“What was that?” Kaidren’s head whips around, as though the source of the disturbance is in this room.
“Petruvia, sir,” the soldier says.
At that, my steps freeze. I’m a few paces behind Luc, too stunned to move.
Luc gawks at the decurio. “What? Where is General Fain? Why is he not the one speaking with me?”
“General Fain is dealing with the invasion. Petruvia ishere, sir. Right now. They attacked Widow’s Hall and extinguished the beacons. The General is ensuring the entire building does not fall under siege. As of right now, we are officially at war.”
I can’t breathe. My throat is tight, and there’s no air getting in. I’m the one who faked the attack to the Sulen gatepost—how the hell did Petruviaactuallyget here?
“If we’re at war, we need to gather the Petruvians we have here at court.” It takes everything in me for my voice to not tremble. “They’re hostages now.”
The soldier glances at me, then rolls his eyes, looking annoyed. “We can’t do that.”
“Why not?” I demand.
“Sir,” he says to Luc, clearly intending to dismiss me. “Perhaps we can speak in private?”
Kaidren’s expression darkens. “Answer her.Now.”
The soldier looks reluctant, but he can’t ignore a direct order from an Honorate. “The Petruvians are missing. We checked their rooms as soon as this began. They and their bags are gone. They must have fled before the coronation.”
It must’ve been those letters. Like the one I found in the Nights’ fireplace. First the Opheran fields, now this. How many other war plans were discussed by mail that we missed?
“How did the Petruvian army even make it up the mountain? Don’t we have security?” Kaidren asks.
“We’re not sure how they got here without anyone knowing.” The soldier looks nervous. “The Sulen gatepost was attacked. It guards the most direct path up the mountain. According to our sentry patrol, there were signs of a battle. Not that it should matter. As soon as they were attacked, those soldiers should have lit their torches, signaling that we were under attack. We’re still not sure what went wrong.”
I need details. “What signs of attack did the sentries find?”
The decurio answers my question but directs it at Luc without looking at me. “Weapons were discarded, there was blood everywhere, there were no signs of life, and there was a Petruvian flag hanging in the tower.”
My heart clenches.
I didn’t hang a Petruvian flag.
I convinced the guards to leave. I scattered weapons, spilled “blood,” I even scuffed up the floor to make it look like there was a skirmish. But I never hung a flag.
Someone else swept through the gatepost I staged and actually gained access to the mountain.
I unwittingly created the perfect opportunity for sabotage. For our Republic to be sieged during the most important day of my life. Widow’s Hall is actually under attack—and it’s all my fault.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
ON MY HONOR
This is my fault, this is my fault, this is my fault . . .
The words rattle painfully around my skull, and I feel as if I’m drowning under the weight of guilt. My lungs are full, throat tightening from all the words I can’t say.
“How are our defenses holding?” Luc asks. His voice sounds muffled, as if he’s speaking from underwater, or from the other end of a tunnel.
It’s my job to fix things, but I don’t know how to fix this.
“We’ve sealed off entry into Widow’s Hall, grounded all sky cart activities, and have teams of soldiers patrolling the rest of the mountain, but right now, it appears they’re concentrating their attacks on Widow’s Hall.”
That’s a relief, at least. So long as they’re focused here, at the top of the mountain, civilians will be left unharmed. There’s no way of knowing how long that will last.
