Defy the Sun (Beware the Night #2) - Jessika Fleck Page 0,56
jump right to it. Fall at his feet. Beg for forgiveness because he’s the mighty Sindaco and, somehow, because of that title he knows what’s best.
Instead, I take my time.
Yes, maybe I’m stalling, but I also need to have my wits about me.
After a bit of thought and a lot of fresh water, I get dressed, put on my jacket, pick up the spear and shove the handkerchief in my pocket. But when I do I find another piece of paper. And it doesn’t occur to me what it is until I open it and the memory comes rushing back.
The note Xavier passed me when he introduced himself in the cave. I’d completely forgotten about it with everything that happened last night.
I uncrumple it, open it up. In small messy scrawl, it says: I have a contact in the palace. Nico is safe.
Oh, thank the Moon.
And that small piece of news is all I need to face the Sindaco.
* * *
I’LL HAVE TO deal with Dorian and the letter to Nico later.
Right now, a private conversation with the Sindaco is long overdue.
CHAPTER 13
NICO
It’s the morning of the Offering, and, of course, I awaken before dawn. Long before morning bells. Today is the day I will deliver the worst news possible to someone, for their loved ones. Then I will stand on high above the ceremony and watch as it’s carried out.
I feel sick.
Terrified.
Unprepared.
But I have no choice but carry it all out flawlessly.
First, though, I have to put on a brave face for my parents. Pretend I’m enjoying a hearty breakfast when my stomach is a roiling cyclone of anxiety.
When Salazar opens the door, leads me into the room and to the table where they sit, I’ll admit, my parents are a very welcome sight.
Upon seeing me, they both stand, step away from their chairs, and walk to meet me. My mother rushes over first, wraps me into her arms, and immediately starts fawning over me like I’m a child.
“Are you eating well? Are they tending to your wound?” she asks, still hugging me.
“Yes, Mother, I’m fine, truly.” We mutually pull away. “I’m being treated like an heir.” I smile. She laughs lightly and gives my hands—already held within hers—a tight squeeze.
“We were so worried, my son.” My father, as expected, is much more reserved. However, he too strides up to me, gives me a highly uncharacteristic and lingering embrace. It’s strange but not completely uncomfortable. In fact, because it’s genuine and not for show, I accept it fully.
I pull back, look at them both, “It’s so nice to see you.” And I mean it.
We sit down over an obscene amount of food and drink for three people, but I’m actually able to push a bit of my anxiety and anticipation over the days’ events to the shadows of my mind. For the most part.
My parents ask lots of questions, and I explain what’s happening, how the High Regent has me sort of engaged in heir training. They seem pleased with the arrangement. My mother keeps going on about the palace, the splendor of it all, from the perfectly curated lawns to the ornate molding along the ceiling.
The room we’re in is brimming with white floral arrangements and floor-to-ceiling windows that frame a picturesque view of the lush palace grounds. Because of my early schedule today, we’re able to watch as the Sun rises up, filtering through the garden trees.
“We haven’t been here in years—I can’t believe I’ve forgotten how breathtaking it is,” she breathes dreamily, taking in the gold-leaf trim of the side table.
“What were you here for then?”
She straightens her ruby necklace (the one she keeps locked away and only shows the world on special occasions), smooths her long hair as it cascades over her left shoulder. “What’s that, dear?” she asks, though I know she must have heard me, and the way she glances at my father further tips me off.
Father clears his throat, tugs at the front of his black vest so it lays flat. “We were asked to come along with several other families of high standing. It was an interview of sorts … The High Regent was starting his search for an heir.” He takes a long sip of coffee.
So they’ve known for years this was a possibility? I force my nerves to stay calm. I sip my own coffee, focusing on my voice, keeping it light because there’s no point in showing my anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”