I knew he wasn’t talking about the Vodina Isles Lords, but those who became desperate due to situations so out of their control, they found themselves doing things they’d never consider. Mortals who became someone else’s nightmare because it was the only way they could survive.
Shame scalded the back of my neck as I shifted uncomfortably on my feet.
Sir Holland’s gaze flickered over my face. “What is going on with you, Sera? You’ve been off the last couple of days. What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong...?” I trailed off. There were many things wrong, starting with why Sir Holland still met with me daily to train. It wasn’t just to keep me prepared in case I needed to defend myself or if the Queen decided my skill could be used to deliver a personal blow.
Sir Holland behaved as if I were still integral to the survival of Lasania. That the Primal of Death would come for me. I still didn’t have the heart to tell him what the Primal had said to me. I thought… I thought he needed to believe there was hope, because nothing had stopped the Rot from spreading. The only way we knew to do that was to kill the Primal.
And the Rot was getting worse. There had been a few showers in the last month, but nothing of substance. Before that, the storms had brought chunks of ice, crushing and sheering vegetation as it slammed to the ground. People were concerned the cornfields would yield only half what they did last season.
How much longer could Lasania continue on like this?
It was the Kazin siblings that had been murdered. That small babe, and the lack of answers surrounding why they had been killed.
I had gone back to their neighborhood the following day to ask around about the Kazin family. I’d learned that their parents had passed a year before. No one had anything bad to say about them or the siblings. Galen had been described as comely and shy, someone who was often seen strolling the nearby gardens early in the mornings with her babe. And no one had been sure who the child’s father was, but it was believed to be some ne’er-do-well who’d abandoned her after discovering that she was pregnant. Magus was said to be a flirt but loyal and friendly. Come to find out, he had been a guard for Carsodonia. Not as high-ranking as a Royal Guard or Royal Knight, but a defender of the city. I wondered if I’d seen him before. If I passed him in the halls of Wayfair. He was one of thousands, a name with no face. It was also the knowledge that four other mortals had also been killed.
I’ll be watching.
An icy shiver danced across the nape of my neck. It was also him. The god whose name I didn’t know. It had taken a good week for me to fully accept that I had, in fact, threatened a god. And kissed one. Had enjoyed being kissed by him. But what I couldn’t figure out was the lingering memory of rightness when I’d been around him. A feeling that still made no sense, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he watched as I moved about the streets of Carsodonia. And some incredibly idiotic, reckless, and disturbed part of me…anticipated crossing paths with him again. I wanted to know why he’d kissed me. There’d been other ways to hide and disguise ourselves, like moving farther away from the other gods for starters.
My focus shifted to the closed door. “I don’t know. I’m just in a weird mood.”
Sir Holland approached, handing the dagger to me. “You sure that’s all?”
I nodded.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Sir Holland—”
“I don’t,” he insisted. “Do you know why we still practice every day?”
My grip tightened on the dagger as everything I wanted to say started to bubble up in me. “Honest? I don’t know why we do this.”
His brows flew up. “That was a rhetorical question, Sera.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be,” I shot back. “What is the point?”
Shock splashed across his face. “The point? The lives—”
“Of everyone in Lasania depend on me ending the Rot,” I interrupted. “I know that. I’ve lived that since birth. And it’s all I can think about every time I see the Rot spreading through farm after farm. Every day that it doesn’t rain, and the sun continues scorching crops, and every time I think about what winter might bring, I think of all those lives.” I inhaled sharply but didn’t hold it as he’d taught me. There was no space for air. “I think about it every time someone takes one of our ships or there are rumors of another siege. All I think about when I’m trying to sleep or eat or am doing anything is how I was the Maiden and found unworthy by the Primal of Death.”
“You’re not unworthy. You’re not a curse or anything like that. You carry the ember of life in you. You carry hope within you. You carry the possibility of a future,” he said. “You don’t know what the Primal of Death thinks.”
“How could he not think that?” I shot back.
Sir Holland shook his head. “What is happening with the Rot is not your fault.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity. Some people believed the Primals were angry, and the Rot was a sign of their wrath. That had led to the Temples filling with worshippers, and blame being cast on everything from failed marriages to false icons. They were close to the truth without realizing that others believed the fault should be placed on the Crown. That nothing had been done to plan for worsening weather and soil. And they too were correct. The Crown had placed all their eggs in one basket, and that basket had been me. Now, the Crown had begun stockpiling goods that could be dried or canned, and had decreed that hardier crops be planted. They’d attempted to establish alliances, and while none had ended as poorly as the one with the Vodina Isles had, no other kingdom wanted to be saddled with one that couldn’t feed its residents.
I could count on one hand how many people knew that Lasania was doomed. The agreement King Roderick had struck had come with a time limit. I hadn’t only been promised to a Primal. My birth was a sign that the deal had run its course. And even if the Primal of Death had taken me, Lasania would continue on its path to destruction.
I ran a finger across the blade. A god could be killed if their brain or heart were destroyed by shadowstone. And paralyzed by it if the blade were left in their body. But a Primal was different. Destroying their heart and/or brain would only injure them, not kill them. It would weaken them but not enough to make them truly vulnerable to shadowstone.
