Rian stumbles as he shuffles down the hall, leaning against one wall for support. I can tell from his breath that he’s aching down to his bones, but when he twists back toward me, he manages to flash a blood-stained smirk.
“You married her,” he says.
“I did.”
“You think she’ll ever be happy with a mere mortal,” he coughs, “when she could have a god?”
I glower back at him. “I’ve met the other gods. Trust me, they’re no prize.”
I shove him to keep him moving.
But the words lodge deep. He’s not entirely wrong. I’ve watched carefully from the sidelines as Sabine has grown andchanged. Her eyes lit up like never before while studying with Woudix, slowly unlocking her power. Around them, I felt like they were speaking a language I don’t know.
At what point will I—flesh and blood—not be enough?
When there’s no more blood in my veins to satiate her?
We reach the infirmary, where a godkissed healer gives Rian a sleeping dram that shuts him up for a good hour, thank the gods. While the healer and nurses tend to his wounds, I lurk in the hallway, keeping my ears open.
The news is already starting to slither through the corridors:Rian Valvere was found hiding in the castle walls.
It hasn’t reached the masses yet, from what I can hear. Just a few night sentries whispering by torchlight. But come dawn? It’ll be everywhere.
And when it is, panic will follow. The people taking shelter here—families, soldiers, servants—will wonder what it means. If the Golden Sentinels will storm the gates to get him back. If our fragile safety within these walls will soon shatter.
Someonereally needs to take the lead here, send out a clear, steady message to keep people from panicking.
They’ll look to Sabine. The savior of Old Coros. But I know my wildcat, and she isn’t ready for that kind of pressure.
So, fuck it, I guess it’s me.
I try drafting an announcement in my head as I pace the hallway. I’ve spent enough time with the Valvere family that I know how to speak like an elite, but I’m not sure that’s the tone I want to send with my monarchy. Kings have royally fucked up this kingdom for centuries. I don’t want the people of Astagnon to see me as distant, aloof.
Hell, I’m one of them. I come from the streets.
I’ve barely managed to string a few thoughts together when a nurse informs me Rian is awake.
Though the godkissed healer mended the worst of his injuries, he still looks a wreck in blood-and wine-stained clothes, with a busted left eye and a nasty bruise on his jaw.
“Couldn’t have gotten the healer to fix this up?” Rian mutters, motioning with his shackled hands to his eye.
“My goal was to keep you alive, not make you pretty. Come on.” I grab him by the cuff and shove him ahead of me down the hallway.
Two of my toughest sentries trail us to the upper level of Mercy Tower, just in case Rian has another card up his sleeve. Mercy Tower is where the financiers operate, though the rooms are empty now—during a citywide war, tax disputes are hardly a priority.
At the end of the hall, a narrow set of stairs spirals upward into the attic, where the sharply pitched roof houses a single dusty old cell.
“TheCoffin?” Rian scoffs out the name of the ancient cell. “Come on, Basten. The Coffin hasn’t been used for a hundred years, not since the High Quarter Uprising. At least lock me up in the city’s dungeon—I won’t be suffocated by cobwebs there.”
“The dungeon is outside the castle gates, where your sentinels still maintain power. You pushed our forces back here, so this is where you stay. Give me your hands.”
I untie the rope binds, darkly satisfied that they leave ugly red welts on his skin.
I kick open the rusted cell door and shove him inside.
The low, angled ceiling forces him to hunch forward. He looks around the meager space, kicking at an old chain.
“Is it too much to ask for a shit bucket?”
