She drew from her well of daivyakhi slowly to avoid getting overwhelmed. She didn’t need to reach for the groundwater; she could move the very particles of moisture in the air at will. As she concentrated, she could feel the clouds above the cathedral begin to knit together.
Poppy didn’t resist as her mother refastened the veil into her ragged hair, nor did she fight back as the duchess threaded her arm through hers and guided her firmly back into the hall, until they reached the arched doorway of the main chamber. Demetria walked her onto the raised platform in front of the pews.
Ripples ran through the crowd: first, one of appreciation at the magnificent dress, and then one of discomfort as they noticed what Poppy had done to her hair. Only Catherine and Theodore did not look disturbed by the change. Poppy locked eyes with Catherine and gave her a slight nod. Catherine touched her own blond locks and smiled. Even though Catherine did not know what was going to happen next, she understood enough: This wedding would not be allowed to continue.
Poppy turned her gaze back to the front. Her father stood at the top of the stairs beside the lectern. On the floor below him, gold as a false idol, stood Richard. He wore the black ceremonial dress of the police force, epaulettes and badges gleaming. At his hip, the Montrose family sword lay sheathed against his thigh, the infamous rose sigil inlaid with rubies and emeralds in the pommel.
When he saw Poppy, he didn’t react. Under the veil, she gave him a wide smile, baring all her teeth. His brow creased a fraction.
Richard’s parents stood behind him in the front pew, practically vibrating with anticipation. After today, it would be their family in the viceroy’s office, and everyone in the room knew it.
But all of them were wrong.
Flanked by her mother and the founderson, Poppy stood on the step below her father. Though she still had the higher ground, Richard gave her a cold look, one that gave her the distinct impression that he was looking down at her. She curled her fingers into her palms, sharp nails digging into the soft skin. They stared at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills as Founderson Harold began to address the congregation.
You’ve lost,his smirk seemed to say.
You underestimate me,Poppy glared back.And that will be your downfall.
The founderson called Richard’s name, ending their standoff. As Richard began to speak, Poppy tuned him out, dialing up the power. The air in the chapel thickened, dense and humid, as rain started to fall outside, hitting the roof softly.
“Poppy Demetria Sutherland,” the founderson announced. “You are here today because Richard Montrose the Second seeks you as his bride. In exchange for your hand, he has vowed to your father that he will protect you, provide for you, and remain true to you.”
A high-pitched ringing started in her ears. Lies. Richard Montrose had come to the altar to offer nothing but lies. The only vow she knew he would keep was his oath to dispose of her once he had taken everything he needed. The rain fell harder, pooling on the flat rooftop of the main chamber. The rush of divine power numbed and electrified Poppy all at once.
“Miss Sutherland?”
Her vision refocused directly ahead of her. Founderson Harold stared at her expectantly. “Pardon me?”
He didn’t hide his exasperation as he repeated, “Richard Montrose has made vows to you. To complete this union, you must make oaths in kind. Do you, Poppy Demetria Sutherland, vow to conduct yourself with wifely grace and servility, in a manner befitting the Montrose name?”
The idea had never sounded less appealing. With two words, Poppy would become a voiceless figurehead, an easily discarded docile wife, a means to a legacy that would devour then forget her. How had she ever believed that this was the best the world could offer her? She channeled the power of the gods. The rain itself would bear witness to her rage.
She took another step down so that she could be eye level with Richard. Quietly, so that only he could hear it, she whispered, “I won’t.”
My veins are a vessel for the divine power of the gods.Now Poppy knew why, after all those years of searching, she’d never found truth in the Founder’s writings. The Founder was only a man, power hungry and persuasive, just like the man who sought to use her, just like the man who had raised her. She would not be the page on which they wrote their legacy.If they find my sacrifice worthy, may I be filled with their cosmic energy.
She lifted her hand to her chest and closed her fingers in a fist. Water burst in through the roof, pouring through the ceiling onto the crowd. The guests screamed, a cacophony of confusion and terror, scrambling to get out of the way as the main chamber began to flood. Poppy screamed as well, her elated cry cutting through the shrieks of fear.
I did this.She had destroyed the roof, soaking the nobility with frigid rain. She reached for the pipes in the walls, tugging on the water. Bursting a pipe had nearly drained her life force in Hasan’s cell, but now it was as effortless as snapping a twig. The guests crowded against the wall screamed again as jets of water punched through the wooden paneling, drenching them a second time. Giddy with power, Poppy craved even more destruction, but she had to save her energy for the next portion of the escape. In the pandemonium, she took off, elbowing her way through the flurry of panicking guests.
Founderson Harold recovered his wits. “To the west wing!” he shouted, trying to corral the crowd. “We must take shelter.” He waved them up onto the platform and through the arched door Poppy had entered from, going back toward the west wing. Poppy pushed through the water, dragging the heavy mass of her wet wedding dress and heading toward the doors in the opposite direction.
“My daughter!” Her father’s roar echoed off the cathedral walls. She froze. “I won’t leave without her.”
“You must get to safety,” the founderson said. “We’ll find her, Your Grace, but you must go. We must protect you as viceroy, first and foremost.”
“And I must protect Poppy!”
Her heart twisted. It took every ounce of her strength to resist turning around. She needed allies, friends who believed her, and her father had failed to be that. Ignoring the ache in her chest, Poppy threw her weight against the front door of the cathedral and pushed it open. She ran out onto the streets, water gushing over the steps behind her. The storm outside welcomed her into its arms, pulling her away from the wedding at last.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Alliance of the Overlooked
Coverage about the freak storm that had disrupted Poppy’s wedding dominated the news in the following days. Though every newspaper remarked on how bizarre the storm had been, each of them attributed it to the hot and humid summer, many of them deciding that this was the natural apex of the season. None of them suspected anything else.
Poppy scoured every newspaper that Theodore dropped in front of her for a week, until the journalists began to move on. He and Catherine had kept their promise. In the aftermath of the storm, they’d driven through Marnapur until they found her, soaking wet and shivering as she came down from her power high, the storm fading into a drizzle as the last of the daivyakhi dissolved in her veins.
