Page 107 of Children of Fallen Gods

“Oh.” I bit my lip. There would be many lonely birthdays for Caduan.

“He would have been a much better king,” he said, looking down to his glass. “It should have been him. It’s laughable, actually, that I am the one who holds the title now. Someone should have made a rule. Once you get past the tenth person in the line of succession, perhaps it’s time to give up.”

“You’re the king now. You could make that rule.”

Caduan blinked. “I suppose I could.”

“See?” I leaned forward. “Innovation, King Caduan.”

Mathira, I was drunk. Too drunk for this. I half expected him to be insulted. Instead, he let out a short laugh.

“Innovation. Yes, maybe. But even that…” His gaze went far away, face lapsing into seriousness. “I just keep thinking of how many more useful people could have lived. I knew some of the most brilliant people that have ever walked this world. When I had that corpse open on my table, all I could think about were all the more intelligent minds that could have been standing in my place, minds who could assemble the pieces I cannot. And yet I was the one who walked away.”

My mouth was dry. I took a long gulp of wine.

I was acutely conscious of the letter in my pocket, and what it forbid. Caduan wanted answers. But he would not be able to get them in Niraja.

I didn’t want to tell him that. Not now.

But when I put my glass down again, he was looking at me with that stare that stripped me bare.

“I assume,” he said, “that you received a letter from your father.”

I stiffened, and silently cursed myself for abandoning the promise of a wordless embrace for this.

My non-answer was answer enough.

“I’ll guess,” Caduan said, leaning back in his chair. “We are not going to Niraja.”

The words were thick and difficult. “We are not.”

“I, for one, am utterly shocked,” he said, and took a long drink of wine.

“I may disagree, but it is not up to me to question his decisions.”

Caduan’s lip twitched. “It’s a coward’s decision,” he muttered, into his glass.

Anger flared. I had to choke back my sharpest words. “You’re drunk,” I said.

“I am. But I’m also right.” He sat up and leaned towards me. The movement was sloppy and imprecise, and he bowed closer than perhaps he would have otherwise, his forehead nearly touching mine. Even in the darkness of the pub, his eyes were the color of light refracting through leaves — as if his anger shone through them.

“Tell me something, Teirness,” he said. “Why do you have such loyalty to him?”

“I am not the Teirness.”

“Yes, you are.”

I scoffed. “No, I’m—”

“Unsuitable? To whom? Your father holds unmatched power in the Pales. Do you think he could not have gotten them to accept you, if he had wanted to?” His voice softened. Where I had just seen anger, now I saw compassion. “Do you think other Houses do not whisper about him, Aefe? That power was never even intended to be his. It is your mother’s. And it isyours.”

I shook my head. But even as I did, a fragmented memory whispered through the back of my mind. A memory of that night, my father’s hands on my throat, the flash of white, my mother’s voice.

“My mother is not well. And I—”

“Are not as easy to control as your sister?”

I stopped breathing. I recoiled, a snarl on my lips.

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