Looking up to the stars, I wondered who else would be lost before this war was over. They twinkled down at me, all-knowing Spirits swirling in the mountains beneath my feet and Angels hovering on my shoulders, and I swore I’d carry the memories of those lost with me forever.
First Collins, then whoever came next in this war. I’d remember each face, each heart, each spirit.
“They were better fighters than I expected,” Tol said as we started back to the horses.
“Better than the ones from before,” Jezebel whispered.
It was possible they had been training harder in the months since I’d killed Lucidius, aware of the threat, but they hadn’t moved with the brutality of the Engrossians we fought after the Undertaking. This troop was swifter, like death on a wind. It was…different.
I made sure Malakai was out of earshot before asking, “Did any of them say anything to you?”
They both shook their heads.
When we reached the horses, I dug into Sapphire’s saddlebag for the keys I’d hidden there. Bone tired and limbs heavy, I found Barrett and Dax, slipped the iron into their cuffs without a word, and let their chains fall to the floor.
Barrett held my eyes for a moment, and I knew he understood. Saving Malakai had earned my trust, but the claims the Engrossians had taunted me with stayed buried between us.
As I prepared Sapphire for the journey home, I was less victorious than I’d expected. Instead, all I heard were those words:She knows you better than you think.
A chill hovered over my spine through the rest of the night, waiting for me to put pieces together.
Chapter Eighteen
Malakai
He’s as muchof a coward as his father.
We should have killed you both years ago.
Warrior Prince.
Those last two words had a power over me that I didn’t care to admit, beating me down more viciously than any captor ever had.
They were all I heard the entire two days and nights that it took us to get back to Damenal. Every breeze whispered them as I sat upon my mare’s back. Ombratta’s hooves clapped out the rhythm of them. As I stumbled through the palace now, the squeak of my own boots against marble cried them into the night.
I’d tried—IswearI tried. I hadn’t wanted to go on the raid. Truthfully, I hadn’t wanted anyone to go. Too many risks lurked out there.
But not going was admitting what was wrong with me.
Besides, Ophelia was going, and I’d left her alone before. Not that it had mattered that I was there. Once we got outside these walls, I shrank within myself. Barely spoke to anyone the whole time, even when they tried. Even when I felt her inquiring if I was all right through the Bind.
And once I’d heard those two words—Warrior Prince—well, then I became fucking useless.
The entire journey home I was drunk off the pain of my memories. They’d ripped open my past and thrown it back in my fucking face.
And I’d crumbled.
Ophelia had tried to talk to me when we returned to Damenal, but I’d locked myself in the bathroom. Brought my father’s dagger in there and just stared at the damn thing.
I didn’t know how to talk to her about this. There was nothing she could say anyway. Nothing anyone could say would block out the cracks of whips against flesh or the tearing, burning, sticky blood trailing down my skin. The jeers, the taunts, the unremorseful abandonment of my life?—
And that was why I found myself in the lower level of the palace, knocking on Santorina’s door.
“Come in,” she called. She looked up briefly from the book she was hunched over. “I assume the raid was a success given that none of you are bleeding out on my floor right now?”
“Mm-hmm.” I grimaced, but it wasn’t technically a lie. The attack was successful despite my failures.
I didn’t want to admit that the Engrossian prince had fed us good information. Valuable information, even. Everyone had been right. He’d wanted to help us, apparently.
