I slammed the blade into his chest again, over his heart. The dagger pierced the heavy brocade and the bones there, sinking through his body as if it were nothing but spun sugar.
His screams cut off.
Tugging the blade free, I stepped aside as the guard’s legs went out from under him. He fell to the side, twitching. A pool of crimson swept across the ivory carpet, joining the other deep red stain.
“Gods,” I uttered, glancing up to where the female servant stood against the wall. “The carpet will definitely require more than a spot clean, won’t it?”
Wide-eyed, she slowly shook her head. Her lips moved for several moments without sound. “I didn’t want to do this. They caught me outside. Told me they needed my help.” Words spilled out of her between ragged sobs. “I didn’t know what for until they led me in here. I thought they were going to—”
“Do you know who was supposed to pay them?” I cut her off.
“N-no,” she said, shaking her head. “I swear to you. I have no idea.” Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t really even know who you are. I thought you were a handmaiden.”
I swallowed a sigh as I looked down at the three guards, not letting myself take in their faces—to see if I recognized any of them and allow them to leave a mark behind. Who could’ve gotten to them that had the kind of coin needed to convince someone to kill someone else who was either employed or protected by the Crown?
There was only one who would do it, knowing there’d be no repercussions.
Tavius.
My stomach tumbled. Could he truly be behind this? I pressed my lips together. Was I seriously asking myself that? Of course, he would, but could he have pulled something like this together in the short time between when he left his father’s office and now? Or had it been planned? His taunts came back to me, and my grip tightened on the dagger. Did he even have the kind of coin he would need or be willing to fork it over?
A loud thud sounded near the door. I turned just as a male voice announced from the other side, “Let me try.”
Before I could even walk forward and unlock the door, I saw the knob turn and keep turning. Metal creaked and then cracked as gears gave way.
Dear gods…
I took a step back as the door swung open, and several Royal Guards filed into the chamber. They drew up short, but it was the male who stood in the doorway that snagged my focus.
I’d never seen him before.
I’d never seen anything like him before.
He was tall and…golden all over. His mane of hair. His skin. The elaborate…facial paint. A shimmery gold swept up over his brows and down his cheeks, a design that resembled wings. But his eyes…they were such a pale shade of blue they nearly blended with the faint aura of eather behind the pupils.
I knew then that he was a god, but that wasn’t what left me unsettled. The facial paint reminded me of the charred skin on the seamstress’s face.
That pale gaze drifted over to where I stood, still breathing heavily, and landed on the bodies behind me, ending where the servant girl was still pressed to the wall as if she were trying to become one with it. I slipped the hand holding the dagger behind me.
The god grinned.
My mother appeared behind him, her face paling to match the ivory and cream of her gown. I suddenly wished that I could become one with the wall.
“I found them like this,” I lied, glancing at the servant. “Right?”
She nodded emphatically, and I turned back to them. The god’s pale gaze burned into mine, the wisps of eather in his eyes far fainter than Ash’s. What was a god even doing here in the castle? I swallowed, wanting to take a step back as he continued staring at me.
The god’s smile grew. “What a terrible thing to discover.”
I glanced at my mother. Not for one second did I think she believed what I claimed, but she wouldn’t say anything. Not in front of a god.
The Queen’s expression smoothed out. “Yes,” she said, her chest rising sharply. “What a terrible thing, indeed.”
“You really think Tavius had something to do with the attack?” Ezra asked, her voice low as we hung freshly washed linens on nylon lines in the courtyard of Healer Dirks’ home the following afternoon.
I’d taken Ezra up on her earlier offer to help those injured in the protests. Well, I sort of overheard her giving directions to the carriage driver and followed her to the very edge of the Garden District today, where the most severely injured from the protests were being treated. But it was clear that Dirks needed as much help as possible. Nearly a dozen cots and pallets lined the front chamber of his residence, containing those who had been hurt. Wounds needed to be cleaned. Linens washed before they aided in infection. The injured coaxed into eating or drinking. Healer Dirks hadn’t said a word to me beyond pointing to the baskets of linens that needed to be hung to dry. I could never tell if the older man knew who I was. He hadn’t asked questions over the years when Sir Holland brought me to him to treat the injuries I’d received while training. If he suspected anything, he never said a word. Ezra had eventually joined me. It was the first chance we had to speak about what had occurred yesterday.
“I do think he’s responsible.” I glanced to where several Royal Guards stood positioned at the iron gateway to the courtyard as I grabbed one of the damp sheets from the basket. “Who else would’ve had the coin?” Flipping the sheet over the line, I pulled it straight. “Or the courage to risk recruiting the guards?”
“Not that I’m trying to defend my brother, but even I don’t think he’s idiotic enough to kill the one thing that can stop the Rot,” Ezra pointed out.
“You’re giving him far more credit than I can, then.” I tugged the hood of my blouse farther down, more so to shield the glare of the sun than to hide my identity.
“And the girl?” Ezra asked, bending to pick up the last linen. She shook it out, and the astringent scent tickled my nose. “You really think she had nothing to do with it?”
