Page 35 of A Court of Truth and Thorns
“And what then?” Raza asks, managing to stare down her nose at a whole expanse of land. “What are all these people going to do once you get them here? Has it occurred to you that they might prefer to go back to their families rather than fight in your war? Or is Rune going to hold the lot of them at sword point forever?”
“We’ll work it out, Raza,” says Wil over his shoulder, his voice filled with fatigue. “But let us tackle one impossible problem at a time, if you please.”
She turns on him, like a predator smelling blood. “And what of your sister, Your Highness? Will you be rescuing Princess Violet as well?”
He turns away, but not quickly enough for the pain in his eyes to remain private. “Violet does not wish to be rescued.”
“How do you know?” Raza presses, and Rune snarls a soft warning. “Are you even planning on asking her?”
“That’s enough, Raza.” Rune steps between her and Wil. The first words he’s spoken to her directly since the day she arrived. “Violet is safer without association with us.”
“Why should that be your choice?” Raza wheels on her brother. Her hand twitches to the patch covering what was once her eye before she storms away from us. “Why should everything always beyourchoice?”
At first lightthe next morning, I strap on my weapons and get ready to scout Delta in preparation for the assault. It feels good, putting my skills to work. Rune checks my weapons and gear with such careful attention that it borders on fussing. “We should go together,” he says, for the tenth time.
“Remind me again where you learned to scout?” I say.
He glowers but steps back to let Luca come up to me. Luca hands me a bundle of cloth strips. “Trail markers. There will be a great deal of people on the way back, and we can’t have it all rest on one of us being alive and in front.” Luca gives me a grin. “Try and choose a path that a mere mortal like me can follow without breaking his neck, all right?”
I await further guidance, a reminder of what my chosen path should pass through and avoid, but Luca gives me the credit of trusting my judgment. His hand clasps my shoulder. A farewell and good luck and good hunting. I do the same. Luca’s large shoulder is solid beneath my grasp.
Wil is next to wish me luck. The prince sticks his hands in his pockets and grins. “You get to have all the amusement. Quite unjust, I’ll have you know.”
“I promise to enjoy none of it,” I tell him solemnly.
Wil laughs before the carefree mask falters. “Thank you, cousin,” he says quietly. His voice falters. “If you do see Violet...”
I grip his forearm. “Then I shall watch her closely and tell you all I know.”
Raza, standing closer than courtesy dictates, snorts demonstratively and turns away. “How fortunate for Violet,” she calls, picking up a cloak and heading into the berry patch with a cooking pot.
My eyes follow Raza as she begins collecting berries, her dress and cloak catching on thorns more and more the farther she goes into the bushes. “I might be wrong, but it appears that your fiancée is in danger of doing something useful today,” I murmur to Wil. He punches my shoulder.
I nod my final farewells, my eyes pausing on Rune’s worried gaze.
“Good luck, scout,” he says finally. “Be—”
“Safe, yes,” I roll my eyes. “I know.”
“Be thorough,” he says.
24
KALI
Instead of exiting the North Wood at the back of the palace, where we made our escape, I bend around Delta and walk into the town south of the palace, my face concealed in the deep shadow of my hood. The familiar streets where I once frantically searched for Wil; the Wandering Dog, where I recognized Samuels; the temple with its forever-glowing Eye of the Goddess—it all looks just as it did when I was here last, a lifetime ago.
The people, however, are different. No royal guardsmen in blue walk the streets, only the bishop’s red-clad Holy Guard, though the latter are out in droves. Striding around like they rule the streets, the city. Because they do. The coup’s bloodstains have been washed away, but the people’s eyes are dull, resigned, or, at best, frightened. Not rebellious. Those who dared protest have long been silenced, it seems.
On street corners, Children of the Goddess proclaim the Messenger’s glories, along with announcements of times forthe next mass and places where those looking for work or housing may find aid. A young woman in scarlet skirts calls for girls past their first bleed to join her in a commune of family that the Messenger has opened. “Accept the Goddess’s blessing and she will watch over you,” the young woman promises. “And your children.”
Stars, the bastard is promising children. For the past twenty years, two out of three babes in Dansil have been stillborn, and no blessing is changing that. But Bishop Bahir has always played well on desperation, hasn’t he?
I’m about to turn off the street when a gaggle of children actually appears, skipping along as they sing a rhyme about Bahir’s greatness, while a plump woman watches over the group.
I stop, stepping back before my gasp brings unwanted attention. Where the bloody hells did Bahir find the children? And where are the children’s parents?
My gut tightens. I don’t like this city.
