Palace of Silver (The Nissera Chronicles #3) - Hannah West Page 0,54
tied cloth around my wrists.
“You are free to recover your strength and leave if you wish,” he said. “Or you could atone for your role in pardoning Ambrosine Lorenthi. You could the join the Uprising. You could become our agent and return to the Realm Alliance to affect meaningful change. You could make it your mission to prevent your powerful allies from bringing yet another disaster on defenseless mortals.”
Orturio set something cool and hard in my palm. When he lifted his hand, I found an iron figurine. It was the Holy of Loyalty.
“King Agmur promised you peace and equality for Erdem’s mortals, but he wanted an elicrin stone in exchange. We promise you peace and equality for all mortals…and we only want your allegiance.”
“We want to return to a simpler time.” Mathis ambled gracefully through the wreckage and fixed me with a calculating stare. “Before Queen Bristal, before the academy, before magical and royal bloodlines intertwined, elicromancers nearly went extinct. The remaining few minded their business in the mountains. Mortal kings reigned. There was order.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You would give up your elicrin stone to be a mortal king?”
“To bring peace, yes. We want all elicromancers to surrender their stones, and it starts with us, when we’re ready.”
“There was peace and order before the Moth King too,” I argued. “The Conclave set laws for elicromancers. They confiscated elicrin stones when necessary, and the Realm Alliance held them accountable. There was balance. That’s all the new Realm Alliance wants.”
“None of that prevented the Moth King,” Mathis pointed out.
The reek of soot stung my nostrils. I looked around at the ravaged edifice. Mathis was right—if elicromancers could have solved the world’s problems, they would have already. Queen Jessa, as the brilliant former leader of the Realm Alliance, would have. But even she couldn’t keep her own kind from using their powers selfishly. Even elicrin Healers charged a gold aurion just to disappear a wart from a finger because if they deigned to heal every disease or injury, they would have to sacrifice their time and luxury.
Maybe elicromancers’ chance to prove they could rule justly had already passed. Maybe it was time to step aside, regardless of our good intentions.
The uncertainty must have shown on my face. Orturio’s eyes sparked like flint as he said, “Show your loyalty to your true people. Use your influence to advocate for defenseless mortals.”
He closed my fingers into a fist around the Holy of Loyalty. “Help us end the chaotic reign of elicromancers forever.”
SIXTEEN
GLISETTE
EARLIER THAT DAY
THE huntsman’s knife flashed in the daylight falling through the trees. He took one menacing step, then another, his soles silent on the bed of moss and strewn leaves.
“Wait, no! Please!” Navara begged through tears of desperation.
But every plea I nearly mustered died in my throat. What was the use of living now? What did I have to protect, to cherish, to fight for?
My family had nearly unraveled when news of my parents’ deaths reached our ears. And since that day, Devorian’s and Ambrosine’s selfish choices had tugged on every loose thread until only Perennia and I remained tightly woven. Without her, all was lost. Ambrosine had severed the cords of sisterhood in every direction.
If I survived this, Devorian and I would grieve together, dine together, discuss insipid diplomatic affairs, but things would never be the same. Ghosts would abide between us, in the empty seats, within the wardrobes of unworn dresses, behind the faces of our loved ones in every portrait.
The huntsman took a third step, shifting a calculating glare from Navara to me. Perhaps he had not yet chosen which of us to kill first.
“My father has always treated you kindly, Sev,” Navara said, trembling. I remembered more Perispi than I thought, grasping her meaning. “He compensated you and your father fairly. You remember taking me on my first hunt, don’t you? When I was eleven and you were fifteen? Father only brought me to make me feel important, and you played along like he asked. You let me think I killed that quail. But when I cried over having killed it, you told me the truth.”
The huntsman listened, pausing mid-movement like a predator whose prey had glimpsed him prowling in the shadows.
The tendons in his hand and forearm swelled as he tightened his grip, preparing to bleed us out like swine. How fitting that Perennia and I would both die in this forsaken country, just like Mother and Father.
“Giavna, giavna, Severo!” Navara sobbed. It was one