Chapter
Thirty-Nine
aura’s wails filled the night air, reverberating off the stone walls of the healer’s center and the leafless winter branches ofM the surrounding forest.
“This is not a very strong vote of confidence for my chances tomorrow,” I teased as I swiped away another round of tears from her ruddy cheeks.
“I’m s-sorry,” she sobbed, burying her head against my chest and squeezing her arms around me. “This whole thing is awful. Awful. So awful! You’re already the Queen, what’s the point?”
“Politics,” I sighed. “Posturing. Bribes and deal-making. Trying to scare me into bending my will to them.”
She shook her head and sniffled. “If they thought that would ever work, they haven’t spent much time with you.”
A loud snort rang out behind me, and I shot a glare over my shoulder. Taran grinned back from where he and Alixe leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree.
It turned out coming to Mortal City alone was a non-negotiable for Luther. I had strongly considered another solo escape on Sorae, but I compromised, allowing Alixe to escort me so she could veil me from sight with her magic. Taran, being Taran, invited himself along, swearing himself to total silence—a promise he’d already broken at least a dozen times.
“Don’t forget, if the deliveries of herbs stop arriving, or if you need anything else, speak to Luther.” I gently pulled out of Maura’s arms and laid my hands on her shoulders. “With any luck, the next time I see you, I’ll be coronated. Then we can make some real changes around here.”
Her lip quivered as she pressed her palms to my face. “I wish your parents could see you now—the incredible woman they raised.”
My throat went tight. “Thank you,” was all I could manage to get out.
“I will pray to the gods to watch over you.” Her caramel-brown eyes darted to the Descended behind me, and her voice slipped to a whisper. “The Kindred and the Old Gods alike.”
I fought a smile at her frightened stare as she gawked at my Descended friends. It wasn’t so long ago that I would have had a similar reaction. With their tall, muscular bodies and flawless beauty, Taran and Alixe made an intimidating pair even
without their powerful magic.
“Is Lana here?” I asked.
“No, she’s off visiting friends in Arboros. I’ve got her refilling our inventory while she’s there.”
I smiled wistfully, remembering how my mother and I used to make trips together to the lush southern realm to visit their well-stocked healers.
“Do you want me to pass along a message when she’s back?” Maura asked.
“No, I... I’ll see her when she returns.”
Maura returned my sad smile, an unspoken hope passing between us that I lived long enough to fulfill that claim. We shared a final hug, her eyes again welling with tears, before I shooed her back into the center to return to her work.
“One more stop,” I announced as I strolled back toward Taran and Alixe and they fell in step beside me. “I’ll need some privacy for the next one.”
I kept my gaze fixed on the road, though I caught the probing look Taran shot me from the corner of my eye.
“I’ll keep us out of sight,” Alixe said, inclining her head to Taran. “And I’ll keep him out of earshot.”
Taran huffed, and I gave her a grateful smile.
“I’ve never been to this area of Mortal City,” she admitted. “I escorted King Ulther once or twice to dedicate a statue, but we stayed on horseback and never strayed from the main roads.”
“Really?” I raised my eyebrows, then looked to Taran. “And you?”
He shook his head. “Your family’s home is the closest I’ve ever come.”
“Neither of you ever served on the Mortal City patrols?” I asked.
“Corbois guards don’t get assigned to conduct mortal patrols. Except—” She cringed. “—as punishment.”
“Working with mortals is a punishment?” I gave a harsh laugh. “That explains quite a bit.”
At least they both had the decency to look ashamed.
I struggled against my mounting resentment. I didn’t know their exact ages—an introduction-gone-wrong to an elder Corbois had taught me the hard way that asking a Descended’s age was extremely taboo—but I had to guess they’d been serving in the Guard for many years, if not decades. For neither of them to have set foot in the streets of Mortal City...
No wonder the Descended cared so little for mortals when they were entirely isolated from how we—they—lived.
No, I corrected myself. ‘We’ is right. These are your people, and you will always be one of them.
“Change of plans,” I declared. I linked my arms with theirs and headed for a small side road. “Alixe, keep us hidden. It’s time for the two of you to learn what it’s like to live like a mortal.”
So I showed them.
For the next two hours, I took them on a tour of Mortal City, sparing them nothing.
I showed them the ramshackle buildings that lacked hearths or clean water, where families crammed in ten to a room, and the grimy streets that were never clean—and never would be, given how many mortals huddled in every corner to escape the snow and rain.
I guided them past the brothels of the Garden and the drug dens of Paradise Row, telling stories of my patients and the impossible choices that had forced many into these back alleys. I reminded them how many half-mortals like me were likely imprisoned in the dimly lit buildings, condemned to a life in hiding for fear of the progeny laws.
