Her strength faltered, and Felix shoved her off.
Blood poured in ribbons from the cuts as the creature struggled to her feet. She turned to flee, but only made it two steps before her legs gave out.
Finally, she stilled.
Felix slowly pushed himself up from the ground, his stomach wound sending fire through the rest of his body. He clenched his fists, grimacing at the stickiness of the blood on his hands, then sent the corpse a furious scowl.
The woman’s dress, though tattered and stained, was elegant, a soft blue with a ruined ruffled collar that hung in shreds from her neck. Burns and blisters covered half her face, continuingdown her neck. Fissures made her leathery skin look like tree bark, and angry red muscle showed through the cracks of the ruined flesh.
He shuddered.
Usually, they had enough remaining dignity to cover the deformations with masks or veils or scarves. Especially the nobility. This one didn’t bother.
His gaze fell to the slick red down his front. His shirt was ruined.
Great.
Niall, the mender from Gideon’s crew, could’ve removed the stain, but they’d abandoned Bedwyck months ago.
Blood was conspicuous. He’d have to change before leaving town. A terrible inconvenience, especially with the aesling in tow. He was difficult enough to keep hold of without additional stops, his magic serving as an ever-ready means of escape.
At the thought, Felix spun to face the spot where the aesling had been.
The park was empty.
August was gone.
“You act like you’re facing your own death,” Lottie said, digging through the towering wooden wardrobe in August’s bed chambers.
Sunlight slanted through the large balcony doors, bathing his room in the warm glow of late afternoon. Golden tiebacks held the heavy cobalt curtains open, and August’s attention kept drifting to the walled city below.
“Perhaps I am,” he answered. “You think killing myself at the dinner table would put a damper on the evening? I’ll have an abundance of cutlery to choose from.”
She spun to face him with a slight smile. “It’d be the talk of the town for at least a week. Mother would be thrilled to know that she’s the topic of conversation in every home.”
“I’d probably use the wrong knife and embarrass her.”
Lottie laughed, flicking her heavy braid off her shoulder. “It’s just dinner. You’ve survived them before.”
She was right, of course. August remembered the lavish dinners, the grand balls, the constant stream of guests. But that was before their father’s death. Before their mother, the rulingaesran, had shut out the world and reduced her court to a skeletal few.
In August’s mind, life was divided cleanly into before and after that year. The two felt like entirely different lifetimes.
His mother had only started hosting the banquets again sometime last year, and this was the first time she’d ordered him to attend.
“Your absences are raising questions,” she’d told him, though he didn’t care about gossip or ridiculous banquets.
August plopped onto his bed and pulled a berry scone and a handful of grapes from beneath his pillow. Crumbs speckled his dark bedding.
Lottie wrinkled her nose. “I thought you’d grown out of that.”
“Out of what? Eating?”
“Hiding food around your room like a squirrel.”
“It’s an emergency reserve. I eat when I’m nervous.” He took a bite of the scone, then added around the mouthful, “Would you like a bite?”
“How long has that been under your pillow?”
