“If you think I will ever—” Ember starts with a snarl.
But she’s interrupted by Lucan. “She’s right.” Lucan slumps slightly, his posture going slack as if he’s seeing defeat. I can feel his tension—his defiance under my grip. But he plays his part. “We can’t win.”
Not right now. Not like this.
“Lucan?” Ember’s voice breaks on his name, equal measures confused and hurt. “What are you saying?”
“Have you lost your mind?” Myla adds with quiet horror.
“They’ve won. We’ve lost. It’s as simple as that, Ember,” he says flatly.
Then his eyes find mine.
Time halts for a breath, the silence between us roaring. He asks a question that I’m not sure I can answer with a heartbeat’s worth of staring alone. Do we trust each other? Even after what’s happened, can we work together?
I won’t let you die, Lucan. I feel it more than think it. As though my heart responds when my mind and my mouth cannot.I saved you once, and I’ll do it again. But you better not make me regret it.
His attention shifts back to Ember, and time seems to speed back up. “They have more power than you realize.”
“Listen to him,” the vicar counsels with practiced ease, but Idon’t miss the edge in his voice. His monster within is clawing against the surface. “Lucan would intimately know our power, after all. Isn’t that right,son?” The vicar shifts toward the knights. “Take them all to the Grand Chapel.”
“Sir? Even the ashborn?”
“Allof them,” the vicar snaps. His patience is wearing thin. “Their presence will ensure she does as she’s told.”
No one dares question him again.
Ember lowers the dagger at my throat. In the process, she murmurs for me alone, “You better know what you’re doing.”
So, she did figure out I was trying to send a message.
There’s no time for any kind of response. The knights are upon us, disarming the three of them with stunning efficiency and knocking them to their knees. Their arms are wrenched together, rope quickly tied around their wrists in front of them. I press my lips shut to keep from speaking up for them. Anything I could say would only make things worse.
Bound, they’re forced back to their feet. Even though their expressions are of reluctant surrender, I can see Lucan’s arms flexing against his binding, testing its strength. The Mercy Knights push them ahead, casting me cold, wary stares as they pass.
I’m left with the vicar, who now regards me like a vengeful god who’s weighing my fate. He reaches out with a bony hand and cups my cheek. His touch is cold and dry, with little more life than the dragon head in the sundering pits. I fight the urge to flinch and withdraw.
“Come,” he whispers. “To meet your destiny.”
He grips my elbow like a vile groom might escort an unwilling bride, leading me up and out of Mercy Spire.
64
My stomach lurches at the vicar’s touch. Just his hand on me, and I’m nearly sick all over his shoes. Every step is a struggle, his grip never easing on my elbow.
The world around me blurs into a smear of color and shadows and smooth walls and dragon sconces. I can’t focus on anything when he’s this close. When he’s touching me. All I’m aware of is his proximity. His suffocating presence that makes my skin crawl.
Breathe, I tell myself,breathe and keep your head high.
We reach a carriage house that opens to Vinguard. It’s so strange to see the city from the streets after weeks of looking out upon it from the height of the monastery. Two ornate carriages await, their polished exteriors familiar and as flawless as ever.
These things never show up when anything good is happening.
“Valor Reborn with me,” Vicar Darius instructs. “Myson, too.” He sayssonwith a note of disgust. “Put the rest in the carriage behind.”
The number of Mercy Knights surrounding us has doubled. Now they also wield crossbows. The message is clear: run and die.
The vicar guides me to the carriage door, his hand never leaving my person. “After you.” The kindness is a mockery.
