Page 5 of Between Wrath and Mercy

“She went to Mira with Faxon.”

“What a shame; I wanted to see her.” He gave a sad smile. Would he have been a better grandfather than he was a father if he’d ever been given the chance?

“I’ll bring her next time. She sends her love. Faxon says thank you, as usual.” The lies came easier every month.

“It’s nothing. Here,” My father leaned down and passed me a small satchel. “The same as usual.” He added.

“Thank you, Father.” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling my face flush. I hated this. All I wanted was to have a normal relationship with the man, but this was all I ever got from him. His formality only increased as the years passed.

“Sorry I cannot stay longer; I must be off. The servants are in a frenzy. The Crown has business in Ardian and has requested to stay at the estate rather than ride straight from Crown Cottage. They will likely arrive midday tomorrow.” My father seemed rather annoyed by the whole prospect. Since Lucia’s death, his resentment for the monarchy only grew. He suspected King Soren knew of the threat the Folterrans posed and simply allowed her to die. I couldn’t understand that line of thinking. Lucia’s powers bound to the prince’s would have made the future king and queen the most powerful rulers Vesta had ever seen. Why wouldn’t King Soren want that?

“What business does King Soren have in Ardian this far into autumn?”

“Ha! The old mongrel probably doesn’t know how to ride a horse anymore, let alone find Ardian on a map. It’s the Crown Prince. As for what business he might have in Ardian, I am not one to question the motivations of royalty. However, I am told it has to do with the temple.”

I froze. Crown Prince Rainier would be at Ravemont tomorrow night.

You are poison.

The last words he’d said to me after Lucia’s burial rang through my ears. He’d been down on one knee, holding his side after I’d just stabbed him. I had spent the better part of the last sixteen years hating him, just as he hated me. He was the reason I still had nightmares from that night.

“Send him my regrets for my lack of attendance. Tell him I hope he understands.”

Chapter 3

Ibegantheridehome, lost in thought with an aching feeling in my chest. I had tried, unsuccessfully, not to think of Prince Rainier during all the years I’d been in hiding. After Lucia died, it was common knowledge Queen Shivani had searched for a replacement to perform the bonding ritual with the prince. As if Lucia had merely been a pawn. As if anything about her were replaceable. The queen presented eligible conduits, hailing from all over Nythyr and Vesta, hoping to find someone suitable for Rainier, but as far as I knew, they hadn’t decided on one. If I could have felt anything back then, it would have been disgust—for more than one reason. At the time, I wondered if the queen counted down the days after my sister died, waiting for the appropriate opportunity to find Rainier a conduit to replace her. Did the queen feel inconvenienced by how long she had to wait to avoid appearing callous? Did Rainier grieve for her? For what we’d done?

I would always mourn my twin, though any official mourning period had long passed. Even sixteen years later, any time I thought about her, I felt this pinch in my nose, and I’d need to remember to breathe. My sister and I had always been two sides of the same coin, and ever since she’d been taken from me, everything had been off balance. I didn’t think the wound would ever heal completely. Like an ache in my knee during the cold months, the hole left by my sister would stay inflamed forever. For so long after Lucia passed, I didn’t eat, didn’t sleep—I merely existed. I floated through the halls of Ravemont Estate like I was the one who’d died. Less than a week after the attack, I was married to Faxon. It was my eighteenth birthday—our eighteenth birthday. I didn’t remember much of it, moving through the day in a fog. Faxon and I had retired to the west wing of the house, a mirror of the east wing where Lucia and I had grown, and I let him do what was expected of us—if only because I didn’t have the energy to fight anything. I hadn’t even known I was pregnant with Elora until I felt her flutter kick in my stomach months after the wedding, my body out of sorts.

When I finally felt her, I’d found a reason to survive. I began to eat for Elora, not myself. When she was born small, I blamed myself for those early months of malnutrition, but she thrived. I poured myself into her. I gave her every part of me, and, in doing so, I saved myself. When she wrapped her tiny hand around my finger, it was an anchor, bringing me back to the ground. Every smile from her was a gift, a reminder of what I stood to lose. Looking back, I realized, without her, I would’ve drifted away completely.

