“I’d like to see the Covenant,” Skylar says without preamble.
“Ah…” The Custodian’s mustache quivers as he looks between them. “Do you have permission from the king?”
“Apologies,” Skylar says. “I phrased that wrong. I’m seeing the Covenant.”
The Custodian licks his lips. “As I said to Prince Zryan earlier today, I’m happy to bring it to the king’s office if you’d like to arrange a time?”
Skylar exchanges a look with Astrid. So, Zryan was here today, was he? For what reason exactly? But now is not the time to dwell on that. Skylar shoves the door hard, so that the Custodian stumbles back. She steps into the room, Astrid following.
The Custodian tugs at his collar. “I’m not sure if you should—”
“I’m the Chosen Heir,” she says, then drops her voice, allowing darkness to lurk there. “Are you really going to question me?”
He swallows. “No, of course not. Follow me.”
He leads them through the small, musty room—bookcases on one side, an armchair in the corner.
Astrid glances at Skylar. “Power suits you.”
Skylar snorts. Power is something that would almost definitely not suit her.
The Custodian fumbles around in a desk, then, like he is holding a child rather than a scroll, carries the Covenant to a lectern in front of the window. He sets it down there, some sort of magic holding it in place. Skylar balks a little, seeing her and Astrid’s names next to each other at the bottom. Notices Astrid staring, too. At the written declaration that they should be enemies—not friends.
“Great,” she says to the Custodian, who is hovering beside them. “Thanks. You’re dismissed.”
For a moment, he looks like he might question her, but when Skylar cocks an eyebrow, he bows and walks away. She hears the quietclickof the door as he steps out into the corridor.
Astrid lets out a huff that might almost be a laugh. “You’redismissed?”
Skylar grins. “Suppose I’ve got some work to do on issuing orders, huh?”
“I don’t know. You did well enough.”
Skylar pulls her pin out of her hair, letting the weight of it tumble down. The constant thrum of energy around her is giving her a headache these days—if she survives the duel, she’s going to have to learn how to shut it off.
They both step up to the Covenant—though Skylar frowns. “What the fucking Vaar is this?”
“Old Vatran,” Astrid murmurs, her eyes scanning the parchment. As Skylar looks at it, she can make out some familiar words. It’s not exactly easy to read, but she can see the resemblance. “And Arturean.”
“Well, great,” Skylar mutters.
A corner of Astrid’s mouth quirks up. “Good thing you’ve got me, isn’t it?”
Skylar feels her lips twitch and waits as Astrid reads, her brow pulled together in concentration.
“I’m sorry to disappoint,” Astrid begins, and Skylar immediately frowns, “but this is all as it should be.” She points, then reads aloud. “?‘If the ruling monarch, or their consort, kin, or member of their court, willfully slay their own firstborn heir, the duel will be forfeit and control of the Heart will cede to the rival royal bloodline.’?”
Skylar stares down at it. “It can’t be true.” The king had her mother murdered. He’s been rounding up Blooded. “The night of the ball…” She hesitates, not wanting to bring up Jessa’s murder. Not liking the way Astrid’s eyes have already shuttered. But they have to know. “The assassin said it was someone known at the castle gates.”
Astrid nods tightly.
“And this”—Skylar gestures to the Covenant—“all it says is thatthe royals can’t kill theirownheir. So what if my father sent the assassin after you? Or, I suppose,” she adds as an afterthought, “someone in your court sent one after me.”
Astrid sighs. “That’s what the Blood Binding is for, Skylar.” Her voice is so brilliantly patient, it makes Skylar want to laugh. “Remember? ‘Once bound by blood, the willful death of either heir by a royal household shall be considered a violation of the terms of the Covenant, and the culpable party shall forfeit the Heart,’?” she recites. Skylar only wrinkles her nose. “And as for my court being behind this…” Astrid shakes her head. “No son or daughter of Arturea would risk harming me, I’m sure of it.”
“Must be nice,” Skylar mutters under her breath. “The Vatran royals havegotto be behind this, though. Who else has motiveandwould be recognized by the castle guards?”
Astrid is frowning again, rereading the text. And Skylar can see it—something in her expression. Or maybe she can feel it, through their bond, but either way she’s sure Astrid knows something. “What is it?” Skylar demands.
