Page 15 of A Court of Truth and Thorns
General Hewe’s face takes on the color of Raza’s scarlet brooch, sending the soldiers on her tail into a panicked retreat. “Your Highness.” His glare finds the princess’s uncovered eye. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Raza’s hand sweeps over us, skipping over Trace with no more consideration than she granted the dirt floor. “I asked, sir, why theseenemies of the Everett throneare without shackles.”
“The Dansil delegation poses no immediate threat, Your Highness,” Hewe answers curtly.
“ThisDansil delegationleft Everett people to be slaughtered like cattle in the middle of the Delta Royal Palace.” Raza bares her teeth. “The next best thing to ordering our deaths themselves. You give them honor they’ve not earned, General.”
“I give them military courtesy.” Hewe’s cold voice would send any sane person into hiding, but Raza seems beyond caring.
“I was under the impression that military courtesy applies only to members of the military. Have these refugees turned into an army while I wasn’t looking?”
“Your Highness—” Jajack begins, but Raza cuts him off with a raised hand.
“Envoy Jajack, your authority ended when the mission to Dansil did. I remind you that you are now but an advisor to the throne, of which I am the sole representative in Camp Vanguard. General Hewe,” she spins, facing the military man head on, “this is a political matter, not a military operation. I demand you cage these animals at once, on charges of assault against my person just over a week hence.” Raza surveys us, her lips pulled into a tight line as if she is searching for something. Someone. When her gaze finds me, she steps up close and studies my face very, very carefully. When she speaks again, Raza’s voice is deathly soft. “And General, this is a woman masquerading as a man. One of Dansil’s trained spies. Have her separated out, chained, and questioned.”
10
VIOLET
Violet raced through the corridors of the Order’s underground. Her breath came in ragged, uneven waves, her vision blurring at the edges. Her limbs caught on the occasional brother or sister who appeared in her path, like clothing tangling in thorns. She paid them no mind. Coming to the door of Brother Joshua’s office, she leaned her shoulder against the thick wood and shoved.
The unlocked door swung open. The office stood empty. Violet spun on her heels and sprinted away, aiming toward the suites she’d visited only once.
More people appeared in her way now. Voices called her name. Hands reached. She dodged them all. Skidding to a halt before the Messenger’s sacred rooms, she shoved her shoulder against the door the way she had at Brother Joshua’s office.
It was locked. The living crystals studding the doorframe cast gorgeous arcs of color that seemed out of place beneath the ground. Violet had eyes only for the red. The color ofblood and fury. She banged on the wood with her first. “Open the door!” she shouted, ignoring the pain in her hand. “Open—”
The door opened and Brother Joshua’s disapproving face appeared before her. “What in the Goddess’s name—” he started to say, letting out anoomphas Violet tried and failed to push past him.
“Calm down, one and all,” the Messenger’s deeper voice sounded from within the chamber. “Is that Violet, Joshua? Let my Child inside.”
Joshua obediently rotated aside, giving Violet a direct line to Bishop Bahir.
She walked forward. Behind her, the door shut with a deafening click. The Messenger’s suites looked even bigger than they had last time, the miniature Eye of the Goddess glowing like the sun. The fight that had carried Violet through the corridors like a crazed animal waned.
Bahir stood and extended both hands to her. “What’s happened, Child?” he asked kindly. “Tell me.”
Violet’s mouth was dry, the words refusing to form. This was the Goddess’s own Messenger standing before her. She loved him. And he loved her. This was folly. It had to be. The bishop dealt in love, not death. He knew nothing about her father’s murder. The news would shock him, as it had her. If that whisperer girl’s words were even true.
“My father—” she started, and the Messenger smiled.
“I’m here, Child.”
“No,” she shook her head, “my birth father. King Firehorn. Is he...” Words failed her.The king’s head sits on a flagpole, Leaf had told her. But the girl was a whisperer, still tainted by the Dark God’s touch. She was lying. She had to be lying. “Is my birth father well?” Violet asked finally.
“He is,” Bahir said immediately, guiding Violet to a plush sofa.
Relief flooded Violet’s body. She sagged against Bahir, the tears suddenly breaking free of their well and flowing freely down her face. The rich fabric of Bahir’s long robes soothed her skin. He stroked her hair. Violet struggled for control of her voice. “Can I see him?” she managed finally.
“Easy, easy, Child. I’ve the greatest of news to share with you.” The Messenger’s hand came around her shoulders. “Brother Joshua and I were just discussing it when you joined us so fortuitously.”
Violet closed her eyes, praying for the Goddess’s forgiveness. She should have known Leaf’s lie for what it was at once. But Violet hadn’t; she’d doubted the Goddess’s chosen. She deserved the horrid minutes of panic she’d felt. But the penance was over now.
Violet took a shaking breath. “You’ve news, Father?”
“You know that the Dark God once had a powerful hold on King Firehorn. You’ve known for some time now, sensed it in your blood. You even felt the tipping point of his soul and spoke to me of it. The Goddess guided your hand. Do you remember?”
She nodded warily. “The conversation with the Everett envoy, you mean?”
