“No,” I say darkly. “We need a ruler with the ability to move the earth. That doesn’t necessarily have to be Alaric.”
It isn’t lost on me that these are the same words I said to Alaric just a few days ago, to convince him to depose Soren.
“Rowenna showed us exactly what to do,” I say. “We need to steal the gemstone triad, harness the power of the earth ourselves, and put an end to all of this corruption. The stones must work in other people’s flesh, or Alaric wouldn’t have chased Rowenna across the Fortress and hurled her off a cliff to get them back.”
Delphine nods, but her fingers worry the embroidery on her bodice. “We don’t even know if he recovered the gemstones from Rowenna. Or where they’re hidden if he did. According to Alaric, they no longer exist.”
“Thankfully, a perfectly good set is just waiting to be carved fromhis flesh,” I say.
Delphine regards me with a searching, almost pitying expression. “You know you won’t be able to simply carve the stones from his flesh, right? Are you prepared to—”
“Yes,” I snap.
She continues staring, like she can see the infected thorn buried in my chest, but I set my jaw and raise my chin.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay,” she murmurs, but it sounds forced. Worried.
“You don’t have to assist me with this part. You’ve already done more than enough. All I need you to do is pretend nothing is amiss. If Alaric realizes we know the truth about Rowenna’s death, he’ll try to silence us too. We need to say and do all the right things. Make Alaric believe we’re still aligned. Then I’ll strike when he least expects it.”
Delphine nods and bids farewell to her sister—who continues lying deathly still—while I retrieve the broken length of chain and slip it into my bodice. It’s cold and pointed, and I secretly like how it bites my skin, how it sharpens my focus, as we make our way back across the Fortress to celebrate the coronation of my sister’s murderer.
Forty-One
Alaric spots me as soon as we return to the crowded square, as if he’d been waiting like a lost, lonely puppy.
Less than an hour ago, this would have sent a thrill zinging through my chest. He’s the most magnificent person on this mountain, the king of this great nation, and he’s looking forme. Less than an hour ago, I would have darted through the crowd, folded myself into his arms, and shared my worries and fears about Cloudia’s condition.
But less than an hour ago, I was a fool.
Now, rage crackles through me like lightning at the sight of him. I want to bluster through the crowd and rain down vengeance on my husband. But I force myself to meet Alaric’s gaze and even muster a wave as Delphine and I make our way toward him.
“How’s Cloudia?” he asks, glancing between Delphine and me, looking so genuinely concerned I could slap him.
“Still alive—for now,” I say. “We were able to stabilize her.”
“Thank the kings.” Alaric cups my face in his hands, regarding me as if the sun itself shines through my eyes. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
His gaze slides down to my lips, and despite all his lies, despite the harrowing memory of Rowenna’s death emblazoned on my brain, my traitorous heart still flutters.
It’s all an act, I sternly remind myself. But my body doesn’t want to believe it. It leans closer to him, like a plant following the sun, craving his light and warmth.
Delphine loudly clears her throat, and I flinch back.
“Thank you for letting me steal Indira during your big celebration,” Delphine says to Alaric. “It was most kind.”
“You know I’d do anything to help you or your sister. Is Cloudia coherent? Did she say anything more?”
On the surface, Alaric’s questions seem innocent. He cares for Delphine and me, so of course he’d care for Cloudia too. Especially when her previous mutterings proved so helpful. But I find myself analyzing his curiosity, picking apart his tone and expression. Is he too eager? Is he genuinely curious, or is he probing to see how much Iknow? I don’t think Alaric could possibly know that Cloudia found the memory of Rowenna’s death—assuming he knows the memory exists at all—but at this point, nothing would surprise me. He could be responsible for Cloudia’s strange sickness for all I know. It could be his way of keeping her quiet.
“Sadly, Cloudia didn’t speak,” Delphine says when it becomes clear I’m not going to. “But she’s resting peacefully again.”
“Good,” Alaric says, and I might be imagining it, but I swear his shoulders slacken. Whether that’s because he’s truly glad, or if he’s just relieved his secret’s safe, there’s no telling.
I squeeze my eyes shut, so frustrated and terrified, I want to run back to the palace, cover my head with my pillow, and forget all of this. I want to purge every moment since I arrived on the mountain.
But that’s exactly what the courtiers do, and I refuse to be like them. I refuse to forget the past just because it’s difficult or inconvenient or, in my case, proves how wrong I was. How badly I betrayed my sister.
