Palace of Silver (The Nissera Chronicles #3) - Hannah West Page 0,53

stone.

“The locals have some superstitious theories,” Mathis explained. “But I think she resorted to dark elicromancy to seize what she desired. Her poor husband or the priest tried to reign in her frivolity, and she simply would not be denied. It’s a family trait.” He smiled as though it were something to be proud of.

“How could Myron allow this?” I asked, shaking my head. How did the Realm Alliance not know? Why did no one ask us for help?

A cold dread turned in my stomach. Perhaps I already knew the answer to that. We had already failed to hold Ambrosine accountable once. The people of Perispos did not trust us to save them.

“Myron is a castrated king,” Orturio answered. “He still signs decrees, but only at her behest.”

He swilled the rest of his wine and pushed back from the table. “Perhaps it’s better for you to see than hear. Come.”

Sleep seemed ever out of reach as our open-top carriage sped away from the estate. Orturio had bound my wrists again, though thankfully with soft strips of cloth this time.

I watched the countryside roll by and found it difficult to believe that a reign of terror had fallen over this kingdom. Serene, crisp green hills billowed toward woodlands to the south and toward the outline of the city proper and the palace in the northwest—where Glisette was just out of reach. If only she knew. She would come for me and punish anyone who had laid a finger on me.

Soon the taste of smoke coated my tongue. The light wind carried a haze that stung my eyes. Through it, I saw a town of red-clay roofs rising up from the slope of a valley. A structure of jagged, blackened stones overshadowed the other buildings on the square.

“Is that an edifice?” I asked Orturio.

“It was. Now it’s a pile of stones.”

The taste of ash thickened as we rolled into town, greeted by the wary stares of locals and sun-withered vagabonds. The ruins surrounding the edifice looked more dismal the nearer we drew. My lungs itched with the urge to cough.

The driver eased to a halt in the edifice courtyard.

“Did she do this?” I asked Orturio as we debarked from the carriage and hiked over heaps of gray rubble and shards of stained glass. Only the skeleton of the edifice remained standing. So badly, I wanted to see Glisette, to know she was all right, to ask her how this could have happened without our knowledge. But Orturio instinctively knew I had thoughts of escape. He followed close behind, cloaking me in his large shadow.

Inside the edifice we encountered utter devastation. Everything not made of marble had been burned to crisps. Chunks of structural stones had warped in the heat and crumbled.

I picked my way over the wreckage to the pale altar, smudged with black marks. Falling debris had broken off an arm of the Holy of Honesty. I couldn’t recall her name, but I remembered why she held a key in one hand and a candle in the other: it symbolized that no truth could stay locked away or obscured forever.

I spotted the broken hand holding the key and bent to retrieve it.

We should not have shown Ambrosine mercy. But Glisette had seemed so thrilled at the thought of sending her far away, and Valory had wanted to prove she could be merciful. I’d hoped that the measures would be enough to restrain Ambrosine.

But clearly, that hope had been in vain.

“The priest, the altar attendants, a few townspeople, and even one of my brethren died,” Orturio explained.

“Your brethren?” I asked, breathless with disbelief.

“My organization fights for the preservation of the faith. The high priest recently gave us an ancient religious artifact of immeasurable value. He wanted to keep it safe from the queen. We believe she killed him trying to obtain it. So we planted a rumor that it was hidden here and hid a fake instead, hoping she would come and we could ambush her. But she only had interest in destroying it. She sent soldiers to torch the place and everyone inside without even searching it.”

“Why?” I asked, despair over the Realm Alliance’s mistake weighing heavier with every ash-ridden breath I took. “What grudge does she hold against Agrimas?”

Orturio had let me wander deep into the edifice unaccompanied. Now he approached me and motioned for me to give him the broken bit of statue. Confused, I offered it to him, but he did not take it. Instead, he loosened the