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When I ask Cyrus about Dante, he only says, “He made certain I would have the throne by any means necessary.”
I wonder when Dante planned it. Whether it was spur of the moment or whether he’d been waiting to strike at the doomed wedding all along. Over and over, I replay that day we sparred outside the city, so innocuous back then, when I gave him hope that Cyrus’s ascension might make all thedifference. And what had he learned from his own country’s Seer?
Mostly, as the shock fades away…I miss him. Or, I miss who he was. Who we all were, before the bloodbath at the wedding.
I slip between the cracks at the palace. I’m lucky that the gossip surrounding a disgraced Seer pales in comparison to a massacre and an assassination. There were enough witnesses to the witch transforming people into beasts that people no longer think that I am responsible, but some wonder if I aided her. I watch my back closely whenever I leave my tower, newly aware of the suddenness of death and the target on me. No one believes what I say anymore, and goodwill is crumbling around Cyrus as well. He’s probably glad I can be a scapegoat for our affair, as his hands are full with clamors for war.
At the first open assembly, everyone is shouting and no one is listening.
“Our king cannot continue putting his heart before Auveny—or justice!” Lord Ignacio proclaims from his seat. He lost a foot during the witch’s attack. Nearly salvageable until it turned gangrenous. “All evidence points to Balica’s involvement in Emilius’s death.”
Upon the throne, Cyrus states calmly, “The witch was the one masquerading as Lady Raya and responsible for the beasts. She’s likely my father’s murderer, too.”
“Who’s to say Balica didn’t send the witch themselves? Who’s to say they weren’t colluding? Whose face is still missing among this crowd? Where is your dear friend, YourMajesty?”
“Dante Esparsa is ascholar.He isn’t capable of killing someone.”
“Whereis he,Your Majesty?”
Cyrus scrapes a hand through his hair, lingering on a spot where a horn once grew. Sometimes I see him pinching at the lacings of his shirt, as if to further hide the scar I put on his chest. He never named me guilty of anything, soft-hearted fool. “I hope somewhere safe. I am not ready to mourn another. But we also haven’t identified all the bodies of the beasts, and it’s highly possible he was among them. One thing is for certain, however: we will not jump to conclusions in order to start a war.”
The assembly becomes a complete wash, descending into insults andhow-dare-yous from attendees. There are, as always, too many questions and not enough answers.
King Emilius is dead and Dante is gone. Nadiya is missing as well. I fear she may have been a true casualty of the witch; no one has seen her.
In the eyes of the public, two Rayas showed up, then disappeared the same night their king was murdered and beasts roamed the palace. One Raya was a failed savior—if she was ever a savior. The other was a witch who nearly killed them all.
Cyrus sent his condolences to Lunesse regarding Raya, continuing what remains of his ruse, but it isn’t enough. A bride and a spy and a witch who all came from Balica. Strangeness after strangeness after strangeness from our southern neighbor.
War will happen. It is written across the lords’ faces, and it is the Fates’ will. No one has hope of avoiding the lastpiece of the prophecy any longer. Cyrus should give in to the demands to invade. Give the dukes their taste for whatever support he can get.
Otherwise, we might be looking at a coup.
The only good news is the land has begun to heal. With the witch in hiding, there’ve been no new beasts nor bramble—except upon my tower.
I notice it too late. What might have been a few patches of rot turn nearly half my tower black. The whole place stinks like a corpse. Based on the rate of the rot’s spread, I suspect the witch spilled her blood on my tower the night of the wedding. Maybe it was her source of magical thorns to make beasts, or an attempt to make me look guilty.
I visit Cyrus in his study to discuss what to do and where I might stay instead. The room is mostly as I last remembered it. A few things have been taken from his father’s study, including the large map of the continent. Last time I was in here, I was in Cyrus’s arms as he pleaded with me to listen to my heart.
Look at where that’s gotten us.
Behind his desk, Cyrus barely looks up. The circles around his eyes are surprisingly dark; the hollows are usually hidden with glamour. “Your tower—” he begins, straight to business, because it’s the easiest kind of interaction we have.
“The witch probably corrupted it. It’s probably too much to salvage,” I say simply.
He sighs into the pocket of his folded hands. “I’m afraid of it spreading, too. We have to burn it all as soon as possible. Move out anything you need.”
It might just be the flicker of candlelight, but I swear something glints in the muss of his hair. Cyrus waves me away, but I keep staring at the top of his head. Catching my gaze, he sits straighter so I can’t see. His eyes are still too green.
“Are you okay?” The words feel strange in my mouth, not exactly gentle but an attempt at it. It’s a stupid question, anyway. Of course he’s not okay.
But of course he says, “I’m fine.”
“Have you heard from him?”
Cyrus hesitates, glancing at the pile of unread letters stacked in a basket on his desk. “No.”
Every topic is dangerous between us: his father, his crown, Dante, his scars. In this new Auveny, with war brewing and old magic crawling out of the ground, I’ve tasted regret. There are things I almost want to say to him, but none are worth the price of broaching. If he still wanted me, if he wanted a moment to forget the world in the tangle of my body, he would seek it. He was never shy about it before.