“I don’t know.” I caught the other end of the sheet and helped her spread it over the line. “She was scared, but I don’t know if that was because I was in the room or because she had been forced into it.”
Ezra swept one of the linens to the side as she stepped through, joining me. “Either way, someone should relocate her out of Wayfair just in case.”
“Where would she go?” I asked. “If you say something about her, she will most likely lose her job.”
“And if she played a role in this attack, should she continue working in the same household that you live in?” she challenged as she straightened the tiny white bow on the bodice of her robin’s egg blue gown.
“But if she didn’t, then she’s out of a job.” I picked up the basket. “Not only would we be punishing a victim, she would likely blame me and the curse, and that is the last thing I need.”
Ezra sighed. “You’re right, but you should at least say something to Sir Holland. He could probably look into her background and see if she may be a continued threat.” Her brow wrinkled; her gaze moving between the Royal Guards and me. “I’m just not sure that Tavius played a role in this. And you know I do not say that because I believe he’s not capable of such a thing. Tavius hardly has spare coin,” Ezra explained. “I know this because he’s always trying to borrow from me. He spends whatever he has on Miss Anneka.”
“Miss Anneka?” I frowned, holding the wicker basket to my chest as I turned toward the Shadow Temple, where it loomed at the base of the Cliffs of Sorrow. The shadowstone spires reflected the sunlight as if it repelled life itself.
“She is a recently widowed merchant’s wife,” she explained, lifting her brows. “They have been having a rather sordid affair. I’m surprised you didn’t know about it.”
“I really try not to think about Tavius and block out anything about him,” I told her, wondering if it were possible that this widow had given Tavius the money. I sighed. “I can’t believe all of that had to happen right as the Queen was
coming in from the gardens. She was not entirely pleased.”
“She spent a good portion of supper last night bemoaning the ruined carpet,” Ezra said, and I rolled my eyes. “Apparently, it had been imported from somewhere east and, according to her, was ‘utterly irreplaceable.’”
Apparently, my life wasn’t.
My mother hadn’t said a word to me after I left the room. She hadn’t checked on me to make sure I wasn’t injured like Sir Holland had. Neither had the King.
“What happened to your arm?” Ezra demanded, her eyes narrowing. “Did that occur when you fought off the guards?”
“Not entirely, though I’m sure that didn’t help. It’s courtesy of Prince Tavius,” I replied and then told her what had happened.
Her jaw hardened as she stared at my arm. “You know, I have always had a hard time believing that people are inherently evil,” she said, lifting her gaze to mine. “Even after everything I’ve seen while helping those in the city. Misdeeds are either done by choice or by circumstance. Never by nature. But, sometimes, I look at my brother and think that maybe he is evil. Perhaps he was simply born that way.”
“Well,” I murmured, “I can’t say that I would disagree with you on that. I just wish more realized it.”
“As do I.” Ezra stepped in close enough that if either of us moved, her bare arm would touch mine. “By the way, the god you saw with the Queen yesterday?” she said, and I immediately thought of the gold-painted face mask. “I overheard her speaking with my father after supper about him. His name is Callum.” Her chin dipped. “He’s from the Court of Dalos.”
My stomach flipped. “He’s from The Primal of Life’s Court?”
She nodded. “I imagine it has something to do with the upcoming Rite.”
That made sense, but I couldn’t remember a god from the Court of Dalos ever coming to the castle before.
We started to make our way through the winding path that cut through the numerous raised planters full of medicinal herbs. “Let’s see what else we can help Healer Dirks with,” Ezra said, and I nodded. “Then I must head home. Father has requested to speak with Lord Faber. I’m not sure why, but Mari was finagled into joining her father, and I was somehow included in the conversation.”
Wondering what the King wanted to speak with Lord Faber about, I followed Ezra toward the curtained doors.
“Hey.”
I looked over my shoulder toward the voice as Ezra stopped in front of me. I looked past the Royal Guards and beyond the courtyard to where…
A fair-haired male stood by Ezra’s carriage, rubbing the muzzle of one of the horses. He was tall and slender, his features sharp—his eyes, cheeks, and jaw. He wore a black, sleeveless tunic trimmed in silver brocade, and polished, dark boots that reached his knees. There was something…off about the way he casually stood there. It raised the hair along the back of my neck. It took me a moment to realize that the sun’s glare didn’t appear to touch him—that he and only he stood in the shadows.
My heart started thumping heavily as I turned to Ezra, to see her trying to peer around me. “I’ll be right back.”
“Who is that?” she asked as the Royal Guards eyed the male with what I suspected was the same unease I felt.
“Not sure. If I find out, I’ll tell you later.” I bit back a smile as she sent me an impatient look. “I promise.”
“You’d better,” she muttered and then snapped the skirt of her gown with how quickly she turned.
Senses alert, I kept my right hand close to where I had the blade sheathed to my thigh. As I passed the Royal Guards, my steps slowed near the stranger who had returned to petting the horse.
“Who are you?” I asked.
His head turned toward me, and I saw his eyes. They were a deep amber color, and I was close enough to see the glow of eather behind his pupils.
The stranger was a god.
