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August had kept a far larger council, and the fact that Bastian didn’t was yet another point of contention. But with a handful of nobles on house arrest, and more having left the court for their own holdings in protest of Bastian’s policies, it all held steady for now.
“Think we can get Bastian to take your father’s wine stores, too?” Lore said. “Doesn’t seem fair for him to stay in seclusion and drink. Sounds more like a vacation than a sentence.”
Her attempt at lightness fell heavy. Alie gave her a level, worried look. “There are better ways to make sure you don’t dream, Lore. Bastian told me you’ve been drinking too much.”
Damn man.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Alie said quickly, her lace-gloved hand resting on Lore’s arm. “You’ve been through so much, and things have changed so quickly—”
“Don’t.” Lore leaned back against the finely upholstered carriage cushion. “Don’t make me being a lush into some sort of martyrdom.”
“Then don’t make it into a joke.” Alie’s hand lifted; she faced the front again, jaw set. “Sooner or later, Lore, you’re going to have to deal with what happened. All three of you will.”
“I’ll deal with it when they do,” Lore grumbled.
Alie sighed. They rode in bumpy silence for a handful of heartbeats. The countryside rolled by, humidity a shimmering veil of silver over the impossible green. Placid cows grazed behind rough-hewn fences, raised soft eyes to watch them as they passed. Lore didn’t think she’d ever seen one this close before, and part of her wanted to call to the driver to stop, to see if one would let her pet them.
It smelled green, even, sharp and sweet at once, with the animalic tinge of livestock that somehow wasn’t nearly as odious out here as it was in crowded Ward markets. Lore took a deep breath, held it in her lungs.
“I’m sorry,” Lore said. She had so few friends, so little idea of how to keep them.
“Me too.” Alie held out her hand; Lore took it.
When Alie spoke again, her voice came gentle against the tramp of hooves and the clatter of carriage wheels. “How is he?”
Guilt was a rock Lore had to swallow past. Hearing the care in Alie’s voice when she talked about Gabe would always do that to her, apparently. Alie’s gentleness reminded her of her own hard edges. “As well as he can be, I guess.”
She didn’t say anything about the garden last night. That was hers.
“He should be here,” Alie murmured. “No matter what he thinks about Bastian, how he feels—he’s the Priest Exalted, and he should be here.”
Lore didn’t reply.
The ruffle of crinoline broke the silence as Alie rearranged her skirts. “He made the right decision eventually, Lore.”
When Gabe stood with them instead of Anton. When he saved her. I still don’t know if what I did was wrong. Did that mean he wasn’t sure if choosing them in the end was right, either?
“Just try to remember that,” Alie finished softly. “Remember that he saved you, when all was said and done.”
Lore twined the pale-peach ribbon of her sleeve around her finger until the tip of it purpled. “I know. These things just… they take time.”
“Hopefully we have it.” Alie shook her head. “Did you hear the latest report? A Kirythean contingent was spotted near the Eroccan border two days ago.”
Lore’s fingertip went numb. “What did Bastian say?”
Worry twisted Alie’s mouth. “He said there’s no use panicking until they actually cross over. And it was a small group; less than fifty. Just traveling if we’re lucky, scouting if we aren’t.”
There had been very few times in the last couple months that Lore would count any of them as lucky.
“I assume they stopped in Erocca,” Alie continued. “If they’d kept going, they’d be in Auverraine right now. And surely we’d know.”
“Surely,” Lore agreed quietly.
When the endless green of the countryside changed, it was abrupt. Gone were the lush fields and trees—well, not gone, really. Just changed.
Gray, now, instead of green. Lifeless stone, like the Presque Mort’s garden, every leaf and blade frozen in rock. The procession slowed, everyone struck speechless.
Lore remembered that day of the leak, Malcolm running into the throne room as she and Gabe prepared to lie to August. How Anton let her come along. How the Mortem surged. Coming for her, drawing her out, another trap she’d fallen into so easily.
