“Vault. Medical wing.”
“Didn’t think they’d take me back.”
“You have Sterling’s blood on your hands. That buys you a lot of forgiveness, Priest.”
I shift my weight slightly, and a fresh wave of agony washes over me. My back, my shoulder, my fucking ribs.
“You killed him,” I mutter. “Not me. I was a little busy dying.”
“Not according to the official report I submitted. You killed Sterling and the North High Chancellor.”
He stands, steps closer to the bed. “The East and West already spoke to the Council. They’re backing you. It’s done.”
I blink up at him, vision still half-blurred from the painkillers.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You are the new High Chancellor of the South.”
I laugh. Or try to. It’s more of a wheeze, followed by a sharp stab in my side.
“You’re kidding.”
“I don’t joke about politics. You know that.”
“I’m not fit for that.”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. It’s done.”
“What do you mean it’s done?”
“I mean East and West have already backed you. The Council’s voting was ceremonial at best. Sterling’s dead, the South needs a leader, and you just bled out on the goddamn altar for it.”
He pauses, letting the weight of it settle.
“You’ll have to be sworn in. Get your little coronation and all that ceremonial bullshit. But the seat’s yours, Priest. You’re it.”
I stare at the ceiling.
A High Chancellor. Me. The fucking disappointment.
“I don’t want to lead.”
“You don’t get to want anymore. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be better than him. And Priest?—”
He looks at me.
“You already are.”
The words lodge somewhere I can’t reach. Somewhere I’ve kept sealed off too long.
“Fuck.” I sigh, leaning my head back against the pillows. The motion sends a fresh wave of pain through my back, but I don’t let it show.
“Why do you care so much if I’m in charge?”
Arsen’s silent for a long time before he answers.
“Because this is all I have left.”
