But because of the one time she didn’t.
‘When Wrenwyn came of age, she was set to be Matched with another Sacred. It was her duty, the Masters said, to marry her chosen. To mate with him and carry on the bloodline … to keep her Realmist pillar pure. So Wrenwyn arrived at her Matching Ceremony as one should, dressed in a gown of spun gold. All of Lordach was in attendance, eager to see the beautiful young princess be Matched. Her chosen was handsome and powerful, well connected to the gods, for he had never broken a single one of their laws.’
‘A fine match,’Wrenwyn’s brothers told her. ‘A beautiful union.’
Izill smiled. ‘The people of Lordach adored him, just as they adored Wrenwyn. He uttered his vows aloud, and promised to stand by Wrenwyn’s side, to give of his own flesh to create another with such pure magic. It was a dream, that day, the sun high in the sky, the butterflies dancing and the flowers blooming.’
Her voice softened. ‘But when the Masters turned to Wrenwyn, and asked her to recite her vows … she told themno.’
The Masters warned her of what would come should she disobey. It was a command. It was her duty, passed down from the Five who breathed life into her veins.
‘I do not fear the gods!’Wrenwyn shouted. ‘If they are real, then they will prove to me their wrath.’
Izill’s eyes widened as she continued. ‘And in that moment, in the bright light of a perfect day, the sky turned black. Wrenwyn was struck by lightning. And she died on her wedding day. Only her bones were left by the time she was done burning. They buried them in a small, meager grave, a reminder to all of us, to this day. No one defies the gods and gets away unscathed.’
Izill sat back, the tale done.
‘Izill.’
They both whirled to find Zey standing there behind the couch, her eyes tired, her hand covered in a fresh bandage. She looked like she hadn’t slept all night. ‘Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Toilets to scrub. Dishes to clean?’
Izill’s jaw hardened. ‘Good luck today,’ she said to Ezer as she stood and quickly pressed a hand to her arm. Then she glared at Zey and left.
‘Servants,’ Zey said, and to Ezer’s surprise, she slumped into the seat across from her and took what remained of Izill’s meal. Her blonde hair was wild and tangled, no longer in its exquisite braid. ‘Wrenwyn didn’t die that day, you know.’
Ezer lifted a brow. ‘I’ve certainly not heard that version before.’
‘You wouldn’t have, being that you’re Unconsecrated.’ She folded a piece of bacon in half, and ate it in one bite, groaning at the taste. ‘There’s another version, passed around in silent whispers. One that’s far more exciting.’
‘What’s your version, then?’ Ezer asked, crossing her arms.
Zey picked up a cinnamon roll, and began unfurling it, inch by inch. ‘No lightning strike. But her brothers did subdue her then cut out her tongue, and locked her away in their castle for the rest of her days. She was supposed to die there, for her defiance.’ She took a bite and licked the icing off her fingertip. And Ezer realized, suddenly, the familiar smell upon the woman. The strange glaze in her eyes.
She was drunk.
And today wasnotAbsolution Day.
‘In that version of the story, she could no longer wield, of course, because she had no way to invocate. But shedidfind a way to break out. She had help, some say, and she disappeared across the Expanse, never to be seen or heard from again.’ Her lips broke into a cold, cruel smile. ‘Some believe that was just before the thirteenth stone turned black.’
Ezer’s blood went cold for a moment.
‘Of course, it’s only a story,’ Zey said, and shrugged. ‘She’s got a grave out there, somewhere in the woods. Someone broke into it, years ago. And when they did, do you know what they found?’
‘What?’ Ezer asked.
Zey smiled. ‘Nothing,’she said, and slurred the word. ‘Not even a finger bone. Think about that, Raphonminder, and tell me which version of the story you believe.’
A knock sounded on the dormitory door, and Ezer jumped.
‘Run along to your little prince,’ Zey said. ‘But you should know. The women he spends his time with …’ A devilish smirk. ‘Well, if they aren’t his betrothed … they have a mysterious reputation for dying.’
She didn’t believe her for a second.
Especially when she opened the door and found Arawn standing there, a small black box in his hands.
‘What’s this?’ Ezer asked as Arawn held the package out to her.
He was dressed in more casual clothing today, still with his white cloak, his classic warrior’s braid. But instead of silk, he wore a linen tunic and trousers. The fabric showed all too well the lines of his body. He frowned as he held out the box. ‘It’s a gift.’
