“Tell. Me. Who. Died.” In my periphery, I can see the other inquisitors moving toward us, but my grip doesn’t falter. My attention doesn’t waver.
“High Curate Kassin Thaz.”
Everything stops. My heart, my breathing, the world aroundme, and for a moment, I think I’m imagining all of this. It’s the result of green dragon vapor, or maybe the effects of being hit in the head one too many times in that cage. But then the horn hums its low sound again from the funeral procession below—my father’s funeral procession—and reality hits me with a force greater than an inquisitor could inflict. An inquisitor like the one whose life is in my hands.
Kill him. Do it. End it all.
I’ve never had a murderous bone in my body. I’ve never delighted in death or destruction. I have only ever wanted to help—whatever that meant. I did not even delight in the murder of the dragons that ravage my city. But now? I amallbloodlust.
They tore apart my family.
They took my childhood and made me their savior.
They shamed, blamed, and ostracized my mother.
They have assaulted me and my friends.
And now they’ve killed my father. I know it as surely as I know my own mind.
What is left for me? What remains if not hate and loathing? I could reduce the world to ash and historians would call it “justice.”
The knife is perfectly still. My stance sure.
Lucan’s fingertips land lightly on the back of my hand, and I drag my attention to him. He just shakes his head. Saipha stands two steps back, hands covering her lips in horror. She doesn’t even dare approach me.
Slowly, I lower the blade. With purposeful movements, I return it to the sheath on the man’s hip, even fastening the clip once more. All the while, our eyes stay locked, and he warily regards me as though I’m still holding the knife to his neck.
You should be afraid.
“The other inquisitors are coming,” I say under my breath. “Tell them all is well, and I’ll say nothing about how you let asupplicant take your dagger.”
The man holds my gaze with a scowl. Hate simmers in his eyes. I meet it, welcome it.Challenge me, I say without words.
He turns, mumbling something to the other inquisitors as they run up about all being well. The rest of the supplicants regard me with wary looks, staying a few steps away.
Rather than assuaging their fears, I stiffen my spine and keep walking like nothing happened.
Once more, my body doesn’t feel like my own. It moves, but the motions are mindless. I stare down at the haze of the city below the entire time we walk, but Father’s procession is gone.
Father is gone.
I want to scream, but I can’t find sound. Want to weep, but there are no tears. There’s just the task ahead and—for the first time in my life—a true hatred for what this city is. What it has made me.
“Isola…” Saipha starts to say something.
“I’m fine.” I give her a sharp look. “Let’s focus on surviving today.”
“You don’t have to be—”
I grab her wrist and pull her close. What I say next is harsh, but I can’t find it in me to soften the words. “Tonight, in Mercy Spire, you can hold my hair back while I sob until I retch. But I’m not going to give any of them the satisfaction of my pain for a second longer. They want their great slayer, Valor? I’ll show them Valor.”
Lucan looks at me sideways as I pull away. I expect him to say something about how harshly I spoke to her, but he doesn’t. Saipha gives a slight nod and looks forward. I don’t miss the shiver that runs down her spine.
I should apologize, but I can’t. Right now, I can’t allow myself to be tender. Not even to her. If I do, I’ll shatter, and I don’t have that luxury. I must succeed in this next challenge. Not just forme but for Father.
57
All the supplicants are led up a stairway and ushered out into a massive arena. I’ve never been here before, but I assume it’s a training area for Mercy Knights.
