The proclamations echoed off every wall as they entered the city proper. The knights must have been keeping the populous at bay. Because suddenly they were inundated with people. Citizens stood in line, pushing against each other to get a better look at the parade.
“Lord Ulvarth has returned. Rejoice!” the crier at the front of the line continued. Vi would’ve guessed Ulvarth, not Taavin, was Yargen’s Voice, the way he was carrying on. “He has brought evil to justice. He has liberated the Voice from evil. He has recovered the Voice from the hands of those who would do him harm.”
It was then Vi realized they were talking abouther. She saw the people surrounding her for the first time, their skeptical and angry faces glowering from the shadows of their marbled buildings.
“Those who have brought the plague? Justice! Those who turned our fields barren? Justice! Those who unleashed the Dark God Raspian? Justice!”
Vi looked over to her father. His jaw was set so tightly that Vi wondered how his teeth didn’t crack. His hands were balled in his shackles and fire crackled around them. But he kept his rage checked—for both of their sakes.
“She who took our Voice? Justice!” Cheers increased, the crowd chanting along, all crying for “justice.”
Vi kept her eyes forward, no longer looking at the people and their lavish clothes or buildings. She could hear their jeers without needing to see their angry eyes. She would let their vitriol slide off of her, just as her father was. She would follow his example.
Something wet and rotten-smelling crashed into her temple. Vi stumbled, more from surprise than pain. She felt the slime from whatever it was—food, rotten food? Let it be rotten food—dribbling down the side of her face.
“Lord Ulvarth has returned. Rejoice!” the crier began anew, methodically repeating himself to the crowd.
It seemed all of Risen lined this wide road. All of Risen had come prepared with their best insults to levy and trash to throw. Vi and her father were pelted. The slimy, sticking, stinking things hurt less than the bottles and rocks—those Vi actively attempted to dodge. But the former coated her in yet another layer of grime.
Something particularly large smacked into her shoulder. This time she did stumble and falter. A knight grabbed her roughly, righting her.
“Keep going or lose your head,” he snarled.
Vi found her feet once more, looking to her father. His dark eyes were filled with all the sorrow of the world. Sheer agony covered his face, agony that compounded the longer he looked at her. But when he spoke, his words were strong and even.
“Keep that head high,” he dared to utter. “Even if you wear a crown of filth, you are still a princess of Solaris.”
They can’t take that away from you. The words were left unsaid, but Vi heard them with her heart more than her ears. She felt them—saw them, in every one of her father’s movements.
Vi straightened, holding her head high, and continued their slow march to the Archives of Yargen.
At long last, they crested the top of the final set of stairs, reaching a large square. The heavy irons had cut into her wrists, blood dripping down her fingertips. But Vi continued to hold her head high. The small act of defiance was all she could manage now.
The Archives of Yargen towered over her in a single spire. At its base, triangular buildings stretched out like points on a sun, connected by glass-topped, floating archways and walkways. Every building was nearly five stories tall—taller than anything else surrounding it. But even they were only half the height of the main column.
Vi craned her neck awkwardly, jaw aching. Smoke billowed from a ring of windows near the top of the spire.The Flame of Yargen. Which meant Taavin’s home—his prison—was just above that.
“Take him to the dungeons.” Ulvarth’s voice drifted back to her. The public had been pushed away from this square, leaving just Ulvarth and his small army.
Taavin was gone as well, but Vi hadn’t seen where they’d taken him.
“And bring the girl to me.”
The words took a second to register. It wasn’t until her father was being forcibly ripped from her side that Vi understood. She turned for her father. Vi screamed against her gag—more incoherent sounds.
In truth, she didn’t know if she had words at all. Her mind was pure rage, and the daze of such a new and overwhelming place, peppered with the sheer confusion of exactly how all this had happened.
Two strong arms closed around her, pulling her backward, hoisting her off the ground. Vi kicked her feet and thrashed. She was done being the polite princess. The masses were gone; there was no longer the need to represent the Dark Isle with regal pride, and Ulvarth’s Swords already thought her a monster. She would prove them right to defend her father.
Aldrik looked back to her, worry in his eyes. He still said nothing.How could he say nothing?She was the one wearing the gag, but he was the silent one. It was a level of self-control Vi had yet to gain.
“You have fight in you, don’t you?” Ulvarth stepped into her field of vision, blocking her view of her father. Vi twisted and struggled against the arms holding her, trying to catch sight of him again. But he’d been lost in the sea of golden armor, purple sashes, and cruel eyes.
She’d lost him again.
She’d lost her father.
Vi glared at Ulvarth. She’d show him how much fight she had in her. Fire crackled around her knuckles, popping underneath the iron biting into her flesh at her wrists. It didn’t take much for the iron to heat to a red glow under her white-hot flames.
