Page 28 of Fearless

“They realize.” Easel nods slowly. “But ignorance was their bliss. Some admired the late king’s persistence in ridding Ilya of Ordinaries rather than saving it from collapsing.”

Kai crosses his arms, the sleeves hugging them dried with blood. “The Defensive and Offensive Elites are turning against the entirety of the slums. I’ve seen the shift over the past few years. It’s not just Ordinaries they want out of the city.” His eyes meet mine. “The entirety of the slums is beneath them now.”

“Well, that is no surprise to me,” I breathe. “Anyone in the slums has known that for years. My father even wrote about it—how the Mundanes will soon become the new Ordinaries.”

Calum’s eyes meet mine, seeing right through me to learn of my father’s journal. I’ve never been more thankful for his mind reading ability than in this moment. I don’t even have to address the questioning look in his eyes—he can go right ahead and find the answer within my mind.

“They already are.” Kitt states this evenly. “Their numbers are growing and the rest of the Elites only see them as a weakness—”

“Just like the Ordinaries,” I finish for him.

Easel nods. Kai stiffens. Calum remains stoic as ever.

“So,” Kitt says slowly, “do we have any idea who exactly is behind this?”

“Likely a group of Elites who think they’re doing the kingdom a favor.” Kai’s tone is dry. “And also think they have a sense of humor by copying the Resistance bombs.”

“Handmade bombs are harder to trace than an Ignite,” I realize softly. “There is no one to interrogate. No way to know who threw them.”

The study fills with silence until Kitt dares to break it. “What does the court want us to do about this? How do we get the people to accept Paedyn as their queen?”

A lock of Easel’s long hair slips over a broad shoulder. “Paedyn mustprove herself to all of Ilya. Prove she is strong enough to rule, even as an Ordinary. That is the only way we believe they will accept her.”

I almost laugh. “And how do we plan on doing that?”

His silence is ominous. And when he finally speaks, I understand why. “The people want to send you back into your own Trials.”

CHAPTER 11Kai

I know Death. There is something intimate about the ending of a life.

Over the years, Death and I have come to share a special bond. But fear is a far less familiar feeling. One that has never gripped me as tightly as it had in that study.

Calum agreed with Easel’s proposition and urged Kitt to do the same. But my focus was wholly on her. I watched Paedyn ponder this deadly decision, watch the agreement form on those pretty lips of hers. Rage was a rumble in my chest that rose to my tongue, shouting that she can’t be serious. I stood before her, fought the urge to cup her face, and told her she cannot enter another set of Trials. I simply wouldn’t let her risk everything for a kingdom that would rather see her die.

But I should know better than to give Paedyn Gray an order. She is not one of my soldiers, after all. No, she is so much more.

That was when she looked me in the eyes, took Death by the hand, and declared once again that she would enter herself into these new Trials.

“It’s the only way,” she had said sternly, though her face was pale. “I have to prove myself to them.”

“And if you die?” I’d shot back, chest heaving.

Her next words still plague my thoughts, more than a day later.

“Then they will have been right about me. I’m a weakness.”

The ring feels foreign on my finger.

I pull my hands behind my back, hiding them from the sea of prying eyes beneath the dais. Fidgeting with the thick Enforcer’s ring, I can practically feel the blood that has been spilled by those who wore it before me. I blow out a breath, keeping my gaze on the large throne room doors ahead.

I—and the rest of the court, for that matter—have been begrudgingly awaiting our king to grace us with his presence. The minutes drag by, leaving me alone atop the dais and very much on display for the entire court. By the time I’ve considered borrowing a Veil’s power from the crowd to simply vanish from this unfortunate situation, the doors swing open.

In steps the king. The golden crown glitters atop his head, bleeding into the hair beneath. His outfit is simple at first glance, refined at second. The buttoned shirt he wears is pressed perfectly, tucked into equally pristine green pants. But every feature is enhanced by what he carries on his arm.

Her hand is threaded through his bent elbow, tan skin glowing against the white dress hugging her closely. The neckline encircles her throat, hiding what I know to be a branding of my father’s doing above her heart. Shoulders exposed, waist cinched tightly, hair waving around her ears.

She looks equally youthful and thoroughly weathered by the world. It’s a contradiction she wears confidently.

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