Lord Donnet’s booming voice echoed off the square. The rotund man slid from his horse, scratching his graying beard. Anniliese huddled into her thin robes. The army flowed around them, spreading across the town, taking what they pleased and eager to enjoy a night off the roads.
A few locals wandered into the streets, faces awash with surprise. Soldiers barged past them into their homes, coming out with armfuls of food and bottles of liquor. Chaos filled the air, startled shouts and jeering calls.
What Anniliese noticed was how few locals there really were. As her gaze swept the square, she realized why.
Boards were nailed to half the shop windows. The pavement was overgrown. A general air of disrepair lingered over the town, as if those who normally cared for it were gone.
Had some of the people of Andburgh fled? If so, who had warned them to leave? And why had some decided to stay, anyway?
A dark shadow spread across the square. Heavy wings beat the air, blotting out the sun.
A great black and gold dragon landed in the square with a thunderous boom. Shadows writhed around him, compressing in until the dragon was replaced by a man, tailored clothes more casual but still dark and fine. A look Anniliese didn’t like—something hungry, something wild, something dangerous—glinted in Kol’s red-gold eyes as he strode across the square.
“Your Eminence!” Lord Donnet bowed deeply, nearly tripping over himself. “Welcome to Andburgh. I do hope you find it much to your liking?—”
“Why is your town half-empty, Donnet? Where are all the people?” Kol’s words were clipped and impatient.
So, it wasn’t just Anniliese who’d noticed.
Donnet blubbered. “The…people?” He glanced around, as if seeing his town for the first time. A bead of perspiration formed on his temple. “I don’t-don’t know, Your Eminence.”
“Priam,” Kol growled under his breath, shadows swirling. “Always meddling in things he shouldn’t.” The god straightened, looking down at Donnet. “It doesn’t matter.”
Anniliese shrunk into herself, doing all she could to evade attention. The other priestesses surrounded her, a flock of silent lambs.
Of course, hiding never worked.
“Anniliese.” Kol’s summons was like a terrible caress down her back.
She wanted to ignore him. She wanted to have the strength to fight back, to refuse to obey. She wanted to be the person Mariah thought she could become. She wanted to be strong.
She wasn’t, though.
Anniliese left the priestesses, walking slowly to Kol and Donnet. She halted before the dark god, timidly meeting his burning stare.
He looked at her approvingly, the hint of a smile tugging at his full mouth. Kol gestured toward the Ivory Forest surrounding the city and its farmland.
“Show us the way, Lord Donnet.”
The overgrown paththrough the forest broke into a clearing dotted with trees. It continued up to the doorstep of a small, quaint cottage, its rustic door hanging halfway off the hinges. Ivy crawled up the walls, and no smoke drifted from the chimney. A firepit, weeds sprouting up in its center, sat a short distance away, and a barn could just be seen through the smattering of trees.
Donnet pushed past Anniliese, sweat rolling down his temples as he propped his hands on his hips. “Here it is, Your Eminence,” he said, fighting to catch his breath. “The Salis residence. Nothing more than a hovel, really.”
Despite her hopelessness, Anniliese’s skin prickled. The Salis residence. Where Mariah—where a future queen—had grown up. Even in its overgrown state, there were signs of the family.
Laundry in the tall grass, still clipped to a line. Stacks of roughly chopped firewood stacked beside the door. A straw-stuffed dummy in the center of the clearing, rusted training swords discarded in the weeds.
She couldn’t help comparing it to her upbringing of tight corsets, fine silks, and rigidity. Anniliese had long considered herself privileged and superior. But had she ever known a drop of the love and freedom Mariah had found in this place?
The answer to that question caused her more pain than she was ready to confront.
Kol strode forward, grass crunching under his boots. His shadows streamed behind him, tangling with and polluting the beams of sunlight. His brow was furrowed, as if lost in thought, fingers drumming a rhythm on his chest. He stopped a few paces ahead, scanning the clearing before turning back. Red-gold eyes landed on Anniliese, scorching and burning.
“Anniliese,” he said softly. “Come forward.”
She obeyed.
The god kept his gaze on her until she stopped at his side, trying and failing to keep her limbs from shaking.