Out of reflex, I placed my hand over my heart and started to lower to a knee in a gesture of respect reserved only for a god or Primal. Something I just then realized I’d never done for Ash. “Your Highness.”
“Please don’t do that,” he requested, and I froze for a heartbeat and then straightened. “My name is Ector.”
I opened my mouth—
“I don’t care what your name is,” he interrupted, and I snapped my mouth shut. I was going to say hello. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
I was.
“If so, we have that in common,” he continued, tilting his head. Several locks of blond curls slid over his forehead. “I’m also wondering that, but I know better than to ask questions and to simply do as I’m told.”
My brows lifted in confusion.
Ector gave the horse one last scratch and then turned fully toward me. I saw then that he held something in his other hand. A narrow, wooden box made of pale birch. “I was ordered to give you this.”
I stared at the box. “By whom?”
“I think you missed the part about knowing better than to ask questions. You should know better.” He offered the box. “Take it.”
I took the box, only because…what else was I supposed to do? Glancing down at it, I turned it slowly in my hands and then looked up. The god called Ector had already walked off toward the street.
Okay, then.
Curious and a bit wary, I stepped into the shadows of the building next door. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t a little afraid of what could be in a box given to me by some random god. I found the seam of the lid and lifted it.
I gasped as a tremor of shock rippled through me. The box wobbled in my hand. I steadied myself, unable to believe what I was looking at.
Nestled against cream velvet was a dagger. Not just any dagger, though.
The corners of my lips tipped up, and a smile stretched across my face as I freed the blade from its soft nest. The dagger was…it was a magnificent creation. A piece of art. The hilt was made of some kind of smooth, white, surprisingly lightweight material. Perhaps stone of some sort? The pommel of the hilt was carved into the shape of a crescent moon. I gripped the hilt and pulled the dagger free. The dagger…gods, it was delicate yet strong.
Beautiful and powerful.
The blade itself was at least seven inches long and shaped like a thin hourglass—deadly sharp on both sides. Someone had etched an elaborate design into the dagger—a spiked tail on the blade, and the muscular, scaled body and head of a dragon carved into the hilt, its powerful jaws open and breathing fire.
The dagger was made of shadowstone.
The polished black blade blurred. I blinked away the sudden wetness and swallowed, but the messy knot still clogged my throat. The emotion had nothing to do with the shadowstone. It didn’t even have to do with who I knew must have given it to me. It was just…
I’d never been gifted anything in my life.
Not on the Rites when gifts were often exchanged among family and friends. Not on my birthday.
But I had been given a gift now—a beautiful, useful, and wholly unexpected one. And it had been a god who’d given it to me.
Ash.
Chapter 17
Odetta passed into the Vale in the early morning hours of the following day.
I’d only learned this because when I went to check on her before training with Sir Holland, I had discovered a servant in her chamber, stripping the linens from the bed.
And I knew what had happened before I even spoke—before I asked where she was. The sudden tightening in my chest and the knot in my throat told me that the moment Odetta had warned was approaching had come and gone.
I hadn’t gone to the tower. Instead, I’d traveled to Stonehill, where I knew she had family who still lived, arriving just as the services began. I wondered if that was why I often found myself in this district and spent time at the Temple of Phanos—if I thought of Odetta as family, and that was why it drew me.
I stayed near the back of the small cluster of mourners, surprised when I felt the pres
ence of others coming to stand beside me. It was Sir Holland and Ezra. Neither said anything as the pyre Odetta had been laid upon was raised, the slender linen-wrapped body coming into view. They stood quietly beside me, their presence lessening some of the pressure in my chest.
I didn’t cry as torches were carried forward and placed on the oil-soaked wood. Not because I couldn’t, but because I knew that Odetta wouldn’t have wanted me to. She’d told me that I had to be ready. So, I was as ready as I could ever be as the flames slowly crawled over the wood, stirred by the salty breeze coming off the sea until I could no longer see the pale linens behind the fire.
I turned and left then, knowing that nothing of the cranky woman was left in this realm. She had entered the Shadowlands, passing through the Pillars of Asphodel that Ash had spoken about. I walked the coast, confident that Odetta had been welcomed into the Vale and was likely already complaining about something.
I woke the morning before the Rite with a throbbing headache that didn’t go away, no matter how much water I forced myself to drink throughout the morning.
Training was sheer torture as the headache managed to spread into an ache that settled in my jaw and brought queasiness to my stomach. The stifling heat of the tower room didn’t help.
Sir Holland circled me, sweat glistening off the dark skin of his forehead. I tracked him wearily. He lunged at me, and I should’ve easily blocked his kick, but my movements were slow. His bare foot connected with my shin. A pained breath punched out of my lungs as I hobbled back on one leg.
“You okay?” Sir Holland demanded.
“Yeah.” I bent over, rubbing my shin.
“You sure?” He came to my side, dragging the back of his hand over his forehead. “You’ve been sloppy all afternoon.”
“I feel sloppy,” I muttered, straightening.
Concern pinched Sir Holland’s face as his gaze swept over me. “You look a little pale.” He planted his hands on his waist. “What’s going on? Is it Odetta?”
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