The instructor breathes out slowly.
“Class. Word came this morning. There was a car accident. Brutus was killed.”
My heart stops. The class collectively gasps.
“What?” I say.
The instructor looks away. “We will honor him at evening prayers. For now, I will partner with Peighton.”
Women shuffle and pair off, their expressions crestfallen. I stare at the space he should occupy and feel something hollow open in my chest.
An accident. This morning.
The echo of Gustav’s voice from earlier slides into my mind, trying to glue itself to the new information. The way he said Brutus’ name on the phone, the tiny shift in his tone, that flash of something dark and possessive in his eyes when I reassured him I would be faithful. The timing is too close.
No.
I grip my hands into fists.
Did Gustav call someone? Did he give an order?
My chest tightens. I try to breathe through it, to focus on the move. Block. Twist. Strike. My timing is off.
Brutus isdead.
Because of the life I live now. Because of the man I love.
By the time class ends, my eyes burn and my muscles shake from going through the motions on autopilot, and paying for my poor defense efforts. My body is here. My mind is trapped on a roadside that I have never seen.
The corridor outside is narrower than usual, the stone walls closing in around me as footsteps and murmurs echo down the long passage. Micha follows but gives me space. He knows.
“Peighton.”
Keira’s voice finds me before I make it halfway down the hall.
She approaches with her usual grace, dark hair smooth, lips painted in that deep shade that makes her look like a brunette snow queen.
“You heard about Brutus,” she says softly.
I nod. Surprised my voice works, I ask, “How did you know already?”
She pauses, then murmurs, “I was looking for you.”
Anger spikes through the numbness. Yes. It’s true. The picture she took.
“Keira! Were you involved?”
Shock flashes across her expression before she schools it. “That’s absurd.”
“Is it?” My voice is sharper now. “You took a picture of me and Brutus without my consent. I saw you. Then, he dies in a ‘car accident.’ Do you expect me to believe those things are unrelated?”
Keira glances up and down the corridor, then steps closer, her voice dropping so Micha can’t hear. “Petyr ordered the accident.”
The words land like a punch.
I sway on my feet. “Your husband? Are you actually admitting it?”
“Yes,” she says glumly. “He acted quickly because he saw a threat and wanted to remove it before it grew.”
