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One doesn’t need to be Sighted to see the downward trajectory of Raya’s reputation. Though I’m uncertain if she’s the mastermind of her place here, she’s hidingsomethingand we need it flushed out. Ever since I read her threads, she’s either burrowed in her quarters or attached to Cyrus’s side, and I haven’t been able to do a second reading.
“Test her,” I say, ready for the future, if only so I can be free from my fear of it. “I believe it’s time for her to prove her worth.”
“Hmm, I do agree,” the king answers. “Now, more than ever, we need confidence she is to be our salvation and notour damnation. The origin of these beasts is suspect…. We have yet to rule out the possibility that Balica is weaponizing the Fairywood’s magic and creating these beasts themselves.”
Low murmurs rise like the lords have discussed this before. I frown. On paper, Raya and the location of the beasts may be suspicious, but what motivation would Balica have for such drastic escalation? They have never been aggressors, outside that skirmish when Dante’s mother was Head of Hypsi, and that had been a local border dispute.
“I would hate to think so ill of our neighbors,” King Emilius says, and I swear I glimpse the curve of a smile.
When the meeting is adjourned, the king requests I stay behind. The last adviser to leave shuts the door behind him. I rise from my seat at the other end of the mahogany table to stand beside the king, hands clasped behind my back.
He waits until the footsteps have moved away, then says, “What else have you seen in Raya’s threads?”
He could use Raya’s betrayal to send armies marching south before the week is over,Dante said.
It’s easy to confuse fear for respect.
I can do enough to not be the axe that begins a war. “I saw her wedding with Cyrus.”
“What about her past?”
“Nothing useful for Auveny’s interests. I didn’t get much time with her.”
“Is that so?” The king looks not so much frustrated as perplexed. I’ve glimpsed him when he’s truly angry. When I wait to enter his study, sometimes he and Cyrus would be quarreling, and through the jamb, I’d see him as red andhissing as a kettle. The ugly kind of angry that can only exist behind closed doors.
No, this is a new displeased expression, just for me. “This is surprising, Violet,” he continues. “I am used to more revelations from you, especially from such an important figure. I heard your reading caused quite a stir—at a recent party, was it not?”
I don’t demur from his scrutiny, piercing as pinpricks. “It was because Cyrus interrupted me. He made it seem more dramatic than it was.”
“I see.” His expression does not change.
“But…I can meet with her again,” I offer. Behind my lips, my teeth are clenched.
“Very well.” King Emilius waves a trembling hand, as if my excuses are as fragile and transparent as glass. “But do not waste time. Hers or mine.”
An enormous covered wagon escorted by more than a dozen soldiers slowly carts the captured beast into the Sun Capital. Even hidden, even muzzled, the beast’s guttural growls strike enough fear on their own. The scratching, the rattling, the wet snap of its jaws—all it knows is hunger.
Watching from a safe distance inside a carriage, I thought I could stand it. But I find myself grasping at my neck as I recall the beast’s jaws nearly closing over my head. The fumes of fresh blood.
Were I braver, I’d ask about finding a way to read thebeast’s threads, but any attempt would reveal how shaken I still am from the night of the ball. It’s silly—the beast that attacked me is dead; I’m safe now. Safer than ever, with the extra guards in the city. I’ve heard fear can linger from shock, but that’s never happened to me before, and I loathe it in the way I loathe every feeling I can’t control.
I return to my tower before the beast arrives at the palace, so I don’t have to think about where they’re housing it and all the ways it could escape. The nightmares I already have are enough.
I sleep uneasily that night, dreaming again of waves of green shifting into black, of golden fayflowers withering into charcoal. I can sense it, though I can’t hear it: the silent, dying wail of the Fairywood as it’s corrupted and burned.
The next morning, a messenger bird brings a flyer to my window. It reads:
ONCE-IN-A-LIFETIME EVENT TO ALL WHO WISH TO WITNESS
Lady Raya Solquezil of Lunesse
to perform a feat of prophecy breaking, today at noon.
The first of many miracles.
Raya has hardly spoken on her own stage since she arrived in the capital, and now she’s bold enough to do a public demonstration? Already this seems like overcompensation,but maybe she’s the kind of person who doesn’t want to leave room for doubt. Especially if her failures mean Balica becomes Auveny’s scapegoat.
I get dressed, not caring much for appearances, since I’ll have to wear my robes and gloves. When I head down to the outer courtyard, an audience is already assembling around a generously roped-off space.
