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The moment passed; he waved his hand. “Come along, then. You can travel with Lore in the carriage, I think I’d like to ride.” He moved toward the doors.
This was a change to the traveling arrangements, apparently—one of the footmen rushed toward the doors that led out to the stables. At the same time, Hugh Demonde came down the stairs, fully dressed but obviously still half-asleep. He clapped Bastian on the back, the two men speaking in low tones.
Alie let out a breath, deflating a bit as Bastian turned away from them. “That was easier than I thought it’d be,” she murmured. She smiled at Lore, tiredly. “I apologize in advance if I fall asleep on you in the carriage.”
“I’ll probably join you.” But Lore’s words were faint; she was watching the King.
Bastian finished his conversation with Demonde, then turned to push the doors open, sunlight streaming in to burnish his hair. He paused there, his hands on either door, his head hung low. Like he’d run out of energy to do anything else.
As if he felt her looking, Bastian glanced back over his shoulder. Gods, she’d never seen someone look so anguished.
Then the expression was gone, so quick it might never have been there at all. Bastian stalked into the sunlight, spine straight, gait unhurried, a King in every aspect.
Lore had no idea how long it was supposed to take to get to Courdigne, but the relatively small size of their traveling party—five bloodcoats, three footmen, plus her and Bastian and Alie—made her think they’d get there quickly. Juliette and Alie’s personal maids had been sent back to the Citadel. Apparently, there was no great need to be regal when visiting a criminal, for all Juliette had said about looking the part of a future Queen.
“We’ll be there by nightfall,” Alie said through a yawn when Lore asked about timing. “After dinner, but before midnight. I think, anyway. It’s been ages since I’ve been.”
Her tone leaned introspective, almost sad, like the place didn’t hold pleasant memories. “Courdigne was the smallest of the Bellegarde estates,” she said after a moment, quietly. “It’s where my mother lived, after my father turned her out.”
“Gods.” Lore didn’t know much about the Bellegardes other than that Alie’s mother was dead, and she and Severin never seemed to like each other much. Severin turning out her mother would surely be a reason for their estrangement.
Alie gave a delicate snort, leaning bonelessly back into the upholstery. “She had an affair. Right after I was born, or maybe even before. I never remember them living together. They kept separate apartments when we were all in the Citadel.” Her dark-green eyes went stormy. “Affairs aren’t uncommon within the court, but my father acted like she was a leper. Didn’t treat me much better.”
Lore thought of the few times she’d seen Alie interact with Severin—they’d entered First Day prayers together but mostly seemed to ignore each other. The only other time was at the ritual, when Alie had tried to come stand with her and Gabe and Bastian. When Bellegarde had wrenched her arm so hard she’d cried out.
Severin Bellegarde hadn’t treated anyone in his family kindly.
“I could only visit her once in a while,” Alie continued quietly. “Other than summers in court. I think I was ten the last time I actually visited her at Courdigne.”
The same age Gabe had gone home to Balgia after a fight with Bastian. When Jax had torn out his eye.
“She seemed like she was doing well, though,” Alie said. “Better than she did living with Severin. She had a lover—at least I think so; she seemed very close to Blaire for her to be just a ‘lady’s companion.’” She smiled. “She died when I was thirteen, and Severin acted like she hadn’t existed at all. At my Consecration earlier this spring, he didn’t even have her name listed as a parent.” Her hands balled to fists on her lap. “It’d be just like him to let Courdigne fall into ruin because it was once her home. That’s the kind of petty, small man he is.”
Silence fell, and with it, Lore’s thoughts turned to her own childhood. She was thirteen when her mother told her to run from the Watch; Alie was thirteen when her mother died. Strange, how all their tragedies seemed to orbit one another, this small, dysfunctional family she’d found in the Citadel.
“You know what happened with my mother,” Lore said quietly. “Gabe told you.”
Alie nodded, solemnly. “He told me and Malcolm, yes.”
The intricacies of her identity—that she was the Night Priestess’s daughter—had been kept from the general population, just like the fact that the Buried Watch still existed. Lore couldn’t see it being made common knowledge anytime soon, if ever. One massive paradigm shift at a time.
“Well,” Alie said, amending, “Gabe told us that you were born in the catacombs. To one of the members of the Watch.” Her eyes flickered to Lore, curious and a little sad.
“She wasn’t just a member of the Watch. At least, not anymore.” Lore huffed a laugh. “She’s the damn Night Priestess.”
Alie’s eyes widened, briefly.
Here came the biggest part. Lore could only stand to have so many secrets. “And I was able to channel Mortem from birth.”
Silence in the carriage, but for the rumble of the wheels over the cobblestones.
“Well.” Alie’s mouth had dropped open to match her widened eyes; now she closed it with a click of her teeth. “That’s… unique? Isn’t it? I thought most people had to nearly die in order to channel.”
“Not just most. Everyone.” Lore shrugged, flattened her mouth into a parody of a smile. “Everyone but me.”
Everyone but her, and she was starting to realize what that meant.
Alie’s teeth dug into her bottom lip. “Is that why… I mean…” She sighed, blinked, tried again, and then the words came in a rush. “Is that why Bastian wants to marry you? Why you want to marry him?”
