Defy the Sun (Beware the Night #2) - Jessika Fleck Page 0,103

Night. Others are completely confounded because of how it came up overnight and in the Dogio village where access is scarce.”

But he’s not said much since.

I glance at him from my periphery. Nothing seems out of place with his appearance. He’s as meticulously put together as usual: red pocket square folded to perfection, suit pressed, boots shined. His hair is parted just so.

“Everything all right?” I ask.

“Quite.” But now I notice there’s a barely there crooked grin torqueing his mouth. And he’s looking around in a strangely deliberate way.

I follow his eyes but don’t see anything at all suspicious until we turn the corner into the market piazza. There, lining the fence around the market, are new postings.

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did.”

“But when? How?”

He smiles. “There’s an advantage to being the one in charge of securing the area for the heir.” He side-eyes me scandalously. “No one’s around when I do it.”

Not wanting to make a scene, I wait until we’re closer to one and then stop, kneel down like I’m tightening my boots. When I glance up at the poster it’s a meticulous drawing of the Imperi crest over the island of Bellona, Sun blazing. But instead of light coming off the rays, it’s blood. And instead of blessed warmth shining down on the island, blood drip-drip-drips, covering the whole of Bellona. Beneath the drawing are the words: THE SUN PUNISHES HIGH REGENT RAEVALD FOR HIS WAR.

“My Sun,” I say. Because, truly, if this prompts people to believe the Sun isn’t pleased by this war, it’s as good as over.

Raevald can take on me and Veda, the Sindaco, even the Night as a whole, but there’s one thing he’s powerless against. One thing he cannot wage war on. One thing he cannot touch.

The Sun.

* * *

THE CROWD IS THICK, filling the usually open area and spilling into the alleyways off the market.

I can’t help but wonder if they’re truly here to hear me speak about joining the army or if they’re hoping I’ll address the very large message being passed around on postings.

Being whispered about as I stand next to the small stage waiting.

Murmurs of, “High Regent … Blood … The Sun … Punishment … War…”

“Is it true, Heir Denali?” A boy the age of nine or so runs up to me, his father a few steps behind him and trying to wrangle him in.

I put my hand up, let his father know it’s fine. I lean down to his eye level. “Is what true?”

“Did the High Regent kidnap all those Basso and blame it on the Night?”

And it’s as if, even amid so much chaos, the boy’s voice rings out. Everyone thinking the same thing and just waiting for someone to speak up. Both the guards who stand sentry to my post shift uncomfortably, watch me from the corners of their eyes, and wait for my answer.

It’s now or never.

I can deny it and carry on not making any progress, or I can call Raevald out like Veda and I planned.

Salazar walks around the corner. Stops and stares when he senses the tension. “Everything all right, my lord?”

I nod.

“Well, sir?” the boy urges, and his father halfheartedly tries to pull him away. “Did the High Regent kill Basso?”

This time the kid doesn’t mince words.

“Yes,” I say. I stand taller, address those within ear shot and staring at me. “It’s true. Raevald hasn’t been honest with his people. He’s betrayed all of you—Basso and Dogio alike.”

There’s mumbling.

A Dogio man a few rows back yells, “Liar! Traitor!”

Salazar stiffens, and the guards grip the hilts of their blades.

I step toward the crowd, put my hands up, wave off the guards. “It’s alarming. I didn’t want to believe it either, but there’s overwhelming proof.”

“The Offering medallions?” that same boy shouts, and I wonder whose son he is … one of the palace workers perhaps? The child of one of my mother’s friends?

I gaze down at him. “Yes,” I say. “The medallions.”

The boy leans up on his toes, motions with his hand for me to bend down. When I do, he leans into my ear and whispers, “I believe you.”

I pull back, and he’s proudly smiling.

I nod, then wink, and he tries to wink back.

I set my sights to the stage that stands several feet above the piazza tile grounds and before the mosaic fountain.

I know what I have to do.

* * *

ALL EYES ARE on me. These people, my people, are looking to me to guide them when they’re hearing and seeing things