“Well, there you have it,” Titaia says, pausing beside me with a boredlook on her face. After Helen’s public execution, she’s been attempting to lure me from my seclusion, but I maintained the pretense of being utterly fatigued, claiming that the lingering effects of the nightshade had left me completely drained. “Books. Lots and lots of dusty books and old people.”
“I take it you don’t have any reading recommendations for me,” I say, a small smile itching the side of my mouth.
It’s just the two of us today. When Titaia showed up at my rooms, I made a show of allowing Nyssa and Myna a day off from their duties. After the second trial, it’s become clear the Flight needs all the help they can get with their mission.
“Come along, then, Princess,” Titaia says, leading me through the tall shelves. She mumbles under her breath as she starts to pull down books and pass them to me.
When our arms are heavy with our collection, we head to one of the smaller tables. I place my stack down, stretching out my arms and breathing a sigh of relief.
“This is a lot of books for someone who apparently doesn’t enjoy reading,” I comment, flashing Titaia a curious look, but she waves it aside, dropping into one of the chairs.
“You asked, I delivered. Think of it as a crash course in all things Eretrian history.” She pauses, a slight frown marring her forehead. “What was your education like on the Isle?”
I know all the plants that can poison, and the plants that can heal. I know how to pick locks and scale walls in the dead of night. I know the lethal points on a body where even the slightest cut from a blade can be fatal. From a distance, I can throw a blade with enough accuracy to hit all of them.
“It was fascinating,” I say. “I learned a great deal.”
“Howinsightful.I feel like I know you much better now.”
I bite my lip, holding in my laughter. Not that I need bother. It dries up in my throat as my eyes land on a servant returning books to their shelves. Although her face and body are youthful, her skin has withered, and her hair hangs in limp, faded clumps around her face.
“Are there lots ofGoiteíanhere?” I ask.
Titaia’s shoulders tense as she follows my line of sight. “Yes, but not all of them look that way because of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Has Keres given you a rose yet?” She must read the confirmation on my face because she rolls her eyes so hard I worry she’ll go blind. “I’ve heard half the ladies in this castle bragging about getting one at some point.”
My nose wrinkles with distaste, but I smother the reaction before she looks back at me.
“Thetheïkósthat runs through the royal bloodline of Eretria is unique—as they all are. We can make leaves fall, manipulate harvest and the autumnal elements, wither plants. But at its core, there is a decaying touch. Unlike the season of autumn, it does not strictly apply to plant life.”
Stillness seizes my body, and my breath stutters. “Are you telling me those people have beendecayed?”
“Decayed. Withered.” Titaia shudders. “It’s my dear cousin’s favorite punishment for those who displease him.”
This information is new to me, and I doubt the Aviary does not know. Resentment coils in my gut at the thought, and my gaze returns to the withered woman.
Is it possible I’ve found a place I despise more than the Aviary itself?
“Has he always been so…” My voice trails off as I turn back to her and catch the flash of misery in her eyes before she conceals it.
“He was…different, once,” she says carefully, her voice barely more than a breath. “His magic has always been stronger—wilder—than anyone in our bloodline. Even as a child, he couldn’t control it. Everything he touched shriveled into nothing. Plants, objects, even people if they weren’t careful. They had to lock him away for periods of time—when the magic was stronger than his will.”
Titaia falls silent for a moment, her gaze fixed somewhere far away, as if she can still see the boy Keres used to be. “But when they did, it was as if his power turned inward, poisoning him from the inside. Twisting his thoughts, his mind”—her voice wavers but hardens just as quickly—“and then the king had a different idea.”
“What did he do?” I ask, my voice scarcely more than a whisper.
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “He pushed Keres harder than anyone should push a child. Forced him to use that power, over and over, until it became second nature. Until he stopped hesitating. Until he gained control. But too much damage was already done. He’s spent his whole life with far too much power and not nearly enough love. You can see what it’s done. What it made him into.”
Titaia’s explanation weaves into the narrative like a missing thread completing a tapestry. It fills the gaps in the scene, shedding light on the confrontation Raven and I witnessed in the king’s chambers. Her words settle in my chest, colder than the marble beneath my feet. The man we know now—cruel, calculating, dangerous—wasn’t born. They shaped him, piece by piece, until the boy he once was disappeared.
Almost like me, only I didn’t become cruel.
I jolt as a flash of lightning arcs through the sky; seconds later, the deep rumble of thunder follows as sheets of rain pummel against the windows. A chill rolls through me, and I rub my hands up and down my arms.
“You probably miss the warmth of the Sorrows,” Titaia says, drawing my eyes back to her, and I seize the opportunity to discuss something lighter—anything that won’t force me to confront the unsettling parallels between a sadistic monster and myself.
