Page 109 of The Faceless Queen

His throat bobbed, but he took a deep breath and sat up straight, his chin held high. It might have looked like he was uncaring to the common eye, but I thought he was being brave.

The caravan was rushed along, and it became apparent that more and more people were in support of House Bathiner than I could have imagined.

Brennan threw out a bag of grain. It landed on the ground with a loud thud. A man eyed it suspiciously from the shadows of the buildings looming over him, and slowly he moved toward the bag to pick it up. I felt almost a sense of hope, for him, for Brennan, until he chucked it back at our carriage. The bag exploded against the carriage door. The man stepped forward then, all the way into the light. He was dressed in red and gray for House Bathiner. He screamed, “Fuck your charity!”

His words felt like some kind of unspoken signal. Within seconds, at least another dozen men called out the same thing.

Another man yelled, “A bag of grain, oh, let me kiss Your Highness’s ass! Maybe if your father’s fucking policies didn’t starve us, we wouldn’t need your Godsdamned wheat!”

“No!” The next man who stepped forward yelled. He shoved down his pants and bent over. “You kiss my ass!”

We weren’t allowed to hand out flowers or grain at the next stop, and after that we skipped stopping at any of the planned rest places altogether. Our only breaks were for the groomers to tend to the horses. Brennan was pale when we reached the city edge and entered the district of Batron, Geoffrey’s old stomping grounds. Mine, too.

Our guard began to close in on us, their blades drawn outward, and in the distance, as the sun was beginning to set, the sky smoldering in shades of burnt red, pink, and orange, violence began. Fights broke out in the alleyways as we traveled past, mobs formed on the street corners, and then dozens and dozens of citizens were being beaten and arrested. Their screams and cries pierced the air. It was like the second night of the tourney all over again, but this felt worse.

We were rushed then to the king’s house, where another set of guards were waiting. Brennan and I were surrounded by knights. Blue cloaks and steel blades flashed around every corner as we were ushered inside. Abigail came to my room with me, helping me out of my dress, blue to make me look united with my betrothed’s house. She looked strangely uncomfortable with me the entire time. Still annoyed with me for how I’d treated her that morning, that was obvious. But there was something else, an emotion brewing beneath the surface that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It wasn’t directed at me, and yet … I felt a pit in my stomach as I tasted it. It was strong, powerful. And not anything I could feed from.

I bathed for a long time, sinking into the heated water, trying desperately to relax after the day I’d had. Though I’d been little more than a passenger in the king’s little parade, and not an actual member of House Lafir, not yet at least, I was still reeling from the anger and vitriol we’d faced. No one felt strongly enough to direct their emotions at me, so I hadn’t fed from them, but I’d felt nearly everything. And I knew that Brennan, even without any Azete abilities, had, too.

I took a few long and deep breaths before I allowed Abigail to dress me in a fresh gown, a pale pink with sleeves that hung off my shoulders and flowed to my fingertips. My hair was styled into a simple braid that hung down my back, and then I dismissed her to go to dinner, leaving me alone for a few minutes of privacy.

For the time I’d be away from my room, I had to make sure my things weren’t touched: the locket from my mother and parchment paper I’d torn up with the art Jaron commissioned of Alyra.

It was safe, buried in a trunk full of clothes we had no reason to open here, not when we were only staying for one night. Still, I pushed the trunk to the back, and set a smaller one on top just to be sure.

When I opened the door, Lord Brandon was waiting there to escort me to dinner. Olivay’s parents had already gone downstairs, thanks to a little persuasion from him.

“Quite a display out there today.” He spoke with all the snobbery of Lord Brandon and clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Quite,” I said, my stomach turning. “Are we safe here?” I asked, anxiously.

“From the pissed-off peasants?” he asked.

“From the incredibly, most likely rightfully, angry citizens of Eskalon.”

“You’re fine,” he said. “I would know.”

“And chimera?” I asked, my voice small. The outer city districts weren’t known for chimera, but considering the last time I was here, I didn’t have a good feeling.

“None have been sighted at the border or within Kalder Forest since, well, since you slayed them all.”

My heart thudded, and the scar down my arm, the one invisible in Olivay’s body, began to tingle again. But I shook my arm out, and the feeling faded.

“You won’t be allowed to parade again tomorrow. I can tell you that much. Not with the unrest.”

I bit my lip. “There could be less. Brennan is a good man. He actually cares about his people and wants better for them. He’d be a good king.”

“What is this? You’re campaigning for him now?”

“No, I’m just saying—maybe House Lafir doesn’t have to end. Maybe⁠—”

“Maybe you think I decided to end their line? That I’m doing this to them? Making it happen? I’m not. I’m nothing but an observer. A witness. You call me the author of the prophecy in the Book of Orsete, but you forget that the author of a prophecy is no more than a scribe. They are not creating, but writing down exactly what they’ve been shown.”

“I know, but⁠—”

“But nothing. The prophecy cannot be changed.”

“But the first night of the tourney,” I said, my cheeks heating, “you said that the prophecy might not happen⁠—”