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“You blame yourself for parts of Kiran’s past, don’t you?”
“I took his mother away from him. I couldn’t take his throne, too—his identity. What right did I have, truly, to judge Kiran, when my father had made me a monster of Kiran’s equal? The only difference was that Kiran took ownership of the monster inside while I choose to hide in the shadows.”
I shrug. “You’re a monster to the monsters, Lydia. In most stories, that makes you the hero.”
She looks down at me with apprehension. “I think sometimes, Asha, you see good where it isn’t.”
“Then I think you see evil where it isn’t.”
“Well then, maybe with two sets of eyes, we can judge more clearly.”
I allow her comment to hang in the silence long enough for the words to settle in.
Of course, as soon as the realization of what she said widens her violet eyes, I let out a laugh.
She does too, oddly enough.
“You should talk to Kiran,” I say. “I think you might be surprised how much the two of you have in common.”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “I’m not sure that’s something I would like to discover about myself,” she says, but underneath the derision, I can hear the fear in her voice.
“He won’t hate you for telling him.”
“And how can you know that?”
“Because I won’t let him.”
Lydia laughs again, but this time, it actually meets her eyes.
But as quickly as it appears, it’s gone when Marcus comes barreling out of his tent to meet us.
Lydia and I exchange concerned looks, then run toward him, closing the distance to keep him from exhausting himself.
“It’s Piper,” he cries, each breath a wheeze as we meet him in the center of the field. “I just got a message from Piper.”
“How is that possible?” asks Lydia, but Marcus pulls on the collar of his tunic, exposing his chest.
I’ve noticed Marcus’s tattoos before, the typical vines and thorns that Aveleans get upon entering maturity, a time marked by profound loss.
But this tattoo is different. It looks to be the roofscape of a village, but the lines have been twisted, curled into a script that’s somewhat shaky, but still legible.
She’s taking me to Mystral, says the script.
“It could be a trap, a diversion,” says Lydia, but Marcus shakes his head, grinding his teeth as he fights off a spasm.
“It’s Piper’s handwriting.”
“The queen could be threatening her,” I offer.
“No. Piper doesn’t bend to threats,” he says, and his voice is so resolute, I can’t help but believe him.
Lydia strokes the hilt of her blade. “This makes no sense. Why take Piper to Mystral?”
Her gaze snaps to the side as Blaise rushes out of Ellie and Evander’s tent, tears streaming down her face.
My heart plummets at the realization of what Blaise must have just discovered.
“I need to talk to Blaise,” Lydia says. “Figure out what’s in Mystral that the queen needs Piper for.” She makes to run for Blaise when Marcus’s breathing catches my attention.
