Aidon had known Dauphine only for a handful of hours, yet it was strange to see her beholden to someone else. He wondered if Luc knew just how rare for his sister this was.
“I may be leaving town for a few weeks,” Dauphine was saying as Aidon stepped back into the living room. Her brother had his back to her, one hand on the brass handle of the door. “If you need anything—”
“I won’t.”
“But if you do—”
“I won’t.”Luc straightened his spine, spite carving grooves in the youthful smoothness of his face. “Enjoy your gold,” he spat as he wrenched open the door. It slammed behind him, plunging the room into a ringing silence.
Dauphine didn’t move from her spot near the door, her hands loose at her sides as she simply stared at the wood for several long moments. Aidon made his way to her slowly.
He nudged her with his shoulder. “Come have a drink with me.”
Dauphine blinked up at him. It was a long moment before her lips tugged at the corners.
“You broke my favorite glasses, you asshole.”
Aidon rolled his eyes as he jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Add it to my tab.”
22
The cell door cracked open, a small sliver of light crawling across the floor to where Aya sat motionless against the wall. Her head was heavy, held up not by her own efforts, but by the rigid stone at her back. She could see the Anima guard’s steady footsteps as she stalked into the cell, but the scuff of her boots against the floor sounded a world away.
She reached down and yanked on the chain, dragging Aya to her feet.
“Move,” the guard barked. Aya went easily. As easily as she could, at least, with the way her legs trembled beneath her, the stone stinging her bare feet.
The hall was lit with low flames, the soft glow searing Aya’s eyes after so long in her cell. She tucked her chin to her chest as she kept her gaze fixed on the floor. She nearly stumbled again when the guard pulled her to the left, the unexpected turn throwing her weak limbs off balance.
Had they chosen another room for today? Would this one be cloaked in darkness, or pierced with light?
She supposed it didn’t make a difference. Not anymore.
The guard maintained her quick pace, and Aya’s stiff joints screamed against the way she tried to keep up. She madeanother turn, and then another, and then she was dragging her up a set of stairs and into a hallway lined with windows and art and—
Gods, the lightburned.
Aya kept her head tucked, her gaze fixed on her dirt-covered feet as she followed the woman blindly. After all, it was what she’d always done, wasn’t it? Followed without question. Obeyed and conformed andtriedwith every piece of her to begood.
To do what wasright.
To honor her kingdom and her queen and her gods.
What a waste it had been.
The floor beneath her feet changed as the hall spilled into a larger room, large stones becoming intricate patterns carefully placed to create sweeping whirls. She knew this room.
It was an effort to lift her head, but she did it, her gaze finding the dais. King Gregor sat straight-backed on his throne, dressed in the royal livery of Kakos—navy and silver and intricate. She wondered how he had produced such finery when Kakos was said to have been suffering under the embargo for the last fifty years.
Another lie she’d believed without question.
Beside him, in the place typically reserved for a queen, sat Evie.
The saint was dressed in robes of dark navy, the folds deep and dramatic and out of place for the regular wooden chair she was perched upon. And yet she held herself with an air of importance, her chin raised as she looked to where Aya had entered the room.
Suddenly, Aya was acutely aware of the dirt and grime on her, of the rips in the shift they had forced her into. She felt flayed open, as if every brush of air against her filthy skin was a knife against some invisible wound.
Broken.
