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Because she’s just proven herself to be the exact opposite to an extent I never could have imagined.
Not just a street-hardened petty criminal. Not even just the charitable vigilante the outer-warders dubbed the Hand of Kosmel.
Gods smite me, I’ve had one of the riven under my nose for weeks and never suspected.
As I walk a step behind where I can keep a careful eye on her, my fingers clench around the hilt of my sword. I can’t draw it, because the blasted royal bastard insisted on accompanying us to see King Konram in case his familial influence could be of use with his half-uncle, and he wouldn’t understand why I’d like to keep a blade pointed Ivy’s way.
I don’t know if I should tell him. I don’t know if I should already be planning how to run her through and explain why afterward.
The uncertainty gnaws at my gut.
I was coming to respect her. To appreciate her presence. Towantto hear her snarky comebacks when I heckled her, to see the hesitant way she’d brighten when I offered a friendlier remark.
Great God help me, just remembering the moment when I handed her my old sword with its royal seal sets an unwelcome warmth blooming in my chest. I grit my teeth and smother the sensation.
How much of her mix of mettle and vulnerability was an act?
Just how wretched an imbecile have I been?
My wooden prosthetic feels like a dead weight on my arm. I didn’t have time to swap it for a metal one shaped for combat, which would at least give me another advantage.
Bizarrely, I wish I hadn’t sent Casimir and Aleksi back to the college. It was a split-second decision based on wanting to keep our group out of the public eye, as secret as this particular route through the palace is.
It isn’t as if the scholar or the courtesan would be much help in a fight against a riven sorcerer. Fuck,Iwouldn’t be much use in that fight.
The only way you take down one of the riven is by surprise. Might to might, you’ll always lose.
At least if they were here, the decision wouldn’t rest entirely on me. Whether to lunge and bash her head against the plastered wall beside us or keep escorting her on, bringing one of the most dangerous beings in existence to a chat with the king.
I don’t think even riven magic could harm him through the precautions he takes for an unguarded conversation, but who can say what a monster might be capable of?
Ivy is the only one who knows what happened when she confronted that prick Wendos. What he said about his scourge sorcerer colleagues and their plans.
Kill this riven woman, and we lose our best chance of stopping a whole horde of even viler villains.
But what lingers in my mind the most is the image of Kosmel’s sigil glowing on her chest. The look that came over her face when she noticed it too, startled and then almost horrified.
She didn’t ask for the godlen’s blessing. He imposed it on her.
I’m not arrogant enough to argue with a divine being.
Aleksi is right. We need to figure out what this all means. Which requires that she stay alive for at least a little longer.
The back of her head has turned into a blur, as everything does if I hold my gaze in the same place for more than a second or two. As if I’m looking through a window that’s hazed with condensation.
I flick my attention to the hall ahead and then back to this unpredictable woman for another brief moment of clarity.
Is Julita still in her head? I can’t picture how our former ally would respond to the revelations we’ve just heard.
Whatever Julita thought of me when we worked together, I’d like to believe she’d understand if I have to end the scrap of a life she’s managed to cling on to via her reluctant host.
Even with the thief’s meek stance, there’s still a confidence to the way she moves. As if she always knows exactly where she’s putting her feet—and how she’d need to pivot at an unexpected interruption.
I have to yank my attention away before my appreciation of her subtle assurance brings my gaze skimming down her slim body. It’s traveled that path before more times than I’d like to admit, with a flicker of heat I can’t allow now.
When we reach the door to the king’s most private meeting room, I push a little ahead of Ivy and Benedikt. I’m one of the few who knows how to handle the carving on the wooden surface to disengage the lock.
With a flash of flaring magical sconces, we step into a small, windowless sitting room that nonetheless demonstrates the palace’s splendor. With a flick of my eyes, I take in the velvet cushions on the chairs and the gold gilding around the fireplace.
