finished.”
Without my elicrin stone, grief was simply despair. The plans for revenge that took shape in my tortured dreams disintegrated like cinders in the wind.
The approaching footsteps were so deft and quiet that I didn’t notice the huntsman until he reached the campsite, carrying a bundle of split wood. He neatly arranged the logs atop the heap—a pyre far too large for cooking or warmth on a mild spring day. It had to be for another purpose.
When he finished he turned to face us, the severity of his expression revealing his intentions.
Deft as a hawk, he reached for the hunting knife at his hip, unsheathing the keen-edged blade.
THIRTEEN
AMBROSINE
SIX WEEKS AGO
THE serrated edge of my knife scraped against the porcelain plate, drawing the attention of Myron, his commander, and his high priest. They had nearly finished their meals despite their fluid conversation in Perispi, while my stomach revolted at the roast duck drowning in tangy olive sauce.
But I couldn’t carve the bites any smaller. I would have to eat. Already, Father Peramati regarded me with a hawkish stare. We barely spoke each other’s native language, but I felt as though he could peer through tissue and bone to my soul. The notion made me squirm.
I forced down a nibble. It tasted mushy, flavorless, inedible. I knew I would spend my evening vomiting into the commode.
An insubordinate maid had told Myron of my sickness and he had rejoiced, believing me to be with child. Nexantius had mocked him in the privacy of our entwined thoughts. His laughter had filled my head while I reluctantly crushed Myron’s joy.
Before, I would have been pleased to deliver news of a pregnancy, knowing nearly everyone in our kingdom would delight in me. No longer would I feel forgotten and small. Everyone would fret over me and they would once again appreciate my beauty and consequence.
But that was before. Soon I wouldn’t need their approval or their admiration.
Instead, I would have their fear and respect.
You will, indeed, Nexantius said, stirring inside me, the whisper of his thoughts brushing against mine. As soon as you agree: two men at this table need to die.
He had been silent since our argument, when I had first realized there were conditions to our arrangement—which he had withheld from me at first.
I refuse to hurt Myron, my thoughts hissed back at him. And I will not kill the priest so long as Valory has the power to punish me. Give me victory over her first.
They are the only two in this entire kingdom who know how to stop us. There are only two who have read the sealed scroll. Nexantius no longer whispered, his voice pouring through my mind like viscous honey. The priest is clever; he will soon find out what I am, what we are. We will fail before we’ve even begun.
What do he and Myron know that others don’t?
Nexantius didn’t answer.
Do you not trust me? I asked. I have opened myself to you. I have increased your power. Can you at least tell me your plan for Valory Braiosa before I risk her wrath by shedding innocent blood? She could stop us with far less effort than Myron or the priest.
Again, silence. I set down my utensils and made fists in my lap. Even when he had abandoned me to the quiet of my thoughts, Nexantius still resided within me. I felt his visceral repulsion of the many depictions of the Holies that graced the palace. His voracious cravings for precious metals and gems roiled in my belly.
I raised one fist to rest it under my chin, touching my tongue to the gold setting of my amethyst ring. Myron had gifted it to me on our wedding day. The metal tasted more decadent than warm pastry, the jewel sweeter than pomegranate arils. My teeth could miraculously cut through both like a knife through butter.
But even after dinner, when I was alone—more or less—I could not succumb to the Fallen’s appetite. My jewelry case had begun to look bare. Myron had noticed my lack of baubles, and I had already dismissed two maids over false accusations of theft.
We needed to act, and soon.
“Thank Orico for this delicious meal,” Father Peramati said in Perispi, tossing his silk serviette onto the table.
Before I could stop myself, I sneered. The names of the Holies grated my ears. Their countenances stung my eyes like the midday sun. Right now, the pious, unctuous Holies of Generosity and Moderation gazed down upon us from a marble