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Thankfully the face covering includes eye holes, so my vision isn’t too obscured. I’m not here to revel myself, but to keep watch.
Beside me, Stavros frowns at the crowd from beneath his own helm. The men wear a less dainty version, with silver plates over the nose and cheeks.
“Our performance for the military division isn’t until the seventh bell,” he says. “You’ll have lots of time to circulate. From what I saw of the planned layout, the entomology club has their demonstration of sorts set up in the northeast corner of the square. You should be able to get a look at most of the members there so you can keep track of them.”
I nod. “I already spotted Ster. Torstem. He’s got golden stags embroidered on his jacket.”
“I doubthe’llmake any concerning moves.” Stavros sighs. “I’m not sure any of them would risk revealing their intentions with so many witnesses around. But they did strike at Prince Jacos in the middle of the college. With the royal family making an appearance, we can’t be too careful.”
A blare of a trumpet brings my head around. “And here they come now.”
The crowd parts around the front of the temple to make way for the royal procession. No doubt as aware of the threat as we are, the king has brought a dozen members of his personal guard, their usual uniforms swapped for a striking garnet-red.
King Konram and several other figures walk in their midst. He, Queen Ishild, and their two living children—Princess Klaudia and Prince Jacos—wave to the revelers, who raise their voices in eager cheers.
They only just returned from their tour of the provinces last night. Not a bad welcome, coming home to a massive party.
I’m not familiar with their companions. A stately woman in a belted dress that looks more like a cleric’s robes than a noble gown strides along behind them, one of her eyes covered by a patch that reminds me of Esmae’s. At her left trots a spindly, ivory-haired man whose uneven gait could indicate the stiffness of old age or a leg-related sacrifice.
And behind them—
My breath hitches at the sight of the third man’s misshapen form. He holds his substantial frame tall and haughty, but neither his posture nor his thick cloak can disguise how lopsided his body is.
He’s missing one arm, all the way to the shoulder.
Gods above, what kind of gift will he have gotten forthatsacrifice?
“Who are those three with the royal family?” I murmur.
Stavros dips his head lower so he can match my quiet tone. “I suggested to the king that he might have his magic advisors join him for this excursion. I don’t think he’s mentioned specific concerns to any of them except his chief sorcerer, Hessild Korinya there, but any of them are likely to pick up on unusual magical activity around them. The two men are Tinom Akorek, the smaller one, who specializes in illusions and ephemeral blessings, and Lothar Riosemek, who’s a master of herbal and chemical concoctions.”
I can’t help raising an eyebrow. “He gave up an entire arm just to mix potions?”
One corner of Stavros’s mouth crooks upward. “I’m not sure exactly what his gift is, only that he dedicated himself to Creaden. I’d imagine it allows for more than just smooth mixing.”
“But not impressive enough for the king to makehimchief sorcerer.”
The former general shrugs. “I believe Hessild has a powerful gift in her own right. An eye isn’t a minor thing. And there’s a family history. Her mother and grandfather both served as chief sorcerer before her.”
Julita lets out a huff in my head.You’d think between three royal sorcerers, they could keep this scourge menace in check themselves.
Stavros pauses, and his hand slips around mine as if to emphasize his next words. “Be particularly careful if you cross paths with Lothar. He’s been more vocal than the king himself in encouraging the hunts for the riven and the public executions. I get the impression he has a personal vendetta.”
A lump fills my throat. “I wasn’t planning on—”
“I know.” Stavros runs his thumb over the base of my forefinger—over the tiny scar that’s the only evidence of my temporary sacrifice two days ago. “Just… be careful.”
He lets go of me, but the ghost of his touch lingers on my skin with an unwelcome warmth. My gut knots with the memory of my confession yesterday morning.
I knew he’d find out about the fallen guard. He’d be suspicious about when and where it happened. If I’d tried to lie, I’m not sure he’d have believed me.
And maybe a part of me thought I’d get some kind of confirmation out of it. That if I told him, the man who’s reviled my magic from the moment he discovered it, his reaction would give me whatever punishment I truly deserved.
Somehow, he didn’t run me through or drag me to the gallows. When he growled a few curses, they were directed at the scourge sorcerers rather than me. Then he stormed off and returned simply to inform me that the guard had lived.
She’s still in the infirmary, undergoing additional care from the medics. Her skull cracked with the fall. But apparently they expect her to fully recover, given enough time.
Neither of those facts has loosened the guilt still tangled up inside me. I think I might actually feel more reassured if Stavroshaddragged me off to be executed.