I took them to the seediest bars where women did not stray alone after sunset, and to all the makeshift graves I’d made over the years for those who had died from starvation or exposure or a violent attack in the streets—including a few who had died at the hands of the Royal Guard.
I showed them the bright spots, too—the school and its burgeoning library, an art studio that offered free classes to those without means, and the night market, with its impressive array of food and goods. I showed them the orphanage the community had come together to run, where every need was met by donations from those who had little to spare themselves.
And I told them about my life. In hushed voices, I explained what it had been like to grow up here—the friends I’d made, the future I’d been headed toward before the Crown repaved my path. I didn’t tell them about the Guardians, of course, but I shared what I could, explaining how resentment toward the Descended had driven friends, families, and even lovers apart.
Though I couldn’t see their faces, I could sense their reactions in their quiet comments and questions, and in the way they resisted leaving certain areas, needing more time to let the reality settle in.
I could sense it in the way their arms held me a little tighter, as if they realized how easily my young life might have been cut short, even with all the protections of my Descended blood.
“This is my home,” I said finally, when I’d shown them what I prayed was enough. “Whether the gods give me one more day to live or thousands, this will always be my home. These are my people.” I came to a stop, giving myself a moment to let my eyes sweep over the familiar streets and buildings. “This is what I’m fighting for. And I’ll risk everything to protect it.”
“So will we,” Alixe said. Taran murmured his agreement. “No matter what happens.”
Had they not been holding me up between them, I might have collapsed at the relief that flooded my heart.
If I died tomorrow, my death—my father’s death—would not be for nothing.
And that meant everything to me.
WE ARRIVED at the simple wooden building that marked my last destination. Movement caught my eye in the warm, candlelit glow of the windows, and my stomach twisted into a tangled mess of knots.
“Wait here,” I ordered.
I trudged up to the building, my body reappearing beneath me as Alixe pulled her magic away, and knocked lightly on the door.
As I waited, I fidgeted with my hands, toying with my hair, my clothes, my weapons. My posture felt too casual, then too formal. My expression rotated through a bright smile, then a casual smirk, then a very serious frown. My mind knew this place so well, but my body felt like a stranger—a Descended traitor in an unwelcome land.
The door cracked open. “Diem? By the Undying Fire, what are you doing here?”
“Hello Mr. Albanon,” I said with a strained smile. “Sorry to bother you so late. Is Henri home?”
Henri’s father blinked at me.
His frozen silence was a dagger to my heart. My showing up at his door should have been a normal occurrence, barely
worth noting.
But things were different now.
I was different now.
“No dear, I’m so sorry. Henri’s out of town. He’s not due to return until next week.”
“Wh-what?” I stammered, falling a step back. “He left?”
“He had a large delivery to make in Arboros. I told him I could arrange for someone else to handle it...” He suddenly looked deeply uncomfortable. “He said he had to deliver it personally.”
My mouth hung open. I searched for words, but none came.
He’d left. He’d left. It might be my last week alive, and Henri, my best friend, my betrothed, my supposed King-to-be, had just... left.
“He did leave a note. I delivered it to the palace this morning myself. Did you receive it?”
I gave a jerky nod. “I did. Thank you.”
“I, um, that is... I thought he would have explained in his letter.”
I shook my head, and Henri’s father swore under his breath.
“I told him to stay,” he confessed quietly. “I think, maybe... maybe it was too hard for him to face the possibility that you might...” He grimaced. “Well... you know.”
“Yes.” I swallowed hard. “That must be it.”
“It’s a barbaric thing, that Challenging. Disgusting. Should have stopped long ago.”
I stared at him in a daze.
It was barbaric. It was disgusting. But still I had to face it—and I would have to do it without Henri.
Numbly, I backed away. “Thank you, Mr. Albanon. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“Diem, wait.” His features twisted, his expression lined with an old, inescapable grief. “Losing his mother the way he did... Henri’s never been good with death or goodbyes. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. This has all been a lot for him to handle.”
I smiled tightly. “It’s been a lot for me to handle, too.”
He sighed and lowered his head, and I turned to leave, my heart splintering in my chest.
“We’re all praying for you,” he called out. “Some people thought you might forget us once you got to the palace. Then word started spreading about what you’ve been doing—for the orphanage and the healers. A friend who works for one of the big Descended Houses says he heard they wanted to kick us all out of the realm, and you refused.”
I glanced back at him. “If I fail tomorrow, life for the mortals could get much harsher. You should prepare for the worst.”
“We know.” He gave me a deep, slow bow. “We believe in you, Your Majesty. Go give ‘em hell.”
