing.”

I was so surprised that I couldn’t speak for a long moment. Before I could think of what to say, she turned back around, plates in hand. And—my heart lurched—she wore the same mask of dignity I’d donned countless times to feign support for Berian’s cruelty.

“Lunette,” I said, sitting up straighter. “That power is truly remarkable.”

A little shake of her head. “Most don’t agree.”

“This village has already proven that it can’t see your worth, so why should their opinions matter?” I argued.

She shrugged. “They’re my people.”

A silence settled between us, and I found myself circling back to what she’d said on the road. That unexpected understanding I’d seen in her eyes stuck with me, a persistent splinter underneath my skin.

“You knew exactly what to do with the bodies,” I said carefully. “That wasn’t the first time.”

She went very still at the counter. Then she set the plates down softly and turned to face me. I recognized the same calculation in her eyes that I used to determine a war council’s capacity for truth.

“No,” she said finally. “It wasn’t.”

She didn’t elaborate.

I waited, keeping my expression as open as I could manage.

“The raids leave…leftovers,” she said, her voice carefully detached, as if the word itself was something she had to push away. “Food. Clothes. Materials.”

From the first, I’d noticed that her demeanor held a type of resilience that could only be gained once tested. The picture of where that had come from was just starting to become clear. Yet before I could speak, she continued, and something in her voice had changed. It was lower, like a confession that had been waiting a long time for a witness.

“The raiders don’t always finish what they started.” She kept her eyes on the table. “That’s where I step in. I’ll never let a person suffer longer than they have to.”