Page 36 of Between Fear and Favor

“Correct.”

“And the reason you don’t want to do this task anymore?” He peered at me with rich brown eyes. His dark skin held few wrinkles, despite his wife’s passing. Without the gift of the font, his appearance began to catch up with his age. He was old, but keen, and I found myself growing fond of the man. Though he was considered part of the court, he was unlike most I’d met within King Soren’s chosen circle.

I swallowed, adjusting my skirts. The clothing was clean, but the light blue fabric was itchy. “If I had someone to help shoulder the burden, I could heal more people. She moves so quickly, and sometimes there’s five soldiers arriving at once, and...”

“And you can’t save them all.” He turned toward me, placing his hands behind his back. “It is an honor that you ask this of me.”

I bit my lip, ready for him to tell me no.

“I will do my best,” he said, reaching out to squeeze my hand. It was an informal gesture, but the kindness and willingness he showed, that so many of his equals had not, made my nose smart from unshed tears. “I suppose if I’m not capable, we shall find out the hard way?”

He grinned then, revealing a charming gap between his two front teeth. Despite the lack of promise in his last statement, I grew hopeful. With just a fraction of the burden lifted from me, I would be able to help more people. And with the new system in place, after the imminent danger had passed, wounded soldiers could rest within the temple before having to return to the field of battle. I would miss Malva being by my side, her sturdy, calming presence amidst stressful circumstances, but I wondered if Jaehren might be capable of the same frank understanding.

Despite the confidence in our new situation, later that evening, when the sound of horns announced Cethina’s return, panic overwhelmed me. My own words to Rain, when the shadows had overtaken him in moments of fear, repeated in my mind.

“Call upon your light,” I whispered, as shadows twirled up my wrists.

Chapter 19

CYRAN

I tracedmy fingertips over the plaque reading Genevieve Vestana while looking into the same green eyes which belonged to Elora’s father. The woman in the portrait was Elora’s great-grandmother, Soren’s mother, and I scoured her face for similarities. Though untouched by Aonara as Elora had been, the woman’s hair was only a few shades darker than hers. The dates on the plaque surprised me. Either she wasn’t a conduit, or her life had been cut short by the time she reached eighty years. She didn’t appear much older than Emmeline in the portrait, but I wasn’t sure when it had been painted.

Her face held none of the joy that Elora’s did, and frown lines grooved her brows and either side of her mouth. When Elora was feeling exceptionally aggravated, usually by me, her face tended to crease in the same ways. I wondered if it was so miserable for all who sat upon a throne. Would Elora look like this one day? In hundreds of years, if we were to rule, would we both look so miserable?

How disenchanting.

Though the corridor I explored was in a disused corner of Crown Cottage, there was not a single speck of dust. The Vestanas treated their history with dignity. The Umbroths did the opposite, attempting to erase the legacy of each one who came before him. Once, as a child made to haunt the halls of Darkhold, I found a single monogram belonging to Dryul’s father carved into a decorative piece of trim in the library. Declan had swatted me for pointing it out when I asked what the initials stood for.

The next day, the library had been demolished by my father’s shadows. But with the history of the Umbroths shameful reign of terror, could I be too horrified by what each generation had done? Though, I doubted my forbearers ever intended to learn from their mistakes. I wouldn’t have been surprised if each of my ancestors only sought to outshine the one before him in terms of depravity. The previous monarchs were banished to history in order to empower the current one.

My inheritance was no less loathsome just because it had been erased.

I heard voices from ahead, and I ducked into the shadowed entryway of one of the many guest rooms within the estate. Though I was, strictly-speaking, allowed to wander, I often felt as if I was a prisoner when I ran into anyone besides Reminy or Thyra.

Or Elora, I supposed.

But with Elora, I was a prisoner of a different sort. No matter what had happened or been said between us, with Elora I was stuck. Stuck pining, stuck repenting, stuck knowing I was a disastrous prospect for her. She’d asked for a fresh start, and I’d been glad to give it. But how could that ever work? How could I push aside my guilt?

Of course, it was her voice which pierced the stillness and made me wish to disappear. Why couldn’t it have been that nuisance of a child who belonged to the caretaker? He had called me ‘ugly shadow boy’ on multiple occasions, but I was certain that was only a testament to his poor eyesight. The feral creature wore spectacles, and must not have been able to properly see me. I might have been a ‘shadow boy’ but I had not, nor had ever been, considered unattractive in my life. I had so little to my name, I wouldn’t lose my beauty too.

“Why are there no portraits of your family? I’d love to see them,” Elora said, surprisingly pleasant despite her sour mood the last time I’d seen her.

“I was not brought to Astana because of my wealth, darling, but because of my divinity. Portraits were a luxury my family couldn’t afford, and by the time I could, there was no one left to sit for a painting,” Shivani replied.

I winced, knowing if Shivani caught me in the corridor, I’d likely be accused of plotting their deaths. There were not two people living at the estate that I less wanted to see than the two of them.

I wished with everything in me that I could take Elora’s offer of a second chance. It would be a gift to forget the mistakes I’d made and the harm I’d caused. But she didn’t deserve the burden of having someone like me in her life. Every single thing I touched turned to rot, and I couldn’t do that to the only good thing in my life. Now that my sister was dead, I had no one left but the girl I’d once killed. Emmeline healing her was the only second chance I needed. I wouldn’t risk her.

“I’m sorry, Grandmother,” Elora said, though her voice was far closer than a moment before.

I reached for the doorknob behind me, hoping the room was unlocked. Quietly, I slipped into the room. I breathed a sigh of relief when I closed it just as softly, and Shivani continued speaking—unbothered—on the other side.

“There is nothing to be sorry for, darling. I was not particularly close with them due to my siphoning.” Her voice dipped low as their footsteps passed in front of the door. “You will receive more fear than friendship, I’m afraid.”

“With Theo gone, I have none of that anyway.”

I frowned, wishing I could take away her pain over her friend. Though I didn’t particularly care for him, I had been saddened by his death. Losing Ismene was the worst blow of my life, and I was sure Elora felt something similar. But our grieving was very different. Elora held a loud, fiery rage toward Emmeline, wishing to lay the blame solely at her feet. While my sorrow was quiet and personal, my anger was directed toward myself alone.

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