The highest-ranking Sacred Masters, in charge of each pillar of magic inside the Citadel.
And behind them …
Alaris, the Healer. She spoke in hushed whispers to a broad figure in long white robes who seemed intent to leave her behind.
He had a crown upon his dark curls.
Ezer’s eyes widened.
The King.
She hadn’t seen him in years, not since she was a child and he rode through town in the Allgodsday procession. He was a large man, a warrior built for battle instead of the luxury of a throne. She knew he reigned from here, in the Citadel, while Queen Dhyana stayed in Touvre to watch over the southern half of the kingdom.
For some reason, Ezer feared him.
She’d heard he was not a kind ruler. Rather, a bold one, furious as he set his sights on destroying the Acolyte.
She quickly ducked behind one of the shelves and watched from the shadows as the group walked by.
‘It’s the third time this season,’ Alaris said softly. ‘How many times can one pay penance?’
Penance.
A word Izill had mentioned … She backed further into the shadows, with her scarred eye still seeing clear as day.
‘As many times as it takes,’ said the King. His voice was deeply accented, eerily similar to Arawn’s. But he had Kinlear’s dark curls, peppered through with bits of grey. He’d paused to lean against one of the shelves and catch his breath. Strange, for a warrior so famed to struggle walking across the flat, even ground as if he were climbing up a hill.
Alaris reached out a hand. ‘Do you need?—’
‘No,’the King growled. He stood back up to his full height, though she could see it pained him. ‘Save your strength. It is needed for the mark.’
‘But … she’s one of our best,’ Alaris pleaded. ‘And sometimes, I fear she might?—’
The King spun round, his gaze fierce.
Hisface.
It was gaunt. Dark shadows pooled beneath his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in days. He did not look like a man in his forties, fresh-faced and dark-haired like he had been in the processions only a decade ago.
But it looked likemanydecades had passed for him, given how grey his curls were, how pale his skin.
The rumors were true.
Channeling the gods’ power was truly taking its toll.
‘We do as the gods say,’ the King growled. ‘Or we risk facing their wrath.’
‘Of course,’ Alaris said, taking a step back. ‘Forgive me.’
‘Ask the gods for forgiveness,’ the King said. ‘Not me.’
Their voices faded as they continued deeper into the library.
Ezer risked a glance out of the shadows. She wanted to follow them – her curiosity would be what killed her someday, Ervos had always warned – but she also wasn’t a fool. She wouldn’t spark the rage of the King, and risk getting caught.
Penance.
The word made her insides turn.
