Page 13 of Shadows and Roses

"Eight?" he blurted, regretting his slip before his lips closed. She clearly hadn’t wanted anyone to hear that.Damn.

She didn’t react at first. Hope that she hadn’t heard him died as her sharp little smile turned to him. "That’s right, you haven’t seen this before. He’s going to walk the coals." A single claw extended at the wall to their right.

There lay a long hearth that Castien had thought was for warmth—though it was odd to be constantly burning in the current mid-summer heat. He could use a bit of warmth right now.

"I don’t understand," he said. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

She put a finger to her lips and lowered her voice. "He lost the game. I choose a number every week, and that's how many servants can die before someone walks the coals. Some of the nobles thought I’d forgotten this week." Her eyes followed the guards dragging the lord the hearth, then snapped to him. "You won’t mention this… game to anyone, of course." Soft as those words were, it was a command.

"Yes, my Queen." Madness. Her entire court was already well aware—and approved.

"Hmm."

Spearing a cube of cheese,she offered it to him.

He barely noticed. The shaking lord had made it to the hearth. His boots and leggings had been ripped off. His lips were moving, likely pleading for mercy, but the normal dining chatter and clatter had resumed.

"If he could wet his feet and run—" Castien suggested.

She laughed, a chill freezing his spine as she patted his arm affectionately. "Oh, no, dear. I saidwalk. If he runs, the count will have to restart. If he jumps off…" She popped the cheese in her mouth and skewered a roasted, slightly burnt sausage. His back crawled as she daintily peeled off the burnt skin. "They'll strip him naked, tie him up, and throw him on the fire." Her teeth bit into the meat, and she smiled wickedly.

A strangled scream made him flinch—likely the lord taking his first step.

She inhaled deeply as she chewed. "You're a soft one, aren't you? The Night Courts are so pampered." A claw stroked his face, then nudged his chin until he faced the hearth. "Watch," a whisper in his ear. The claws dropped to his thigh, stroking through the thin leather.

The lord was walking. Slow, jerking steps carried him forward as he struggled to keep his balance. Low flames licked at his feet, already blistering tender flesh. His pants had been cut so the flames wouldn't catch. He wiped sweat from his eyes and looked up pleadingly at the Queen, who only raised an eyebrow as she nibbled on her sausage. The lord returned to his painful journey.

Castien's bile rose, a whiff of the roasted meat turning his stomach. He swallowed and clenched his jaws. "Is he meant to die?"

The Queen hummed quietly. "My court likes to bet on the outcome. Lord Dristal's a dull fool, but his father's a duke. I might not kill him." She shrugged in the corner of his eyes while her hand moved higher between his legs.

The lord was swaying with every slow, stumbling step. Castien kept his eyes on the man's pinched face in an attempt to avoid the sight of those blackened feet. The coals rolled on the next step and the lord bent, almost overcompensating.

As the tortured man regained his balance, a messenger burst into the hall, holding out a scroll as he ran toward the throne. A guard took the scroll from the panting messenger and delivered it to the Queen. Her hand left Castien’s thigh to unroll the message. With a small frown of irritation, she waved at Lord Dristal and nodded to the guards near the hearth.

The lord collapsed while clambering out of the flames, the guards barely catching him before he fell onto the stone floor. A healer in full blue silk rushed over with bandages and a bag of supplies. Dristal appeared unconscious, which was for the best. Castien caught a glimpse of swollen black feet before the healer started tending them.

Many nobles grumbled and complained.

"Aw, there goes our fun. Stupid messenger," Castien heard one lady sigh. His lips thinned.

The leather around his wrist loosened and fell. The Queen’s icy smile was directed at him again. "Oh, you gentle creature. Look how pale you are. Shoo. Go on, before you make a mess."

Castien swiftly rose swiftly, bowed, and walked away. He hadn't consciously chosen a direction, but it seemed he was heading toward the dead boy.

The body had been cleared, the only reminder of the violent death a servant cleaning the last traces of blood. Castien kept moving, eventually finding a washroom wherehe promptly emptied his stomach.

Anais

Estan Kellenath.

Another death. Another name.

Her mother had taught her how to eat while the scent of charred human flesh tainted the air. In the privacy of the dungeons, Anais had spent a moon half-starved and vomiting until she could properly hold down a meal. The first time she attended court while a noble walked the coals, she was only mildly pale.

The nobles were delighted. She’d hated them even more.

Estan. The young man’s body would be sent home. A village near the eastern border. Another life cut short for the court’s entertainment.

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