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Chapter 27
Acold anger comes over me, seeing the ikonshields strain and fail as the Storm advances. How many souls did the Regia condemn? In death, her suffering is multiplied thousandfold; in every fifth-ringer, in every new orphan, in her own son.
How could she love Dalca and do this to him?
The answer comes to me. She didn’t choose love. She chose fear.
Cas drags Dalca back into the shelter of the palace, out of the strange warm rain. He staggers, trying to pull him back, and looks to me. “Give me a hand, would you?”
I grab Dalca’s other arm, and he turns to me with unseeing eyes, shock and sorrow dimming the light that normally shines in them. My vision blurs, and I blink it away. We get him out of the rain and up on his feet.
Dalca clasps a hand to his temple, agony written across his face. He buckles, and I catch him, lowering him until we’re both on our knees.
I know what I’ve done. The Great Queen gave me the power to undo curses. The curse she laid on him was one that locked away his fear. And now I’ve undone it. Now his fear is once again his own.
“Dalca?” His gaze meets mine, and I flinch back at what burns in his eyes: a blinding presence like a searing beam of white light. The Great King.
Horror stills my tongue.
Dalca’s pupils shrink and grow, as if he’s fighting a battle inside.
Casvian doesn’t see. He rubs his eyes, wiping away rain or tears or both. He takes a breath and runs a hand through his hair, slicking it back. “You.” He points to a Wardana. “Go inform Ragno Haveli of what has happened. You, gather the Regia’s council. We meet in the throne room.” He gives them all instructions that send them away, until just we three are left.
He grips Dalca’s shoulder. “Dalca, please. Come with me.”
Words stick in my throat. “He’s...”
Dalca moans.
Cas helps him up, and we half drag him down the winding stairs, through a maze of bronze and silver hallways, to a room with a large desk and a pair of stuffed chairs by a fireplace.
Cas sits Dalca down in a chair before going to the fireplace and drawing a quick ikon. A merry multicolor fire rises within seconds.
Dalca stares into it.
“Shit,” Cas murmurs.
A choked sound of surprise makes its way out of me. “Shit,” I agree.
Cas runs his hands through his hair until it becomes a halo of static. He looks like a dandelion.
“Do your thing,” he whispers.
“My thing?”
“Comfort him.”
“I don’t think anything can do that, Cas.”
“Do something,” he says as a knock sounds, and he rises, going to the door. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
If looking at Dalca would help, I’d stare all day and all night. But how can anything I do make this better? What does the strange, dark, frightening, hopeful thing between us mean in a time like this?
An ikonomancer stands at the door. “Ragno Haveli requests your presence, sir. As well as that of the Regia’s heir.”
Cas catches my eye before ducking out the door and shutting it with a pointedclick.
Dalca hasn’t moved a finger. My hands are shaking.