But they could be killed.
By love.
Make him fall in love, become his weakness, and end him.
That was what I’d spent my entire life preparing to do. I had become skilled with the dagger, sword, and bow, and I could protect myself if it came to hand-to-hand combat. I had been instructed in how to behave in a manner believed to be appealing to the Primal once he claimed me, and the Mistresses of the Jade had taught me that the most dangerous weapon wasn’t a violent one. I’d been ready to make him fall in love with me. To become his weakness and then kill him.
It was the only way to save Lasania.
Any deal made between a god or Primal and a mortal ended in the favor of whoever had been granted the boon upon the death of the god or Primal who answered the summons. In our case, it meant that all the things that had happened to restore Lasania two hundred years ago would return and remain until the end of time. That was the piece of information my family had discovered in the years it’d taken for me to be born.
But he hadn’t claimed me, so that knowledge had proven useless so far. Somehow, I…I had messed up. He’d looked at me, and maybe he saw what was in me. What I tried to hide.
I thought about what my old nursemaid, Odetta, had told me when I asked her if she thought my mother was proud to have a Maiden as a daughter.
She had gripped my chin with gnarled, cold fingers and said, “Child, the Fates know you were touched by life and death, creating something that should not be. How could she be anything but afraid?”
I shouldn’t have even asked that question, but I was a child, and I…I had just wanted to know whether my mother was proud.
And Odetta had been the wrong person to ask. Gods love h
er, but she was as blunt as the back of a knife—and cranky. Always had been. But she had never treated me differently than she had anyone else.
What she’d said really hadn’t made much sense then, but I sometimes wondered if she had been talking about my gift. Had the Primal of Death somehow sensed that? Did it even matter now?
I’d failed.
“How could it not be my fault?” I demanded and then twisted toward the dummy before throwing the dagger.
The blade struck its chest, right where the heart would be located.
Sir Holland stared at the dummy. “See? You know where the heart is. Why didn’t you do that before?”
I twisted toward him. “I had a blindfold on before.”
“So?”
“So?” I repeated. “Why am I even practicing with a blindfold? Does someone expect me to go blind sometime soon?”
“I would hope not,” he replied dryly. “The exercise helps you hone your other senses. You know that, and you know what else you should know?”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” I angrily tossed the braid back over my shoulder.
“It’s not your fault,” he repeated.
A knot formed in the back of my throat at his tone. It was the same gentleness he’d used when I was seven, crying until my head ached because I had been forced to remain behind while everyone else left for the country estate. The same compassion he’d shown when I’d been eleven and sprained my ankle after landing on it wrong, and when I was fifteen and nearly gutted when I hadn’t deflected his attack in time. The kindness had been there when I was first sent to the Mistresses of the Jade in the months before my seventeenth birthday and didn’t want to go. Sir Holland and my stepsister Ezra were the only two people who treated me as if I were an actual person and not a cure—a fix that didn’t work.
I forced air around the burning knot. “Yeah, well, someone needs to tell the Queen that.”
“Your mother is…” Sir Holland shoved a hand over his closely cropped hair. “She is a hard woman. She and I don’t agree on a lot of things when it comes to you. I think you know that. But history is repeating itself, and she is watching her people suffer.”
“Then maybe she should summon a god and ask for the suffering to stop,” I suggested.
“You don’t mean that.”
I opened my mouth but then sighed. Of course, I didn’t. It wasn’t often that any were desperate or foolish enough to find their way to one of the Temples, but it did happen. I’d heard the stories.
Orlano, a cook in the castle, had once spoken about a childhood neighbor of his who had called upon a god, desiring the hand of the daughter of a landowner who’d refused to entertain his offer of marriage.
The god had granted exactly what he’d asked for.
The hand of the landowner’s daughter.
My stomach churned as I walked over to the dummy. What kind of god would do that?
What kind would kill a babe?
“Do you think you’re unworthy?” Sir Holland asked quietly.
Shaken by the question, I stared ahead but saw none of the burlap sack. “The Primal of Death had asked for a Consort in return for granting Roderick’s request. He came and left without me—without what he asked for. And he hasn’t come back since.” I looked at him. “So, what do you think?”
“Maybe he thought you weren’t ready.”
“Ready for what? How exactly could he determine if a Consort was ready?”
He shook his head. “Maybe he wanted you to be older. Not everyone believes someone is mature enough or ready enough to marry at seventeen or eighteen—”
“Or nineteen? Twenty? Everyone is pretty much married or on their way to being married by nineteen,” I stated.
“Tavius isn’t married. Neither is Princess Ezmeria. Or me,” he pointed out.
“Tavius isn’t married because Princess Kayleigh got sick and he’s too lazy to ascend the throne and have, you know, responsibilities beyond being a drunken, lecherous pig. So, he’s going to delay marriage for as long as possible. And Ezra has other plans. You…” I frowned. “Why aren’t you married?”