My thoughts moved to Elora in the present, off on an adventure with her father and Theo. The boy and his parents were who I heard most of the court gossip from. They’d told me of Vesta’s push to claim Varmeer, the island which lay between Folterra and Vesta. South of the Alsor mountains and west of the port city of Mira, the island would prove to be a weakness if inhabited by Folterran forces. When King Dryul’s armies began gathering on Varmeer, King Soren sent his son to bring the Folterrans to their knees. And by the sounds of it, he did. That had to have been a decade ago now. They’d even pushed into Folterra itself and built a fort on the peninsula jutting out of its southeastern side. Theo’s father, John, long since dead, had painted a bloody picture when he talked about what the Vestian armies had done. Prince Rainier had brought hell down upon their armies. When I’d heard, I’d hoped the prince had shown the same cruelty to the Folterrans as they had to my family.

The last day I saw the prince, he told me he would bring me King Dryul’s head. He’d told me those who were responsible for my sister’s death would pay with their life. I had pulled my hair off my neck and bared it to him in response. We were the ones who took down the wards that night. We were the ones who deserved to pay. My sister, my best friend, my confidante—was dead. Because of us. I would never forgive myself, and I would never forgive him.

Itwaslate,nearingdinner time, when I heard a scream from what sounded like a small child. Pushing my heels into Bree, I urged her toward the source of the noise. Coming around a bend in the path, I found two children and one angry pony. An older boy, maybe around ten, knelt next to a smaller child, a little girl with hair the color of sunshine. Bree nickered and came to a halt some distance away from the small, stamping horse.

“Can I help? What happened?” I climbed down from Bree, noticing the tears streaming down the girl's face. If I had to guess, the pony either bit her or threw her. Her older brother was wearing a mask of bravery, but his heartbeat told another story. I pulled back; I hadn’t meant to listen but it was just second nature sometimes.

“Poppy threw her off, ma’am. I think…I don’t know, her arm don’t look good. Mama is gonna kill us. She said Junie wasn’t allowed up, but she wouldn’t stop crying, so I let her. And now look. Junie, this is all your fault!” At this, Junie began to wail.

“Alright,” I shot a warning look to the boy. He wasn’t helping the situation. “Hold on honey, let me have a look.”

I kneeled next to Junie, and her cries tapered off as her lower lip continued to quiver. Booboos and bandages were long past with Elora, and I missed this age. I rolled up her sleeve and saw the contortion of her wrist. I was amazed she wasn’t screaming.

“Junie, you are a brave, little girl. Do you mind if I try to fix you up?” She nodded. “This might hurt a little bit. I want you to use your other hand to grab onto your brother. Hold on tight and squeeze as hard as you can.”

Children’s bones were difficult; they were so bendable it was hard to know when I’d fixed them. Sometimes it was an injury I’d have to revisit afterward, just to make sure it healed properly. I delicately placed my hands on the little arm before me. Heat radiating from my palms, I guided the bones back in place. Junie gasped, and I saw her brother’s face twist with pain. His sister was not only brave but strong—her grip on his hand like a vice. There was a pop, and Junie cried out. I held her arms a while after, the heat warming her skin, until her sobs subsided, and I pulled my hands from her.

“There we go. Now let’s get you—”

“Are you a conduit?” A small furrow of suspicion appeared on the boy’s brow as he spoke.

“Yes, I am. Although, this is about all I’m good for.” I gave a smile, trying to assure him. Conduits were rare, more common among the gentry, and tended to live on large estates or in cities and have enough wealth to not bother mingling with mortals, let alone poor ones. I’d kept my divinity to myself for a reason. I didn’t want to draw suspicion toward our family or Elora. I took in the sight of the children: their clothes a bit too tight and ragged and their teeth showing some signs of malnourishment, and despite my desire to remain unnoticed, I decided I wasn’t done with them.

Junie leaned over and gave me a one-armed hug, surprising me. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“No worries, little one. Let’s get this wrapped up, and I’ll help get you two home.” I turned toward the boy. “Go reach into my bag and grab the apple out of it. Let’s see if it will settle that one down.” I glared over at the pony. Devilish thing.

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