So close.
Too far.
Argo can’t fly. Can’t walk. He’s going to die out here because of me. I’ll have to walk to the city that shot him down and steal a horse and race across the desert to get to Auren, and it’s going to be too late. I’ve taken too long, and now, without being able to fly…
The moment I leave to head for the city behind me, I’m giving Argo a death sentence. My teeth clench together, my fists too. The choice I have before me is to either leave him here alone to slowly succumb to his injuries and the elements or to rot him where he lies, by the very touch he’s learned to trust. A touch that, right now, lashes with incensed lines that have traveled down the lengths of my hands with volatile twists as it lengthens past my knuckles. The rotting depths of my anger seep into the ground and spread like ferreting veins that stretch out in a hunt to scour the land in punishment before I pull it back.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the reach of my fury crossed all the way to Wallmont. I’m tempted to let it try. Let it swallow the city behind us too, cause every last person to spoil and molder.
Argo’s been my faithful beast for years, and this is the thanks I give him. A desert grave where he’s hurt and hot and vulnerable. My hand comes up to stroke the soft feathers of his neck, and when he lets out a near-silent purr, emotion thickens in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
To him. To her.
So fucking sorry.
CHAPTER 63
AUREN
Instead of applause at the king’s announcement, the square grows quiet and anticipatory. As if everyone’s waiting to hear what’s going to be said next. Just in front of the stage, sitting on a slightly raised platform, sits a few dozen people. They’re all dressed finely, clothing of nobles, but my eyes immediately find one face in particular in the crowd, sitting with his husband.
Manu.
He gives me the quickest glance before he looks away, and maybe I’m wrong, but I swear, I see the slimmest slice of guilt flash over his expression. He tried to tell me that the Conflux was going to be nothing more than a slap on the wrist, but this certainly doesn’t feel like a slap on the damn wrist.
It’s nothing personal, Doll.
Except, it was.
It is.
I start to turn away, but my attention then snags onto a young boy sitting just in front of me. He’s wearing nearly the same white robe that Isolte wears, except his head is bare, showing off dark blond hair. He’s young, maybe around ten years old, and based on the guards standing at his back, my guess is he’s Second Kingdom’s heir.
I wonder how many Confluxes he’s witnessed.
“Let us state the claims against the accused.”
My eyes snap to King Merewen.
Standing in front of his chair, he looks around the gathered crowd. The hairs in his long gray mustache curl slightly, the ends looking like they’ve been dipped in egg yolk, yellowed with age.
“The accused is here because witnesses have stated they saw the Lady Auren kill King Midas.”
The crowd doesn’t murmur, doesn’t make a sound; instead, they get even quieter. It’s almost eerie as I feel their silent attention drift to me, hundreds of eyes flocking around my body.
Taking deep breaths, I gulp down enough air until I’m able to think past the last echoes of pain that Isolte held me in. I don’t believe in killing without thought. But her? I would gladly fucking gild her ass, just for her abuse of power alone. Because if she’s done this to me, who knows how many other people she’s done it to?
It is my duty as a patron of sanctity.
What a load of horse shit. I glare at her through the bars of the ca— No. My mind slams down protective walls. I won’t call it that. I’m not in a cage. I’m just in a pillared enclosure. This is where everyone in a Conflux goes. It’s just stone. My gold could tear it down in a blink.
The tiny ball of gold I’d dropped has rolled, but luckily, one of the stone rods has blocked it from going out of reach. Without trying to be obvious, I reach my foot out until I’m touching it with the tip of my pinky toe. One good thing about this robe is that it hides the ball from view. I’d step on it if I could, but the bottoms of my feet are in far too much pain. I don’t know if I’m too weakened by Isolte’s abuse to make any new gold, so maybe if I can just control the ball, get it to move up my leg and get it back to my hand…
Yet the moment I start to even think of channeling my power, gold abruptly gathers at my fingertips. I’m caught off guard for a moment at the immediate liquid that starts to collect, and I clasp the poles in front of me, letting it soak into the stone, keeping the liquid metal hidden beneath my grip. It’s gathering quicker than it was before, even with the toll on my body, like I’m not even having to try. And something about that feels…off.