Page 65 of Given

“Respectfully, Your Grace, the time to put doubt to rest has passed. This is the outcome we wanted. You put her in Laurent’s path, and he took the bait.”

“What if she can’t get that close to him?”

A low bark of laughter. “Not to be indelicate, Your Grace, but according to the reports we’ve received at the Towers, the princess is already quite close to the king.”

My stomach clenched. I pressed my knuckles to my lips before I could make a sound.

“We don’t need her to kill him,” Crasor continued. “Stabbing him with the solstone will be enough. Laurent will brand her a spy and order her execution.”

All the fine hairs on my body lifted as dread drew an icy finger down my spine. I waited for Rolund to protest. To call for the guards to drag the Prelate away for even suggesting I might be executed. But my brother was silent.

The Prelate’s voice took on a peculiar cadence, as if he recited something. “The savior of the realm will be bound in blood and reborn from the Rift.”

The words held no special significance for me. Nevertheless, they seared themselves into my mind.

Rolund’s voice was low and strained. “If there was any other way—”

“There isn’t.” There was a shuffling sound, and then Crasor’s tone grew more intense. “You are a king, Rolund. We are all called to serve this realm, but you most of all. And you have a solemn duty to send those devils to the Fir where they belong. The way to do it has been foretold. Now it’s up to you to act.”

There was a long pause.

“So be it,” Rolund rumbled.

Footsteps echoed behind me. Someone was coming, and quickly. I turned from the door just as a pair of men-at-arms rounded the corner.

I was caught. I stood frozen in the doorway, my heart thumping so hard I felt lightheaded.

The men-at-arms marched straight past me…like I wasn’t there at all. They disappeared down the hallway, the torches shivering in their wake.

Tears burned my eyes. I wasn’t dead. This was some sort of rite or dark magic. I had to get back to Laurent. He was the only one who could undo this. With a final glance at the study door, I moved swiftly down the hall, swinging my gaze from side to side in case I ran across anyone else. But I saw no one as I made my way outside. Stars scattered overhead—the same sky that stretched over Nor Doru. I had to get back.

I turned slowly, using the stars to orient myself so I faced north. I squeezed my fists at my sides and stared at the horizon until my vision went blurry. Please help me, I said silently to anyone who might be listening.

Please.

Chapter Twenty

LAURENT

“What the fuck was that?” I demanded the second I entered Varick’s chamber. Despite never using it, he looked at home in the space. The stone walls were whitewashed, with only candle sconces for decoration. The heavy furniture was carved with clean lines. Nothing fussy, just functional. But I saw none of it as I stalked through the room. I only had eyes for the hulking figure sitting before the fireplace with an infuriatingly calm expression on his face.

Varick was quiet as I stopped in front of him. I pulled his dagger from my pocket and stabbed it into the wooden arm of his chair. The hilt shuddered, the bloodstones winking in the firelight.

He didn’t look at it. Just rested his head against the back of the chair, his thick fingers laced over his midsection.

“Nothing to say?” I demanded.

“I said everything I wanted to say at dinner.”

I pointed to the dagger. “You swore an oath on that blade. You promised me…” A tangle of emotions welled up. Anger and frustration and fear. A toxic mix that threatened to choke me.

“Maybe you should sit down,” he said, like I was being unreasonable. Like he hadn’t just drained himself all over the fucking floor before ordering Given to her knees and forcing me to use a bly’ad on her.

For one blazing second, white covered my vision. It was, I realized, possible to be blinded by rage. The depth of it scared me a little. Is this how it starts? The shaking and lack of control? Blacking out and then, oops, tossing a few nobles into the Rift? Sweat broke out across my skin.

Wood creaked. “Laurent,” Varick said, the detached tone gone from his voice. A warm hand gripped my bicep. Steered me to a chair and pressed me down. I leaned an elbow on the padded arm and buried my face in my hand.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just give me a minute.”

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