“He is kept… segregated,” Zryan answers. “And, no, he’s never been found guilty of anything. The only thing he is guilty of is existing.”
“He must be the only one left,” Skylar says.
Zryan dips his chin. “Let’s hope so. If there are any others, then it’s an immediate death sentence for them.”
“That’s horrendous. Why do you allow that?” Astrid’s asked the question before she can think better of it, but Skylar turns to Zryan, too, as if she’d also like to hear the answer.
Zryan does not seem to like being ganged up on this way. “Trust me, if it was up to me, it wouldn’t be this way. But I have limited influence. Less so, given recent events.” He aims this at Astrid and she lifts her chin higher. He’s still the Vatran prince. Must still have some influence.
“I’ll do it, Little Witch,” Skylar says.
Astrid turns to her, frowning. Does she mean she’ll stop this? The treatment of the Exhauster? Astrid takes in the slight tremor of Skylar’s hands, how her amber eyes keep darting back to the king. And then it dawns on her. Skylar’s agreeing to break into the king’s office. A blast of emotion hits Astrid, an ache piercing her gut, and she knows it isn’t her tether with Bastet—this is Skylar she’s feeling. Through their bond of blood.
“What are you talking about?” Axel cuts in. His eyes bore into Skylar as if daring her to ignore him. She hopes Skylar kicks his ass for what he did.
“The potion I gave her,” Astrid replies, and Skylar pulls it out of her pocket to emphasize the point. “She means she’ll use it.”
“You gave her one of your healing solutions?” Zryan asks.
“You know about her healing solutions?” Axel fumes.
“You should take it if you need it,” Zryan tells Skylar, ignoring Axel. “I’ve seen it work on pretty serious injuries.”
Astrid crouches to stroke Bastet, a plan forming in her mind. “He’s always slinking in the shadows.” She looks meaningfully back up at Skylar; Bastet can act as go-between, as much as he’ll complain about it.
Skylar squints at Astrid and her familiar, purses her lips. Then nods in understanding.
“See you around, Little Witch,” is all she says before stalking off. Axel’s narrowed gaze flits between the two of them as he trails Skylar out of the temple.
Zryan hesitates, watching Astrid with a curious expression on his face, like he knows they’re up to something. Astrid smiles at him. “Goodbye, Prince.” She allows a little bite into her voice.
A slow smirk forms as he heeds the dismissal. “Goodbye, Dimples.” He follows Axel and Skylar outside, but not before glancing back over his shoulder to find Astrid still watching him. His smirk widens. The ass.
Jessa sidles up beside her. “You really are a do-gooder.”
If only she knew. “Just trying to keep us both alive until we have to kill each other.”
Jessa snorts, linking Astrid’s arm as they exit the temple. Outside, Astrid feels like she can breathe again. She didn’t realize how oppressive it was in there. Like Death has lingered.
There’s a yip and Astrid looks down at Quincy, who has his nose in the air, agitated. VERONICA IS COMING. SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED—HER SCENT IS… OFF.
A falcon cries out, then dives, landing in front of them. Bjorn bounds out of the temple to greet the familiar, Gwen running behind him.
STORMS IN THEFLATLANDS, Ceridwen says, voice clear and grave. THOUSANDS DEAD, MORE MISSING.THEY’RE OUT OF POWER AND THEULVENE ARE OVERWHELMED.
“When?” her mother asks, looking beyond Ceridwen to where Veronica races toward them.
WE JUST GOT WORD BUT, BY THE SOUND OF IT, YESTERDAY.THE DAMAGE IS… WORSE THAN ANYTHING WE’VE SEEN YET.
Oh Gods, no. Her mother looks stricken and whirls on Astrid, grabbing her by the shoulders.
“I know you must go,” Astrid says for her. Flashes of small bodies lying still in the water come unbidden. “Mum, they need you.”
“I don’t want to leave you, Astrid.”
“I know you don’t want to, but you have to. You can help them.” Her mother is the most powerful witch in Arturea, her casting—whether craft or battle—is unmatched. And she’s their queen. She shouldn’t be anywhere else but the Flatlands, where they have already suffered so much. “I have Jessa and Quincy. Fionn and the rest of the Ulvene. And I have Bastet. I’ll be fine.”
Jessa’s face is as pale as her fox’s fur, and Astrid grips her hand, willing any strength she has to flow through to this woman who has lost so much because of the Blight.
