Seraphina’s eyes fluttered open as all the horrors of the day before flooded her in a sickening wave. The coup. The fire. Sir Arkwright’s lifeless body. Tiberius’s betrayal. Olivia’s sacrifice.
Aldric. Realizing she had sent Aldric to his grave.
Her throat burned with the rawness of the tears she had shed the night before. Her temples throbbed faintly, as if she had had too much wine. Except she hadn’t drunk any wine at all.
Beneath the blanket, Alyx trembled within her arms. Her poor, wounded usuru.
She wanted to stay in bed a little longer. To hide, tucked between her godparents like a child. Dawn had not yet broken. The sky through the grimy window remained a dark, bruised violet.
But she knew they had to move. They had a long journey ahead.
Seraphina shoved upright and slipped out from beneath the blanket before she could change her mind. Cold air slapped against her bare feet. Gritting her teeth, she hurried across the sparse bedroom to where she had left her stockings and shoes next to her knapsack. She was still in the same gown she had worn the day before—creased, stained.
It was all she had now.
Alyx hissed in protest and burrowed deeper into her arms. Her godparents stirred at the sound. Duchess Edith blinked awake first, dried tears streaking her own cheeks. Duke Percival groaned and groped at the small table beside the bed, hunting for his spectacles.
Through the open doorway, she spotted Dame Florence already by the hearth, dishing out bowls of what looked to be porridge.Reyla perched at the table where they had all once played cards, dressed for travel and clutching her writing slate.
Seraphina moved quickly, donning her shoes, cloak, and knapsack. The bag was a little heavier now, weighed down with not only her map, the royal seal, and her copy of the Scriptures, but her crown, too.
She could no longer afford to wear it.
Not when it could endanger those she journeyed with.
“We should move soon,” Dame Florence called without glancing her way. “But eat something first. No telling when we’ll get our next bite.”
Seraphina paused over that. The thought of potentially going hungry one day in the near future was entirely foreign.
How different this morning already was from yesterday.
Had that truly only been yesterday?
“Sera?” Duchess Edith softly asked from her place still tucked within the bed. “How are you feeling?”
Like a queen without a throne.
Like a wife without a husband.
Seraphina avoided meeting her godmother’s prying gaze for a single moment as she forced her expression into something composed. Something steady. Something worthy of the last de la Croix—fleeing for her life and pretending as if that did not bother her in the slightest.
“Well enough,” she lied.
And that was that. No other words sprang to her lips.
Before Duchess Edith could ask any further questions, she drifted from the bedroom and toward the table to claim a bowl of porridge for herself. Dame Florence slanted her a sidelong look but said nothing.
Reyla scratched out aGood morningon her slate and went back to eating.
Her godfather followed, his cane gently clacking against the floor. “We still only have the one horse,” he pointed out. “Even if we ride double, it will not carry all of us.”
“The horse will carry you and Her Grace, riding double,” Seraphina declared without pause. “The rest of us will journey on foot until we reach the nearest village. We can pry a jewel from my crown and barter for horses there.”
Duke Percival pursed his lips, looking on the verge of offering some complaint.
Before he could, Duchess Edith swept from the bedroom and murmured, “We should dispense with the good manners until we reach the Dawnspire, darling. No more ‘Your Grace.’” She smiled, as if trying to infuse some levity into these tense moments of preparation. “Just call us Edith and Percy.”
Her godfather winced. “Percival,” he corrected his wife. “Only you can call me Percy. And…” But he trailed off, not completing the sentence. Pain flickered across his features—there and gone in a moment.
