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“Why?” I hardly sound like myself. My voice is thick and liquid, ready to pour acid at the slightest provocation. “Why bother? It’s over.”
His dark brown eyes are so sympathetic I want to hit him. “You’re Cinque now. The Swords have people watching the fight. The last banner will have unfurled over the Tower’s temple. A runner is tasked with watching for the moment there are only five left. The Minor Court knew the Trials would likely end tonight, so they’ll be prepared to come to us shortly.”
“Why would they come to us?”
His mouth twists. “To congratulate us.”
“I don’t care.” My attention sinks back to Nero’s handsome face, permanently struck in its blank expression. He’ll never give me a crooked smile again. I’ll never have a chance to truly know him. Gods, I had sex with him. And now he’s dead, gone forever past my reach.
“Kestrel.” The snap in Death’s voice jerks my head up instinctively. He reaches out and takes my shoulders. “You are Cinque now. The Minor Court will be watching for any weakness to exploit. If they find you on your knees, they will keep you there.”
“Fuck. You.” Movement at the edge of my vision makes me turn to find Cato, the High Priestess, and Vesper standing with their backs to me, a human wall blocking the sight of me from anyone who will be coming down the street. “What? Why?”
“We. Are. Cinque.” He squeezes my shoulders, his bony fingers digging in painfully. “No matter what you believed this to mean, it’s both more and less than the truth. Our votes are often the deciding ones in inter-district conflicts. Both the guild masters and the Minor Court will do everything in their power to ensure your vote benefits them. If they think you’re weak, they’ll be bolder in their efforts.”
I swallow, trying to breathe around the awful blockage in my throat. “Why do you care what I do? Let them think what they will.”
He hisses out a breath and looks to the side. When he refocuses on me, there’s something new in his expression, something almost cruel. “You entered the Trials to get answers about your mother and to take care of that little family of yours in the Dregs.”
I try to jerk back, but his grip is too strong. “Don’t talk about them.”
“I know about them, and the rest of the Concilium will know soon enough—if they don’t already. The only way you can protect those kids, that old man, is by being strong. Strong people do not let their opponents see them on their knees and grieving openly. Put your emotions away. Lock them down. You can have the luxury of feeling everything fully in private.”
“I hate you,” I say dully.
“I’m aware. Now, stand up.”
I can’t stop myself from pressing my fingertips gently to Nero’s eyelids, to close them over his unseeing gaze. This shouldn’t have happened. If I’d just listened to him and stayed in that bathhouse …
What? I’d be mourning Vesper and Cato instead of Nero? I hate that these are apparently the options I’m left with. Why do the people I care about keep dying? My mother, Mara, Nero. Who will be next?
The faint sound of hooves on stone signals that Death was right—we’re about to have company. The Minor Court, come to see the evidence of the Trials ending. I wipe at my cheeks, but my fingers come away dry. Even with all the awful emotions wringing me out, I didn’t shed a single tear for Nero. I’m just as bad as the rest of them. I close my eyes, drawing what strength I can. It’s over. No matter how much I hate Death, he’s right in this instance. There will be time to mourn in private.
“Let me go.”
Death waits a beat and then moves away. “We’ll speak when you’re ready.”
The very last thing I want to do is spend another second in this man’s presence, but I’m numb enough not to say so. He owes me answers. A day ago, a few hours ago, I would have said those answers are worth any price. Now, I’m not so sure.
Four carriages, all from different directions, different colors, and yet managing to arrive at the same time. The derision I’ve always felt for the Minor Court—for the guild masters and every single person who is privileged enough to live up on the hill instead of in the Dregs—solidifies into something sharp and jagged in my chest. Hate. I thought I knew its shape before now, but this sensation is overwhelming, searing away my grief, my sorrow, my every other emotion, leaving me a blank canvas.
The carriages roll to a stop and, one by one, the kings and queens of each court step out. Despite it being the middle of the night, they’re all dressed as if they just left a party. The finest fabrics, the richest dyes, each piece perfectly tailored to the bodies that have never gone without by virtue of an accident of birth.
The Queen of Swords is the first to move forward, spreading her arms wide. “The Tarot Trials are complete, the Major Arcana honored as is Their due. Welcome to the Cinque.”
The five remaining champions are ushered toward the carriages. The High Priestess moves to the Cups, her body language smoothing out with each step. Death gives me one long look that feels like a warning and something else altogether and walks to the Wands, his spine straight and shoulders relaxed, not showing a single bit of the loathing he displayed last night. Cato doesn’t look back as he walks to the King and Queen of Pentacles. They usher him into their carriage with wide smiles, clearly relishing the chance to speak privately.
The Swords are the only ones left. I don’t know if they’re better or worse than the rest. I can’t think. I want nothing more than to flee into the shadows until I have the time and space to process how quickly things went from bad to unfathomable.
To Vesper’s credit, they don’t speak as we follow the Queen of Swords into the waiting carriage. I barely register the king. He’s about my height with cool, dark brown skin, glasses, and a kind smile that I don’t trust for a moment. Even when he pulls Vesper into a tight hug. “You did it.”
Vesper returns the embrace just as fervently. There’s clearly love there—and plenty of it. Maybe that will matter to me in the future. I don’t know. Right now, I can’t bring myself to care about anything at all.
“I made it.” Vesper glances back at me, their expression careful. “Thanks to Kestrel.”
“Yes, the Moon put on quite a display of strength.” The king sinks into the seat across from us with an easy smile. The queen has both charisma and clear strength, but the king presents a different kind of persona. He has a kind of studious, absent-minded aspect that I don’t fully know how to categorize.
“Not right now, Father,” Vesper says quietly without looking at me.
