Page 36 of A Court of Truth and Thorns
But I’m not here to like it—I’m here to conquer it.
Putting an end to my sightseeing, I walk to the temple, merging with the crowds of devotees as I observe the layouts and guard shifts; so far, they match the plans Calvin and the girls drew up. Good. Getting eyes on the abbey behind the Temple of Dansil, where the whisperers are housed, is more difficult. The place is surrounded by a wall, and even scaling the trees and rooftops, I can see little inside beyond a covered courtyard. An aboveground dungeon.
This, too, matches the girls’ description.
My heart beats hard as I stare at the limestone walls. If Leaf is alive, that is where Bahir’s bastards would most likely have brought her. My muscles tighten with the need to scale the bloody wall this instant, but this isn’t the time. Not yet. Shimmying down from the roof, I check my hood and meldwith a stream of people, frowning at just how thick it has suddenly gotten. I’m just about to ask one of the hollow-eyed women where the bloody hells everyone is headed when a crier moving down the street answers the question for me.
“Princess Violet to address Dansil!” the red-clad man calls cheerily. “Come one, come all to the Delta Royal Palace! Princess Violet to address Dansil!”
Well, that’s something. At least one of us will have news of their sibling today. I quicken my step, just an eager subject hurrying to hear the words of her betters, and join the crowds trampling the flowers in the main palace courtyard.
Trumpets call the masses outside the palace to attention, their familiar melody seconded by a sister call common to the Order’s services. “Her Royal Highness Princess Violet of Dansil!” shouts the herald on the balcony. “And His Holy Grace the Messenger of the Goddess, Bishop Bahir.” I listen to the applause, watch the faces. A mix of fear and devotion. Uncertainty.
The curtain opens. Violet, dressed in a flowing red gown that consumes her small fourteen-year-old frame, stands behind it. I weave my way closer until I can make out Violet’s eyes, dull beside the brilliant rubies woven into her hair, staring blankly into the crowd. Her thin hands clutch her dress as she spreads the skirt to offer Bahir a curtsy.
The crowd claps harder.
Bahir smiles, brushing a finger along his goatee. The velvet robe hanging from his wide shoulders is bright and heavy with power.
Violet takes a step back and I see the outline of her ribs beneath the shiny cloth. Her lip paint, as bright as the day she stood on the path and revealed Wil’s identity, now only underscores the sickly gray of her skin.
No one in the crowd seems to notice, however. Eitherbecause they’ve not seen much of the princess before or because they little care.
An older girl in the uniform of a lady’s maid appears at Violet’s side and whispers something in the princess’s ear that makes Violet smile. My breath halts, my eyes staring at the space the maid just occupied.
Violet looks to the side one more time, then raises her chin and steps forward. Bahir steps from the other side of the balcony at the same time and meets Violet in the center. Instead of a formal bow to the ruler of Dansil, he holds out his arm to the princess, who comes obediently to his side. The bishop smiles, wraps his arm around Violet’s thin shoulders, and kisses the top of her head.
“I would like to thank the Goddess for watching over Dansil,” Violet says in a voice that is loud, but holds nothing of the girl who caught Wil riding in the forest and tried to converse with the grownups at dinner. “And the Messenger, His Grace Bishop Bahir, who has led us to the prosperity we enjoy today. With their wisdom, Dansil is becoming a kingdom of peace and love, both for our bodies in this world and our souls in the next.”
Violet goes to step back into the shadows but Bahir places a firm hand on her back and she changes direction, descending the stairs into the crowd instead, greeting her people.
I stare as old and young come up to Violet, some to say a few words, some to touch her hand. A girl in a stained and snarled cloak presses a small basket of berries into Violet’s hand, speaking quickly. My instincts rally to pay attention, especially when I see the sudden small rise of Violet’s chest, a flash of intensity in her face, both quickly covered. But I damn my instincts to hells and care about none of it.
I can’t.
Everything that I am is still hanging on that balcony moments before the speech began. When a lady’s maid came up to offer the princess words of encouragement. And then walked off, dragging a clubfoot behind her.
25
KALI
Idon’t tell the others about Leaf. Not because I don’t trust them, but because I trust them too much to do the right thing. And the right thing means sticking to the plan to liberate the whisperers inside Bahir’s compound. To bring hundreds of enslaved whisperers to safety.
Except Leaf isn’t at the compound.
Sitting far from the cooking fire, I draw my knees up to my chest and watch the stars, as if the answer to my problem could be found among them.
“By this time tomorrow, we’ll be inside Bahir’s compound,” Rune says behind me. He crouches, bringing his mouth to my ear so his words tickle. “And by this time two days later, the whisperers will be here.”
I bristle and Rune leans away, frowning as he lays three light crystals on the mossy ground. Jasmine and Alexa have been tuning every living crystal we have to my blood so I can fill my reserves easily before morning. I am the mage. The great and powerful secret weapon against Bahir. So bloodysecret that even I don’t know what I can do, or how to do it very well.
“Something happened in Delta today, didn’t it, Kali?” Rune says.
For a moment I contemplate telling him about Leaf after all, explaining how badly I want to go to the palace this very second to get her out. But I know him well enough to guess how that conversation will end: him admonishing me at best and putting me under guard at worst. He’ll make it so I can blame him for Leaf’s suffering instead of blaming myself.
“Nothing happened,” I say shortly. Picking up one of the crystals, I make agive memotion toward Rune’s boot. When Rune obediently produces his knife, I press the sharp edge into my palm. The bite is welcome. Burying my fist in a tree trunk would be welcome as well.
Rune takes the knife back. “I don’t like that you must cut yourself.”
