To distract myself, I craned my neck, studying the entryway to Ciril. Through the gate, the capital city teemed with people. It looked as I had imagined when I’d pored over maps with Alaric in his workshop. We’d spent hours plotting my original journey to Linia, before everything.
My throat constricted, and I struggled to swallow at the thought of my uncle. I balled my hands into fists and pushed down the uncomfortable feelings. By now, it was a familiar pattern. I had done it every time I thought of him since the throne room.
Citizens waved at the queen as she and her guards entered the city ahead of us. Some stopped what they were doing to let her pass. Others smiled but carried on with their conversation, as if seeing the queen was commonplace. Ciril was larger than Kavios, but I couldn’t imagine anyone responding to Rodric in such a manner.
Charon followed closely as we approached the gate, but we both knew he wouldn’t fit inside. His large frame would fill the entire street. The smiles and waves turned to cautious sideways glances and questioning whispers as we neared. My gaze darted from the opening back to my dragon.
I paused my steps. When I was a child, I’d thought of the voice in the Oldwood that called to me as mine—my friend. I hadn’t considered Charonmydragon since I’d freed him. My motivation had been solely to remove him from Rodric’s grip, the same thing I wanted for Kavios.
What was his role in all of this? We’d prevented Hart from speaking on our flight here, but I guessed it had prevented Charon and me from doingso, too.
Now wasn’t the time to ask. I pointed toward the stone platforms connected to the back wing of the castle. “Only a few rooms have balconies. We’ll be in one of those.”
A low growl rumbled behind me. “I’m to let you walk unescorted through Ciril? We know nothing of these people.”
Hart tilted his head, listening, and I knew Charon included him in the conversation.
Out of habit, my hand moved to the dagger strapped beneath my skirt. I touched it as if to reassure myself as much as Charon. “I’m capable of defending myself. And Linia is a peaceful kingdom.”
Charon scoffed.“Most would say the same about Kavios. Only the citizens would claim otherwise.”
Unfortunately, he had a point. But when I glanced at Hart, another argument came to me, one I hadn’t considered since we’d left home. He wore a fitted dark shirt that exposed a slit of skin at his chest. My hands fisted tighter, turning my knuckles white. I hated that I noticed. His pants were some kind of leather. He almost blended in with the people milling about on the opposite side of the gate. The sword that hung from his belt told a different story. I’d seen that weapon take out a half dozen attackers in a matter of moments. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Hart had been my guard longer than he had been anything else to me. It was the one job he hadn’t failed at, even if the reasons why gnawed at my insides now.
And I will be—your guard—no matter what happens.Another false promise entered my thoughts. Words from what felt like a lifetime ago, when Hart had convinced me he was truly mine.
Not that he’d ever been.
Still, the past declaration suited me now. “Hart has protected me before. His need for me to live hasn’t changed. I’m the key to his magic.”
The words tasted wrong on my tongue, and I was unsure if this explanation was for Charon or me. Hart rolled his eyes, and I did my best to pretend not to notice.
“You trust the Cursed to protect you?”
“I can hear you both.” Hart folded his arms over his chest. The flex of his arm muscles only reinforced my point. If properly motivated, he was more than capable of protecting me.
Charon and I ignored him. “I trust the Cursed to do what is in his own self-interest, like he has since we met.”
My nostrils flared. I wished I could rid myself of the wrongness of the words. Alaric had always pushed me to trust my gut, though I preferred evidence or a well-reasoned argument. An inkling of something like instinct flared now. Yes, Hart had kept me alive repeatedly, through the attacks of the Feared and Themis’s attempts at sabotage. Yes, he had kept things from me, but knowing his true identity had changed nothing about the way he acted. He’d protected me when I refused to save myself. He’d helped me free Charon, destroying Rodric’s adamas supply.
Those weren’t the actions of my enemy.
Alaric had even known Hart’s true identity, and still called on him to get me out of the throne room.
Sebastien, you promised.
Hearing an echo of Alaric’s plea, even in my head, was like watching a fracture spiderweb across glass. One question returned when I replayed the scene in my mind: If Hart didn’t want me dead, if he didn’t even want the throne, why had he lied to me?
Neither Charon nor Hart had responded. “Well?” I lifted my chin as an overwhelming feeling of loneliness overtook me. Alaric was gone. Hart had lied—had taken from me to fuel his own magic. Charon, well, I didn’t know what Charon wanted,but I was sure it was something. I schooled my features as the negativity spiraled, tunneling deeper and deeper into a never-ending darkness.
None of this mattered. All that mattered was entering the city and learning what we could from the Library of Linia. I tucked away the exhaustion my emotions brought forth.
Hart’s sigh was audible, but he didn’t argue.
The queen’s party had taken notice of our pause. She turned to glance at us.
“We need access to the library,” I said to Charon. “You were never going to fit in that building.”
Charon chuffed.
