But I was still alive. And while I breathed, the gods were not finished with me.
“You need to choose.” Impatience filled Gustief’s order, and I nodded once as I stepped forward.
I would formally bond with my second only before the academy began in the fall. I’d needed that to be Viljan because whoever I tied myself to would know that there was no power running through my veins, and once they found out, they would come for me.
I had no allies here that would keep that a secret. Not if they could claim my seat and my people. Even as my iron-bound, they’d find a way around the bond.
“My men will make you choose if you don’t speak,” Gustief snarled.
I blinked as I faced the warriors coming toward me.
I had no allies. But what if there was another way?
Darcke’s eyes bore into mine, his entire being a warning as his shadow fell over me and my fire. Astrange sound left me.
What if I didn’t need allies?
What if my enemies could help me better than my own people?
Viljan’s words echoed inside me.You can choose anyone as your second as long as they stand before you on the day of the choosing.
As Darcke and his warriors came within ten feet, my shoulders lowered.
His people don’t have magic since the king’s shaman spelled them—since he leashed that part of their minds.
Ottoh had spat the words like venom, his contempt for the warrior’s shortcomings clear.
An empty laugh left me. But to me? That void in his veins could be a sanctuary.
The man who hated me perhaps more than anyone was almost before me when I spoke.
“Darcke A’lian.”
A crushing hush swallowed the glen.
I watched the Hird’s discipline splinter and the warriors falter like prey at the sun’s first ray at dawn. These were men who didn’t flinch at the sight of a vicious battle, yet they now stood paralyzed, their mouths agape. The king wasn’t much better, his brows high and eyes rounded.
I refused to lower my voice. “I choose Darcke A’lian as my second.”
The world around me exploded.
“She can’t do that!”
“That’s not allowed!”
“He’s not an initiate!”
The crowd’s grumbling rose until screams echoed over the water.
“Silence,” the king bellowed. “I said, silence!”
One by one, the voices in the crowd faded out, until the final complaints drifted away with the salty breeze. In the quiet, I finally dared to meet the eyes of the man I’dtied to my wyrd. His dark gaze was bottomless, churning with all the things I expected: hate, confusion, and rage.
That ounce of respect I thought I’d earned the past few days was long gone.
But it was the slow, fractured smile warping his features that nearly buckled my knees. It unfolded like a mask of cruel amusement, a promise as lethal as his axes pressing against my throat.
I cursed to myself at the look of despair taking over Viljan’s face, at the raw fear in Rakkel’s tight hands, at the hardness of Ivren’s jaw. Even Ottoh looked worried, although he turned before I could read his expression fully.
