I placed what I hoped was a sweet smile on my face. ‘As I’ll be dead anyway, I honestly couldn’t give a f?—’
‘You’d better get a move on, Sorrow,’ Delver called sharply over her shoulder. She stopped, leaning against the pungent mossy wall, gulping in breaths through her downturned mouth. ‘You’ve had a visitor, and he won’t be happy to find you missing from the Tower.’
My booted foot hovered over the step as the blood rushed from my head. ‘A-a visitor?’ The words stuck in my dry throat.
Smythe took a step towards me, and I baulked at the stench of fresh sweat coming from the guard. ‘You’ll never guess who’s up there!’
I bet a sack full of Vyrium I could.
‘The king?’ My voice remained steady, despite the strain of my constricting chest.
‘Look, Delve!’ Smythe took another step up, forcing me higher. ‘She did blooming guess after all!’
‘Well, it’s not as if she has anyone else, is it?’
Smythe grunted as he climbed higher. ‘She’s-she’s a strong young woman. The perfect Tribute to satisfy Vyrus’s anger. No wonder the king’s taken time out during this very taxing period to come and visit her.’
I exhaled a ragged breath. So the king had come to see his kingdom’s Tribute, had he? We’d be heading upwards for the next ten minutes, giving me ample time to work out why I was finally worthy of a visit from my stepfather.
CHAPTER 2
Failure burned Vyrus’s throat. A God thwarted by the Goddess he loved. Her heart was tied to Eusis, to the people she adored. The Gods determined every decade, each kingdom would present a Tribute. Honoured souls fed to the great volcano named in homage to Vyrus. A gift to ensure he’d never again seek to destroy all Evella treasured.
— THE HISTORIES AND PROPHECIES OF THE STAR-CROSSED GODS: CHRONICLES OF VYRUS
The corner of my mouth twitched as Delver huffed out another heavy breath. It took far longer than ten minutes to ascend the steps. I made certain of it. Smythe seemed content to chatter through his frequent gasps, while my heart thundered. From the way Delver pushed me in front of her andaccidentallyshoved the crossbow into me every few steps, she was keen to present me to my stepfather. Resting my trembling hand against the stone frame, I stepped into the sparse oval entrance hall of the Tower.
I rolled my eyes. They called our prison a ‘Tower’. A way to make our fortress appear more appealing. The space overflowed with the scarlet uniforms of King Romero ThorneIV’s guards. They chattered, their cigarillo smoke filling the usually sombre space, stinging my eyes and stealing my weak sight. Smythe leaned against the doorframe, wiping his crimson brow with his sleeve as Delver tried, and failed, to stand straight.
Through my burning lungs, I struggled to suppress the fragile fluttering within. The king of Drufaera – the man my mother had been forced to marry a mere month after my birth and my father’s death – had no reason to cross the Whispering Seas to the island where I was held. The Tribute’s sacrifice was a Holy ceremony, not one to be besmirched with politics. Every decade, each of the ten nations of the Northern lands presented anhonoured soulto be given to the volcano named after Vyrus. The prophecies spoke of disaster if we denied the vengeful God his human sacrifices.
Some moronic souls willingly volunteered to be Tributes. The Asmaran Tribute strolled the narrow corridors with a constant grin I’d be more than content to relieve him of. Others, such as I, were given the apparent honour of being selected by our regent to appease the jealous Vyrus. We’d spend our final months in the Tower, readingThe Propheciesand praying to Evella, preparing for our end.
For some reason, I found my faith in the saviour wavering. If she loved us as the Sisters of Evella insisted, how could she sanction our deaths? Evella had quit her throne in the cosmos, abandoned the Creator Vyrus, in order to watch over us and guide our fates. She’d saved us from the meteor Vyrus had sent to decimate our tiny planet. It was difficult to understand how a Goddess who’d given up the universe to protect us could endorse our executions.
Rolling my shoulders, I snorted at how King Romero’s appearance caused shivers to spill across my neck. During the hike, only one reason for his visit made sense…
He’d return me to the safety and solitude of my library. I closed my eyes, blew out a long breath. Gods, what I wouldn’t give to return to my research. A chance to prove myself. A chance to hide.
While I caught my breath, I wondered why he’d be willing to change his Tribute…Perhaps Enfys had learned of my fate?
No. I hadn’t opened a single letter from my half-sister since hearing the rumours of her impending engagement. Or maybe King Romero had realised my research at the library, though slow, was crucial if he wanted to discover the location of the precious lost Vyrium sites.
Pablo nudged me with his damp snout, and I raised my chin. There was only one way to find out.
‘Is he in the drawing room?’ I said, nodding in the general direction.
Smythe groaned.
‘Give us a minute, miss. You’ve led us on a right merry dance.’ He straightened up, exhaling deeply. ‘And don’t you go telling His Highness you were trying to break out. He’ll have our heads if he thinks we’re being a tad lax in our duty.’
‘I told you I wasn’t escaping,’ I said, attempting to smooth my skirts. ‘I was getting a head start.’
‘’Course,’ Smythe said, still breathing hard. ‘But watch what you say, eh miss? I quite like my head where it is.’
Delver mumbled under her breath, while grabbing my arm and yanking me towards the drawing room. I wrenched my elbow free as Pablo came between us, and I lay my palm upon his back. I bit back a smile, as even through the blotches marring my vision, I noticed the colour leaching from the guard’s face at the wolf’s proximity.
Standing before the dark oak door, I waited for the swirls dancing across my vision to settle. My pulse quivered, blood charging through me like an inferno. I’d never learn my fate if I simply hovered by the door. Steeling my spine, I entered. The king’s hazy outline appeared, seated at a circular table. He leaned back in the wooden chair, one immaculate dark blue trousered leg resting upon the other. I squinted. His navy wool topcoat glittered with evening damp.
