Page 54 of A Court of Masks and Roses
“You have my word,” said Jajack. “And the fact that capturing Dansil, with its Drought and terror mongers, its Order of the Goddess tramps and shattered economy, would be the height of folly for Everett. We want Sylthia, as we always have, for its living crystals. The rest of Dansil is yours.”
“I need more than your word.”
“Very well. Princess Raza will remain in Dansil as yourward for however long an Everett peacekeeping force remains inside your borders. Solid collateral, is it not?”
“It is,” Firehorn agreed.
“The offer expires as soon as I walk from these doors. What say you?”
Silence. One heartbeat. Two. Ten. Hope bubbled in Violet’s dry throat.
And then shattered into a million shards that pierced her soul.
“Write your dispatch to Everett,” said Firehorn. “We will announce peace the moment your soldiers arrive.”
Violet didn’t remember the next hours. How long her birth father remained in his study after the Dark God’s disciple departed. How much longer she remained behind the velvet curtain, tears silently sliding down her face. How she made it back to the temple. She just knew that it all happened. And that there was a reason for it.
She knelt on the plush rug before the Messenger, trying to keep her eyes piously on the ground as Brother Joshua had instructed. It was hard. A large crystal, like a miniature Eye of the Goddess, hung suspended from the ceiling and bathed the room in ethereal light. Violet wanted to look at it, but she wanted to touch the bishop even more, for in doing so, she would touch the Goddess herself.
“Welcome, Child.” Bahir’s voice was deep and fatherly. “Brother Joshua and I were just grieving for two young acolytes who fled our temple early this morning, lured by the Dark God to their damnation. The joy of your visit is most timely.”
Despite having sat beside the bishop at many formal dinners, it was only now that Violet really heard him. Because she was ready.
Bahir took Violet’s hands. His were rougher than Violethad expected, with callouses that spoke of labor, not luxury. But they were also warm and strong, with love flowing through them right into Violet’s blood. “You followed Brother Joshua’s instructions?” Bahir asked.
Violet swallowed. If her birth father ever learned what she’d done... Violet shook her head violently, clearing the Dark God’s veil. “Yes. I hid in the king’s study and triggered the memory stone when Envoy Jajack came in.”
“Give it to me.” Bahir held out his palm, letting Violet lay the stone upon it. With a murmured prayer, Bahir closed his hand around the stone. It flickered once, then sprang to life, and the damning words imprinted in the crystal’s magic filled the room.
Violet only realized she was shaking when the Messenger placed a calming hand on her shoulder. “You did well, Child,” Bahir said softly. “You did very well.”
Violet swallowed. “What shall we do now?”
The Messenger smiled warmly at her. Rising, he placed his palm against the miniature sun, the metal of his ring clanging melodically. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. When he opened them again, he extended his palm flat, a sword made of pure light hovering above it. “Now, we shall save Dansil.”
29
KALI
Bahir is a mage. I am some odd magic-interference aberration. Trace is a whisperer. My mind spins. I am not going to Everett, of course, but I need to think. To absorb it all. So I’m quiet as Trace and I make our way toward the palace, and the man lets me have my silence. I stay off anything that resembles a trail, stalking in a quiet rhythm through the rustling forest. While a chance encounter with another segment of Viva Sylthia is unlikely, the risk is not worth the small convenience a path would offer. Plus, I like picking my way through the forest, the damp leaves and pine needles shifting obediently away from my touch.
Whether Trace consenting to my taking the lead shows a respect for my skills or resignation to the simple fact that we can move only as quickly as my quivering legs allow, I don’t know.
By the time we come upon a burbling creek around midday, my thighs burn, threatening to cramp with each step. Even focusing on the squeaky chatter of finches and awoodpecker’s rapid beat isn’t helping. We’ve walked for four hours and it feels like four days. But I walked.
“Do you need to rest?” Trace asks.
“No.”
“I do.” He surveys me from head to toe, and I am suddenly very aware that I still wear only his shirt, which swishes over my thighs. Trace faces the creek again, turning a bit too quickly. “And we should wash up.”
“Yes,” I agree just as quickly as he turned. I’m little looking forward to dunking in freezing water, but the slide of Trace’s concerned gaze left me too torn between wanting to slug the concern from him and burrow myself into his chest, like I did last night. “Clean is good.”
Laying my walking stick on the creek’s sloping lip, I untie my still-soiled bundle of scouting clothes. Returning to the palace grounds wearing only Trace’s shirt would be as bad as walking in covered in blood. Laundry thus in hand, I wade in, letting the freezing water rush around my ankles. Stars take me. My toes curl and I cringe, failing to bite back a short, undignified yelp.
Trace chuckles behind me.
Without turning, I give him a vulgar gesture and dunk Kal’s tunic and pants into the stream. I’m still leaning over when a pair of muscled legs appears beside me. My gaze crawls up Trace’s toned calves and corded thighs, over his undershorts and the scars crisscrossing his torso. Some a match to my own. Others... I jerk my eyes away as Trace catches me watching.
