“The gods have not failed us. The Ascended have not failed you.” The Duke’s voice carried from where he stood on the balcony of the castle wall that evening. Below him, a mass of people filled the open yard, and under the glow of oil lamps and torches, I could see several wore all black, the somber color of death. Among them were guards astride horses, keeping an eye on the nervous crowd.
I’d never known His Grace to address the people like this. He and the Duchess were never in front of so many, not even during the Councils or the Rite. I couldn’t have been more surprised when both Vikter and Hawke arrived after supper to escort me to the balcony.
Then again, how many years had it been since such a significant movement of Craven reached the Rise?
Black flags had been raised over too many homes, and too many funeral pyres had been lit at dawn. The air was still choked with ash and incense.
“Because of the gods’ Blessing,” Teerman continued, “the Rise did not fall last night.”
Standing back, next to Tawny, and flanked by Vikter and Hawke, I wondered exactly how the gods’ Blessing had kept the wall from falling. It had been the guards, men like the archer, who had chosen death over allowing the Craven to come over the top.
“They reached the top!” a man shouted. “They almost made it over the Rise. Are we safe?”
“When it happens again?” the Duchess answered, her soft voice silencing the murmurs. “Because it will happen again.”
Behind the veil, my brows lifted. Over my right shoulder, I heard Hawke murmur dryly, “That will surely ease fears.”
My lips twitched.
“The truth is not designed to ease fears,” Vikter responded.
“Is that why we tell lies, then?” Hawke questioned, and I pressed my lips together.
Ever since they’d arrived to escort Tawny and me, they had been doing this. One of them would say something. Anything. The other would disagree, only for the one who’d spoken first to have the last word. It started with Hawke commenting that it was surprisingly warm this evening and that I should enjoy it, to which Vikter had followed up by stating that the temperatures would surely drop too rapidly for that. Hawke had proceeded to ask Vikter where he’d gained such prophetic knowledge of the weather.
In the span of an hour, it had only progressed from there as they attempted to out-snark each other.
Hawke was winning, by at least three comebacks.
Even after I had defended him to Vikter—and I hadn’t been lying when I told him that I trusted Hawke—there was still a small part of me that couldn’t believe what he’d said. He hadn’t told me never to go on the Rise again. He hadn’t demanded that I stay in my room, where it was theoretically safer. Instead, he’d listened to my reasons for why I needed to be out there and accepted them, only asking that I wear more suitable shoes.
And additional clothing.
The latter annoyed and excited me, which was altogether confusing. And was definitely not something that I’d shared with Vikter that morning.
My gaze slid to the Duchess as she stepped forward. “The gods didn’t fail you,” she repeated, placing her hands on the waist-high railing beside her husband. “We didn’t fail you. But the gods are unhappy. That is why the Craven reached the top of the Rise.”
A murmur of dismay swept through the crowd like a rainstorm.
“We have spoken to them. They are not pleased with recent events, here and in nearby cities,” she said, scanning the paling and graying faces below. “They fear that the good people of Solis have begun to lose faith in their decisions and are turning to those who wish to see the future of this great kingdom compromised.”
The whispers turned to outright cries of denouncement, startling the horses. The guardsmen quickly calmed the equines’ nervous prancing.
“What did you all think would happen when those who support the Dark One and plot with him are standing among you right now?” the Duke asked. “As I speak, at this very moment, Descenters stare back at me, thrilled that the Craven took so many lives last night. In this very crowd, there are Descenters who pray for the day that the Dark One comes. Those who celebrated the massacre of Three Rivers and the fall of Goldcrest Manor. Look to your left and to your right, and you may see someone who helped conspire to abduct the Maiden.”
I shifted uncomfortably as dozens and dozens of gazes landed on me. Then, one by one, as if the faces were dominos stacked side by side, they looked to each other as if seeing neighbors and familiar faces for the first time.