the dark so long the brightness is temporarily blinding, but once I can mostly see through the blur of my eyes adjusting, I look at the only thing I have: the medallion.
“My Moon.”
It’s different than the ones Poppy and I used to get through the mail slot of our front door. This one is more ornate. The lettering of my name is larger, bolder. I flip it over. Beneath the new and improved sun insignia is another name: By order of High Regent Raevald.
If they’ve gone to such lengths to improve the Offering medallion, what pray tell could they be planning for the ceremony?
I do not intend to find out.
My only hope is that guard.
And she brought me fresh bread and a candle as if she feels some compassion for me. It’s a small gesture, yet so much more than I ever would have imagined.
And I need any and all small gestures.
Even if it’s from an Imperi guard.
Especially if it’s from an Imperi guard.
* * *
ONE STEP FORWARD, two steps back.
That’s what it’s like getting to know the enemy. Trying to open up while at the same time staying guarded.
I’ve attempted to humanize myself by sharing things like stories of my childhood, fishing, adding items to my Sun altar. Forget building trust, I’m just trying to be relatable here.
But how can I be relatable to a person who sees me as a monster?
It’s a fine line.
Because opening myself up weakens me.
And this could be a trap.
It could always be a trap.
I stare at the Imperi officer over a single candle, the black damp of my cell closing in on us. It’s the same candle she left with the fresh bread only moments ago. But instead of returning and taking my tray, leaving without a word, this time, she stayed.
“I remember you,” she starts, eyes set on mine. “That day at the Offering when your grandfather was sacrificed. Then again when you were supposed to be executed.” She glances away, like she has memories of that day she’d rather not share. Did someone she loved get hurt in the battle? Possibly at the hands of the Night? That will make this harder for sure. So much must have happened during the invasion, as a result of the explosion. And I don’t doubt Raevald pinned all he could on the Night, whether true or not.
And knowing him … mostly not.
“I do remember you,” she repeats, the four words so potentially loaded with doubt and hate or interest and compassion. Which is it? I could flip a coin, because she’s not giving me any indication.
The soldier has short, near-black hair that curls like two hooks at her jaw. She’s taken off her red Imperi officer’s sash and turned her uniform jacket inside out, I suppose to not be seen? Regardless of the reason, I wouldn’t know she’s the enemy on first glance. The fact she’s wearing all black ironically makes her look more a member of the Night.
But she most definitely is not my ally. And it’s clear she’s not saying any more. Not a shred for me to go on. No, this guard doesn’t plan to open up to me.
I’m going to have to do the exposing.
Move beyond simply being relatable and work toward the building of trust. Dig deeper.
And it won’t be easy.
What was it Dorian said what feels like ages ago? You have to give trust to receive it?
I edge forward a few inches. “My grandfather—my real grandfather”—the flame flickers with my words and we share a glance—“the man who raised me—was everything. My whole world started and ended with him.” Briefly, I consider mentioning Nico, but the knot in my gut tells me it’s too soon for that. I can’t chance his safety by revealing where his loyalties truly lie. “He wasn’t chosen for that Offering in the traditional way, and he certainly did not volunteer.” The candle, the guard’s features, blur under the slick of tears welling in my eyes. I fight to keep them from falling. “My grandfather—Poppy, I called him—was executed as a punishment and warning to me, to anyone else who might question the Imperi. It was a message from Raevald himself.” She looks away, but her dark eyes once again meet mine. “The punishment was for returning from the Night unscathed—I ruined the myth he’d spun about them being evil torturers, placed a tiny crack in his narrative. And the warning was to keep me from doing it again. To halt whatever grand ideas