Defy the Sun (Beware the Night #2) - Jessika Fleck Page 0,57

seat, takes my hand again. “There was no reason because a decision wasn’t made. We didn’t want to get your hopes up only to have your dreams crushed if it didn’t happen.”

My Sun … They really don’t know me at all, do they?

“Makes sense,” I say without emotion.

“But look at you now! Heir to all of Bellona. A hero who escaped the Night.” I hate how proud my mother is, how it would tear her in two if she knew the truth of why I’m here. How it was that I really escaped.

It goes on this way for about an hour. Pleasantries, a short, on-the-surface tour of the palace with the head of Raevald’s house staff, then goodbye because, according to Salazar’s fine-tuned schedule, I’m set to deliver news to the one being Offered at the turn of the hourglass.

At the front door, I shake my father’s hand. The man is beaming with pride, but not for me or out of anything I’ve done. He’s satisfied with this new position our family’s in, with the prospect of power and connections.

My mother, on the other hand, gives me another embrace, leaves a soft kiss on my cheek. And, as she pulls away, her eyes say so much more. There’s a split second, I swear, she tries to communicate something. But it’s over before I can begin to decipher what that something could possibly be, and I’m left wondering if I only imagined it. “We’ll see you at the Offering.” She smiles.

My stomach drops.

I glance toward the sky. The Offering is at midday—only a few hours away.

They bid farewell and best of luck and are whisked away as quickly as they arrived.

* * *

THE MORNING IS bitingly cold and there’s an eerily appropriate whistle along the wind. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Raevald somehow summoned it for this particular moment.

Basso and Dogio alike fill the relatively small market square. They surround the dried-out, icy fountain and spill into the alleyways that branch off the piazza. A handful of children sit on parents’ shoulders so they can see. Everyone is bundled up with hats, scarves, gloves.

I’m more Imperi—crisp, put together—than I’ve ever been, thanks to Salazar. It’s my first appearance as The Heir Who Escaped the Night, and I’ve been ironed and pressed for the occasion. It was decided I’d keep the short shadow of a beard that grew while prisoner to the Night. Salazar said it gave me more of an air of authority and wisdom. I’m just happy not to worry over shaving it.

I’m wearing a black wool fedora and accompanying black scarf wrapped around my neck. My coat and gloves are also black, and my Imperi officer’s sash has been upgraded with new adornments, pins I’m not even sure I actually earned but haven’t had the chance to ask about.

There’s a podium standing front and center on a temporary wooden platform. The backdrop is one of Raevald’s signature red curtains. They’ve expertly set the stage for my debut.

Making my way up to the podium, Salazar offers a quick pep talk. “Don’t screw up, Denali. I’d like to leave here alive.” I only raise an eyebrow. The guy’s really something else. Somehow, he looks even more put together than I do, all sharp lines and black crisp edges. Pen and list at the ready. Somehow both annoyingly efficient but also endearingly supportive.

Each step of my boots echoes through the strained silence as I march across the stage. I stop front and center before the podium, and the first item I spot is a single medallion, golden Sun embossed on the side facing me.

My first thought is, Thank the Sun. I was worried how things would go without this to buffer the announcement. The medallion is considered divined by the Sun. I did not want the impression to be that I was somehow taking on that responsibility. Despite the current High Regent considering himself godlike, I will never assume as much. Not even while playing heir.

My second thought is of the crushing reality I’m about to face. Because someone’s name is printed on the back of this gold medallion. And everyone is waiting.

Watching.

Without ceremony, because there’s no other way to get through it, I jump in feet first and turn the medallion over.

A single name stares back: JAMES REED.

James.

Reed.

I breathe a shuddery sigh, trying my damnedest to keep some sort of composure. To steady my stomach from completely turning over and being sick right here in front of most of