Five more years of glares and disdain from Luc’s guards and everyone else in Widow’s Hall; forgoing sleep so Luc can be well rested; spending hours writing orders only for Luc to sign his name to them, because he might be hopeless without me, but I’m nothing without him.
Lost in bitter thoughts and a heavy heart, I don’t notice Kaidren rising from his seat until he’s at the front of the chamber, overlooking the Honorate.
Another breach of decorum. Honorate are meant to stand at their benches and face the Praeceptor as they speak, but Kaidren clearly hasn’t learned his lesson since yesterday.
“Fellow members of the Honorate.” He no longer looks nervous. He stands tall, words bold and self-assured. “I know I’m new and still have much to learn. Which is why I’d like to offer my services to the Republic as an isha. Together, we will find more aikkari and expand the decurio.”
I send up a prayer to every star in the sky that he’s lying—but I’m frozen solid.
We have an isha in Widow’s Hall.
Horror pits in my stomach.
If Kaidren touches me—if his skin so much as brushes mine in passing—he’ll know I’m aikkari. He’ll know I never reported myself to the decurio. He’ll have all he needs to get me thrown in prison or forced to enlist. From there, it will only take a bit of digging for him to learn my greatest secret: that I am the Shadow Queen.
With one touch, Kaidren Vale could ruin me.
Once again, Kaidren has set my world alight—and he’snot even finished speaking. “I’d also like to take this time to announce my own intentions for the throne.”
My knees are weak.
He wouldn’t dare . . .
Kaidren gives an unmistakable smirk as he turns to face Luc on the dais. He bends into an exaggerated bow, more mocking than respectful. “I look forward to competing against you in the Tournament of Thrones, Honored Praeceptor.” I can no longer see his face, but I imagine that smug little grin widening before he says, “May the best man win.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
KEPT THREATS & BROKEN PROMISES
The thing about dinner with Luc’s parents is that it’s neverjustdinner and neverjustwith his parents (which, in and of itself, would be torture).
If this dinner were anything but mandatory, I wouldn’t be climbing into the sledge waiting for me and Luc outside. I wouldn’t be bundled up in a dress Yelina will no doubt find an excuse to mock, and enough layers of wool to keep me warm for the journey to the Kyler home.
“You look lovely,” Luc says as I settle into the coach across from him. He means it, but I know him well enough to see through his attempt to soften me up before I have to endure his parents.
“Thank you.” Tense and full of unease as I am, I appreciate the compliment. I despise Yelina Kyler almost as much as she despises me, but I still spent hours on my hair (with Sef’s help) and painstakingly selected what I hoped was the perfect dress for the occasion.
In the few minutes it takes for us to travel from Widow’s Hall to the Kylers’ manor, Luc and I fall into our usual bickering. He tries to convince me to call his parentsmyparents; I remind him that Mathson Kyler would sooner wander into a blizzard fully nude than treat me like a daughter, and Yelina would’ve stabbed me in my sleep as a child if she thought she’dget away with it; and Luc denies it even though we both know I’m right.
“I promise, Mira, it won’t be as bad as you think,” he says.
“No. It’ll be much, much worse.” Foreboding forms a bottomless cavern, making me feel ill. “They’re going to be furious about the Tournament.”
“That wasn’t your fault. I won’t let them blame you for it.” Luc knocks his knee into mine, enticing me to look at him. “They’ll behave tonight. If they so much as scowl at you, give me a look and I’ll shut them up.”
Warm hope relieves some of the pressure on my chest. “You mean it?”
“Of course. I know they’re worse when I’m not there. I won’t leave your side all night. Promise.” He gives my hand a squeeze, and for a moment, I feel lighter. Moments like this—moments in between—are rare. Between eavesdropping and plotting, when he’s not the Honored Praeceptor and I’m not a tool he uses to collect secrets; when he actually feels like my brother, and I actually feel like his sister.
Our conversation is cheery for the rest of our short trip. To live above the Collar of the mountain is to be an elite. The homes here, closest to Widow’s Hall, are some of the only aboveground structures on Mount Saidu, aside from the temples. Everything about the Kylers’ manor—from the stone exterior to the intricately decorated interior—is splendid. The floor in the entryway is swirling tiles of alternating black and green marble like a chess board. Household servants move around in green uniforms, carrying trays of food and drink for guests.
Luc and I hand our outer layers to an attendant in the foyer and make our way through the lounge in search of his parents. The ground floor is crowded with the wealthiest members of Virdeian society, and just about all of them greet Luc as we pass:
“Honored Praeceptor, we are so looking forward to the Tournament this year.”
“Pleasure to see you tonight, sir.”
“Good luck in the Tournament, sir.”