Sir Holland shrugged. “Just haven’t felt like doing it.” He watched me for a moment. “I think he will come for you,” he said. “That’s why I still train with you. I haven’t given up hope, Princess.”
I barked out a laugh. “Don’t call me that.”
“Call you what?”
“Princess,” I muttered. “I’m not a Princess.”
“Really?” Crossing his arms, he returned to his normal stance when he wasn’t either attempting to knock me on my ass or wound me with all kinds of sharp, stabby things. “Then what are you?”
What am I?
I looked down at my hands. That was a good question. I may be a Royal by blood, but I had only been recognized as such three times in my life. I certainly wasn’t treated as one. My whole life had been focused on me becoming a… “An assassin?”
“A warrior,” he corrected.
“Bait?”
His expression was as bland as the leftover bread I’d managed to grab that morning from the kitchen. “You are not bait. You are a trap.”
And maybe I had become nothing more than a flesh-and-blood weapon.
What else could I be? What layers exist under that? I wondered as I toyed with the blindfold dangling around my throat. There was no time for hobbies or entertainment. No skill set developed beyond handling a dagger or a bow and how to live with grace. I considered no one a close confidant—not even Ezra or Sir Holland. Growing up, I had only been allowed a nursemaid. Not even a lady’s maid out of fear they would have some sort of terrible influence on me. Not that I needed a companion at all times. But the company would’ve been nice. All that I had that didn’t involve this was my lake, and I wasn’t sure if that really counted for anything since it was, well…a lake.
I blew out an aggravated breath. I didn’t like to think about this—any of this. I didn’t like to think at all, to be honest. Because when I did, it made me feel like I was a real person. And when I couldn’t stop the thoughts from coming, I dwelled on that small seedling of relief I’d felt when the Primal had rejected me. Then I drowned in that shame and selfishness. Those times, I made use of the sleeping drafts the Healers had brewed for my mother. Once, while Sir Holland had been dealing with something related to the Royal Guard and Ezra had been in the country visiting a friend, I’d slept for nearly two days. No one had even checked on me. And when I awakened, I had stared at the vial, thinking it would be all too easy to drink it all. My palms became clammy like they did any time I thought about that, and I wiped them on my tights. I didn’t like to think about that day either—about how that vial had become a different type of ghost than the ones that haunted the Dark Elms, refusing to enter the Shadowlands.
“Come,” Sir Holland said, pulling me from my thoughts. “Put the blindfold back on and continue until you hit the target.”
Sighing, I reached for the cloth and tugged it back up. Sir Holland retied the binding so it stayed in place. I allowed my world to turn dark because what else did I have to do? Where did I have to be?
He turned me to the dummy, and then I sensed him step back. As I firmed my grip, I thought about what he’d said. A warrior. He could be right, but I was also one more thing.
A martyr.
Because whether the Primal came for me, regardless of if I succeeded if he did, the end result would be the same.
I wouldn’t survive.
Feeling a dull headache coming on, I entered the narrow stairwell after finishing with Sir Holland. Sunlight struggled to penetrate the darkness as I navigated the sometimes-slippery steps to the floor below. Crossing to Wayfair’s east wing, that hall was far dimmer. I walked to the last, little room at the end of the quiet hall. The door was ajar, and I pressed it open.
Candlelight flickered from a table by the narrow bed, casting a soft glow across the small form on the mattress. I tiptoe
d into the room and made my way to the stool beside the bed. I winced as the wood creaked under my weight, but the form on the bed didn’t stir.
Odetta had been sleeping a lot lately, each time seeming to slip deeper and deeper. She had already been aging when I came into this world, and now…now, her time was coming to a close. Sooner rather than later, she would leave this realm and pass into the Shadowlands, where she would spend eternity in the Vale.
A different kind of heaviness settled into me as my gaze touched the silvery strands of hair still so incredibly thick, and then moved to the bent, spotted hands resting atop a blanket that would’ve been too thick for anyone else given the warm breeze entering the window and stirring the blades of the ceiling fan. I fixed the edge of the blanket at her side.
When Odetta learned that the Primal hadn’t taken me, she had looked at me with rheumy eyes and said, “Death wants nothing to do with life. None of you can be surprised.”
I hadn’t exactly understood what she’d meant then. I hardly ever did, but her response hadn’t come as a shock. Odetta had never coddled me. She had never been particularly loving, either, but she was more of a mother than the one I had. And soon, she would be gone. Even now, she was so still.
Too still.
My breath caught as I stared at her frail chest. I couldn’t detect any movement. My heart hammered. Her skin was pale, but I didn’t think it had taken on that waxy sheen of death.
“Odetta?” My voice sounded rough to my ears.
There was no response. I rose, speaking her name once more as panic blossomed in my chest. Had she…had she passed?
I’m not ready.
I reached for her hand, stopping before my skin touched hers. I sucked in a shuddering breath. I wasn’t ready for her to be gone. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Heat rushed to my hand as my fingers hovered inches above hers—
“Don’t,” Odetta croaked. “Don’t you dare.”
My gaze flew to her face. Her eyes were open, just thin slits, but enough to see that the once-vibrant blue had dulled. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
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