Page 25
Aren’t you a little old to be watching the Branding? I teased, trying not to let my face reveal how his voice sped up my heart a notch.
I’m definitely not here to watch the Branding, Coen said with enough emphasis that my neck flushed against my will. Even though I couldn’t see where he was, the weight of his attention seemed to bore into me, and I flicked my eyes upward to try to spot him among the shadows gathering beyond the field, where a stage and hundreds of chairs had been set up before the half-moon stadium.
Nothing.
I’m surprised you even found me in this crowd, I said as an elbow knocked against my side and body heat pressed into me from every direction.
I’d find you anywhere. A pause that hovered like stars. Is that a new outfit?
Kind of. Felicity’s been tinkering with my clothes. I glanced down at the new halter top the monkey had fit me in, a diamond-shaped cut revealing my midsection again. The style was definitely growing on me, but I was curious… Do you like it?
Nineteen, came Coen’s reply.
What?
That’s how many boys have gawked at you as you passed them. Ninet—no, make that twenty. The slightest edge of a growl laced his words.
I glanced around as Emelle and I finally reached the Wild Whisperer section of the stadium and started up the narrow steps to find a seat. Are you counting yourself?
I’m not a boy. I’m the Fated General who could rip out twenty hearts before any of them beat again. Coen’s threat pulsed in the air before fading again, melting back into a drawl. But if you’re asking if I’m gawking at you, then the answer is always. And yes, I like the damn outfit. Felicity must be trying to torture me.
His words seemed to bolt across my skin, and another flash of competitive daring shot through me. Another urge to goad him into seeing me in person. Why don’t you meet me somewhere after the Branding so you can see it up close?
I felt his longing—and his restraint—right as a familiar voice called out, “Hey, darlings! Saved you all a seat!”
Emelle and I looked up to find Rodhi waving from two rows away. We fought our way toward him, finding four spaces covered in tiny masses of spiders crawling over each other.
“Oh.” Emelle smiled weakly. “That was so… thoughtful of you.”
Rodhi gazed fondly at the writhing masses before blowing them a kiss. Half of them scuttled to the underside of the seats and down to the ground, dispersing among people’s feet and freeing up a place for Emelle and I to sit down.
Across the field, the princes and princesses finally emerged from Bascite Boulevard, leading the new group of first-years to their seats before the stage. Five official figures swept after them, their cloaks fluttering in a stilted breeze as they aimed for the frontmost row.
I squinted over the heads in front of me to try to make them out. Now that Lexington was dead and Kimber Leake was in hiding, who had Dyonisia picked to replace them as her Mind Manipulator and Wild Whisperer representatives?
My gaze fell upon the man in the middle, and every one of my bones seemed to freeze in place. Not at who was there, but at who wasn’t. Coen himself perked up in the back of my mind, his confusion matching mine.
“She didn’t come this time,” I whispered.
“What?” Emelle frowned at me, craning her neck to try to see. “Wren? She and Gil should be here any second.”
“No, I mean Dyonisia,” I whispered, nodding at the Good Council members settling into their seats across the field. “She’s not here. Isn’t she always here for this?”
Of course, this was only the third Branding I’d ever attended, and the rest of the villagers kept their own experiences at the Esholian Institute the strictest of secrets, so maybe it wasn’t all that uncommon for the leader of the entire island to skip an annual ceremony from time to time.
Still, something about her absence pricked me with cold goosebumps. Not that I enjoyed Dyonisia’s presence, but…
“Maybe she didn’t want to sit next to the toe jam of the island,” Rodhi muttered on my other side. I glanced at him to find his eyes trained on the back of the elite in the center. “I’d recognize him in my sleep. Gregor Bilderas. Object Summoner. The elite who took care of all the so-called criminals in Belliview.”
“Bilderas?” I asked, my stomach twisting. “You mean—”
“My father’s on the Good Council greaseball Fergus,” Rodhi confirmed with a wrinkle of his nose. “He wasn’t lying about that, unfortunately. I’ve seen his father use his Object Summoning to shove the end of his spear all the way up some poor fellow’s asshole just for sneezing a little too loud on the streets. Which was a traumatic thing to witness at eight years old, thank you very much.”
“God of the Cosmos!” Emelle exclaimed, then softened her voice. “No wonder Fergus was so nasty if he was raised by someone like that.”
I’d never given much thought to why Fergus had acted the way he did, choosing to avoid him as much as possible, but now my stomach writhed with guilt as I stared at the back of his father in Dyonisia’s spot.
I hadn’t been the one to plunge the dagger into his son’s throat and throw him to the crocodiles, but I had tied him up so that Coen could. And even though I couldn’t regret that after how Fergus had tried to hurt us all, it didn’t stop me from biting my lip, hating that it had happened in the first place.
