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I’d been swept here by one wave after another, without realizing I’d been drowning the whole time.
Draven handed me a dagger. Rubies winked in its hilt and the blade itself shimmered with decorative red sand, as though dipped in blood.
My choices had brought me here. There was no other way.
I said the words, accepted the dagger, smiled as Draven wrapped our wrists together with a red ribbon, and let the wave carry me along.
It was done, over too fast. Draven raised our ribbon-bound hands, the guests roared, and we walked back under the suffocating art to jubilant applause.
King Ogden boomed his congratulations, then took the axe from his back and raised it with a roar. The whole congregation grabbed their weapons and waved them above their heads. I smiled, even as I felt the grin breaking on my lips.
I hadn’t looked for Lark—couldn’t look for him.
But as soon as we stepped from the temple, Razak was one of the first to greet us outside. He extended his hand, smiled, and offered his blessing, as though he hadn’t stabbed me twice in the side not so long ago.
Draven grabbed the prince’s hand, hauled him close, and clapped him on the back. The grin was the deadliest I’d seen on the warlord’s lips. “We’ll see you later, Prince.”
Razak straightened and smiled back. “I look forward to it.”
It was done. I was joined with War and needed to get past it so we could focus on the next part of the evening’s plan. The sickness and dizziness would pass.
The relentless wind buffeted us on the return journey over the bridge, helping to push away the celebratory roaring. With the ceremony over, the celebration would now begin. I’d been warned it would be an experience, and as we entered the feasting hall, the spread of food and wine laid out before us was fit for the king’s own joining.
I sipped from my cup, laughed when I was expected to, and was as present as I could be, with Lark in the back of my mind and the wrinkled King of Hearts card in my pocket. The card was a message, of that I was certain, but what message? A threat? A reminder of how he’d tricked me before?
“Arin?” Concern shadowed Draven’s face.
“I’m fine, I just… need some air, I think.” I scooped up my cup and pushed from the table.
“I’ll come.” He moved to stand.
“No, stay.” I gestured for him to sit. His friends were around him. He was happier among them. “I’ll only be a moment.” I didn’t look back and carved a path through the guests. So many people, so many weapons. The Court of Justice was here too, draped in ice-blue. I’d heard one of them wanted to speak with me as a matter of urgency. Later, it all had to be later. I couldn’t breathe…
My chest burned, my heart too.
I stumbled out of the main hall, into one of the arched side walkways, where the breeze flowed from arch to arch, making the flame-torches dance. I grabbed the top of a half-height wall and lifted my face to the wind. The desert air had cooled enough to be pleasant and the chaotic noise from the gathering faded to the back of my mind. Finally, some space, and now that I could breathe again the ache in my chest faded.
I pulled the creased King of Hearts card from my pocket.
I had to let Lark go, like I’d let go of my home. There was no use clinging to the memory of a man who hadn’t existed. It had all been a lie.
I held the card over the wall.
On the other side, sand hissed and swirled. All I had to do was let go, and Lark would be gone from my mind.
Just open my trembling hand…
I laughed. Even now he had a hold of me. “Damn you.” Bringing my hand back in, I opened my fingers and stared at the card’s crinkled design.
“I wondered if you’d throw it away,” Lark said, his voice as smooth as always.
Of course, he would be here, watching. He’d followed me outside, invisible when he wanted to be. Chuckling, I raised my cup and sipped my wine, needing it. “I cannot be seen with you. They’ll think me a traitor.”
He emerged from the shadows and propped a hip against the wall beside me. “Welcome to my world.”
Even now, when every piece of reason demanded I hate him, my heart thawed at the sight of him. He was so fucking beautiful in black and purple silk, his hair bundled back and his eyes fiercely arresting. I hated him for that too. “I don’t know who you are,Zayan.”
“Neither do I. We have that in common.”
