every terrible thing she’d ever done for the good of her people, she would do again and again.
Prince Castian crossed his arms, a bemused smile playing on his lips as the side door opened. “Perhaps you’ll tell her.”
Celeste’s blood ran cold as another soldier entered through the kitchen door, escorting a young woman. The spymaster’s mind struggled to place the green pallor of the girl’s olive skin. Gaunt in a way that made her look like she’d been drained by leeches. When recognition sparked, tears she thought had long since run dry pooled in her eyes. Celeste knew this girl.
Lucia Zambrano, a mind reader for the Whispers, known for her bright brown eyes and sweet laughter that made it easy to fall in love with her, just as Rodrigue had. Rodrigue, whose grave dirt was still under Celeste’s fingernails. Lucia’s quick wit was only matched by the speed of her footwork, both of which were useful when she spied for Celeste in Citadela Crescenti. Celeste had heard of Lucia’s capture during a raid, and after Rodrigue’s tales of what was happening in the dungeons, she’d feared the worst.
That was when she’d believed the worst that could happen to the Moria was a slow, torturous death.
The king has discovered a fate worse than death, Celeste thought now, unable to look away from Lucia. Her eyes were vacant, a house where the lights have been snuffed out. Her lips were cracked and had a white film at the corners. Lucia’s bones and veins were hugged by too-tight skin.
“Come closer, Lucia,” Castian said.
The girl’s movements appeared to be commanded by the prince’s voice. She took slow steps, her dead eyes focused on the fire in the hearth behind Celeste.
“What have you done to her?” Celeste asked, her voice small.
“What will be done to all Moria unless you tell me what I want to know.”
The realization thundered through every part of her body: Rodrigue was right. Rodrigue was right. Rodrigue was right. How would she protect the alman stone now? Castian was somehow immune to her magics, but she could try her best with the guards. And then what? She wouldn’t make it past the bridge checkpoints without travel documents. She had to be there for the Whispers to find—even if she wasn’t alive.
“This will be your future unless you tell me where Dez is,” Castian said, louder, impatient.
For a moment, Celeste’s eyes flicked to the closed door where the Sirianos slept. No, no one could sleep through this disturbance. They were dead. Or they had abandoned her.
Celeste’s stomach churned because it didn’t matter now. She was out of options, and the knowledge of what she had to do overcame her. She barely had time to turn away before she vomited. The soldier cursed and shook the sickness from his hand, but one look at the Príncipe Dorado and he kept his other hand firmly on Celeste’s shoulder.
“I won’t ask again,” the prince said, his face a vicious mask inches from hers. “I will burn this village to the ground with you in it.”
Celeste knew that she had a single moment to get things right. All she needed was to hide the alman stone for another Moria to find. Illan’s spies were clever, and if they weren’t, then she’d pray to Our Lady of Shadows for a guiding hand. After that, she’d fight until she couldn’t fight anymore—but she wouldn’t be taken alive.
Despite the pain—despite the bile that pooled across her tongue and threatened to choke her windpipe—Celeste, finally, began to laugh.
One moment, one life.
She wished she had more to give the Whispers.
The prince closed a fist around her hair, pulling her away from the soldier. “You laugh at the fate of your own?”
Blinking her eyes to focus, Celeste stared back at the prince. “I laugh because you will not win. We are a flame that will never burn out.”
Then she slammed her forehead into the prince’s face.
He released her, reaching for his bloody nose.
In that moment, she was free, rolling away onto the ground; her quick fingers retrieved the hidden contents over her heart. The guard dove for her. She grabbed the oil lamp on the table and threw it. The glass shattered against the guard’s chest, and he screamed as fire caught on his clothes, anointed with oils meant for protection.
It was an ugly way to die, and it would not be her fate. She dug into her tunic pocket and held up the glass vial for the prince to see.