I dredged my eyes away from his glittering perfection and down to the shadows churning violet from my fingertips. When I looked back, he was simplyGav.Handsome, imperfect, ungainly Gavin.
But I was clearly the only one who thought so. The crowd was staring at him like they’d witnessed a miracle, and they were crooning words I could barely hear—words that crawled into my ears and spread ice down my spine. It sounded like …
Sun Heir.
Adrenaline sprinted through my veins and blotted out one simple thought:How was he doing that?
“Sunder!” I shouted, panic shattering my composure. “The Red Masks are here. Find them!”
For a moment, I thought Sunder’s hesitation was born of whatever magical glamour Gavin was spreading. But his gaze was fixed on me. His expression was unreadable, eyes flat and colorless as a frozen lake.
“Find them!” I screamed. “Kill them!”
Sunder released Pierre to the ground and dived into the crowd, a pack of wolves at his heels.
“You did this!” Gavin marched toward me, his footfalls like the trumpets of a returning king. “This was a miscarriage of justice. The boy had done wrong, but he did not deserve to die!”
Cheers rattled the pavilion; boos made a bass for their symphony.
“Me?” Disbelief shoved me toward him. “What have I done wrong?”
His eyes shone. “You called for that boy’s death.”
“Are you mad?” I cried. “I was trying to save him from execution!”
“By calling on someone else to do the deed?”
“How dare you?” I shoved him, hard, on his gleaming chest. He staggered back a step, shock registering on his face. “The Red Masks did this!”
“Why would they kill their own?” His voice was grave. “You condemned that boy to death with your words.”
Everyone was listening to us. Gavin took my moment of indecision to push by me toward Pierre. He knelt where the boy slumped over the boards, eyes glazed and expression almost peaceful in death. When Gavin turned back toward the crowd, his face was riven with unspeakable sorrow—impossible hurt. I couldn’t ignore the words they were chanting.
Sun
Heir
Sun
Heir
And that’s when I saw the sword hanging from Gavin’s waist. At first glance, there was nothing special about the blade—a normal piece of formal regalia. But where its hilt usually would have been forged of dristic, I saw it was pure kembric. I knew by the way the low sunlight purred along its edges and settled in its grooves. And its shape—that beveled edge ground against my memories; those pointed tips sank teeth into my heart.
I knew that shape.
No—I knew theabsenceof that shape. A form in negative, bit into ancient, dust-streaked stone. A dim, echoing room. Oleander’s voice as she swirled her finger against the silhouette:
This doesn’t look much like a crown to me. At least, not a crown I’ve ever wanted to wear.
But it wasn’t a crown for a head. It was a crown for asword.
Gavin had a Relic.
My neck burned, and it wasn’t from the still-warm blood trickling down my neck. I pulled my ambric Relic into my palm. It was hot to the touch, a spark that set my veins alight. And I suddenly knew—knew in a way that made my heart throb—that this was my answer. This was the way to earn their admiration, their trust, theirlove.This was the way to prove I was the rightful heir—I was the true Sun Heir.
Words bubbled up inside me—words written in blood, words echoing across a millennium, words that tasted like the edge of an ancient, molten sword.
“I challenge you,” I said, but I sounded like I was speaking underwater.
