Finish this job, or I will finish the Aranti line.
I couldn’t let harm come to them, but neither could I hand Seren over to be killed. A lamb for the slaughter—raised for her meat, trained for her mágik.
“No…” I whispered into the darkness. I was not an unfeeling mercenary any longer. Seren had pulled the fragile roots of my deception from the eager earth—spilled truths where it had packed tight around my persona. “No longer.”
I needed to talk to Seren. I needed to make a plan.
Wind whipped at my back. It swirled around me, waiting and lapping at my racing thoughts. The door gusted open as my fingers brushed the iron knob, my mágik wild.
The settee sat abandoned. Firelight flickered over the worn cushions, danced along the frayed edges of the blankets we had shared. The bedchamber door was firmly shut.
I knew I should knock upon her door, explain everything even though I knew so little. I should feed her sweet lies. I should tell her brutal truths.
My breaths came in hiccuping little gasps, and I fought to steady them. I set to work packing up the supplies we would need to travel the rest of the way to Acsilla—a mindless task, useful and grounding.
Loaves of bread and hard cheese scattered the table, wrapped in soft, clean cloth. I folded clothes methodically, stacking them slowly and painstakingly into our packs. I doused the lingering remains of fire in the hearth.
Seren remained in the forefront of my mind all the while.
Moonkissed. Chosen by the goddesses. Doomed to die by Prince Claudian’s hand—bymyhand for leading her to this fate.
There was an impossible choice before me. One in which I must choose to follow my orders and deliver Seren to Claudian, despite knowing that her life would be forfeit. The other allowed me to protect her but at the risk of my mother and sister.
My mind raced as I tried to find a solution that would save them all.
“Goddesses, please.” I murmured into the deadened smoke curling from the hearth. I brushed tears from my cheeks, sniffled hard. “I haven’t prayed to you in far too long. I haven’t honored you as I should have. I don’t…Idon’t deserve your mercy, butshedoes. So help me, please, help me keep her safe.”
I had the overwhelming urge to go to Seren, to pull her into my arms and tuck her head beneath my chin. To allow our hearts to pound alongside each other. I wanted to plait her silky, soft hair again, to feel the weight of her jaw in my palm.
I did none of those things.
The strange desire to look back rose in me, to survey the cottage that had been our home for the past two months, and to consider everything that had happened in that time. I wanted to stay one more night, to say a proper goodbye.
But we were running out of time.
The clearing was bright with snowfall, even late into the night. All was quiet, and the cottage was still, but a disturbance in the snow caught my eye.
Fresh hoofprints marked a path through the snow.
“Fuck,” I muttered, dashing back into the cottage. I wrenched open the bedroom door, but Seren was not inside and the window was shattered, a mess of glass on the floor. “Fuck!” I repeated, louder. My fist slammed against the door frame.
I returned to the hearth, searching for the damning evidence—the torn sheath of parchment I had left behind. It was gone, and the words had driven Seren from me.
My fingers closed around the second letter, weighted in my pocket. The letter Safiya had sent only hours before. She told me that the prince intended to assassinate the king, his own brother.
What did that mean for Seren? And what of the princess?
Claudian’s plans were growing—morphing into some rabid beast that would either secure his reign of terror or drag us all to the lower branches, Gryffem on our heels.
I knew one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt: I did not want Seren anywhere near Prince Claudian or the Royal Palace of Acsilla.
For the briefest moment, I considered what might happen if I did not follow her. If I let her slip into the night she might find peace, but Claudian would not accept my failure. He would punish my family, and I would be left truly alone.
There was only one path forward.
The roots of a plan began to stretch through my mind, the details popping up like spring flowers. The feeling of hope. A desperate wish that I might be worthy of more than I had resigned myself to.
Chapter thirty
