He turned his head to me. The hollows of his cheeks had deepened. “If you knew I was bitten while you were on the Rise, you should’ve reported me. It’s treasonous not to.”
It was.
I pushed off the wall, glancing at the bloodstone dagger. The stone was fashioned from the ruby-red rocks that had littered the coast of the Seas of Saion centuries before I was born. As a child, my father had told my brother and me that they were the angry or sad tears of the gods left to petrify in the sun. It was one of the few things in the realm that killed a Craven or those infected by them.
It also killed their makers.
The Ascended.
“You were going to try to handle it yourself?” I nodded at the dagger.
He wearily followed my gaze. “I was going to, but I couldn’t. I can’t even touch it.”
The infection wouldn’t allow it. It was kind of awe-inspiring to think about—that the bite could seize that much control of a person, preventing them from ending their life.
“I…I was going to go to the Commander,” Jole added, his shoulders shaking. “But I sat down to take a breather, and I…I thought I’d have more time. I really did. I was going to turn myself in.” His watery eyes met mine. “I swear.”
I didn’t know if that was the truth. Probably wasn’t, but I couldn’t blame him. Turning himself in meant a horrific death since the Ascended liked to make a public spectacle of executing the infected. They burned them alive, which was one hell of a way to respect and honor their sacrifice. If I reported Jole, his very last memory—if he were even still himself by then—would be his screams.
I came to stand in front of him. “Do you have family?”
A breath shuddered out of him as he shook his head. “Ma and Pa both died a few years back. It was something like a…a cold. They were fine…one moment and not the next. Died the same night.” He looked up at me, looking older with each moment that passed. “I have no brothers or sisters.”
I nodded, thinking that was at least fortunate. It was always better when no one was left to mourn.
“If I did, I would’ve gone to them,” he continued. “They…would’ve known what to do. She would’ve…come for me. Given me dignity.”
Was he speaking of someone who answered the silent call of the white handkerchiefs hung on windows and doors? It had taken a godsawful long time to learn what they represented. Half the people asked behaved as if they had no knowledge of their existence. Once I found out what those scraps of white that sporadically appeared—only to then quickly disappear—meant…I understood why. They signified that a so-called cursed resided within, one likely infected by a Craven in the same manner as Jole Crain had been. The piece of white cloth was used to alert those throughout Masadonia who risked treason to provide quick, dignified deaths to the infected.
The fact that the act was even considered treasonous and therefore punishable by death blew my mind but did not surprise me. The Blood Crown excelled at senseless cruelty.
“She?” I asked.
He nodded, swallowing hard. “The child of the gods.”
The Maiden. The people believed she was the child of the gods, but I had no idea why he thought his family, if they’d been alive, would’ve gone to her. “And how would she have done that? Given you dignity?”
“She…she would’ve given me peace,” he told me.
My brows lifted as another coughing fit hit him. Given him peace? I wasn’t sure how that was possible. The infection was addling his mind.
“What are…you going to do?” Jole wheezed, his breath rattling in his chest.
Crouching in front of him, I smiled. “Nothing.”
“W-what? You have to do something.” Confusion and a hint of panic filled his now-sunken features. “You—” He twisted his neck to the side, the veins standing out starkly as he closed his eyes. “You have to—”
“Jole,” I said, clasping his clammy, feverish cheeks. The young man’s entire body jerked. “Open your eyes.”
Lashes fluttered and then lifted. His irises were blue. No hint of red appearing in them. Yet. He started to lower his lids again.
“Look at me, Jole,” I whispered, my voice dropping even lower as the elemental power of my ancestors—the gods themselves—spread through me, filling my veins, washing over the room and Jole. “Don’t close your eyes. Keep looking at me and just breathe.”
Jole’s gaze met mine.
“Be calm.” I held his stare. “Just keep breathing. Focus only on that. Inhale. Exhale.”
A long, steady breath left him. Tension eased from his rigid body. He relaxed. He inhaled.
“Tell me, Jole, what is your favorite place?”
“My dreams,” he mumbled.
His dreams were his favorite place? Fucking gods, what kind of life was that? A ball of anger lodged in my chest, but I didn’t let it grow. “What is your favorite dream?”
There was no hesitation. “Riding on horseback, going so fast it feels like I have wings. That I can take to the air.”
“Close your eyes and go there. Go to your favorite dream, where you are on horseback.”
He obeyed without hesitation. His jaw slackened beneath my hands. The rapid flickering behind his closed lids stilled. His breaths evened out more, becoming deeper.
“You’re riding so fast you have wings. You’re in the air.”
Jole Crain smiled.
I gave his head a sharp twist. Bone cracked, severing the brain stem. He died in an instant, as himself and with his dreams instead of screams.
AN
OMEN
Wind swept
through the field, gusting against the walls of Castle Teerman and through the many alcoves and balconies overlooking the training yard. Crisp white rippled from within the darkness of one of those recesses like the specters rumored to haunt Wisher’s Grove, but what had caught my attention this morning was no spirit haunting the castle.
It was her, like clockwork.
The Chosen.
The Maiden.
She appeared in the various shadowy alcoves, usually two hours past dawn. Since I was a betting man, I was willing to wager she thought no one saw her.
But I always did.
Other than the times I managed to follow her from the inner wall surrounding the castle while she walked in the garden, this was as close as I got to her.
That, however, would change.
One side of my mouth curled as air stirred to my right. I brought the broadsword up, blocking the blow.
Dipping under the next attack, my gaze flicked back to the recess. What sunlight managed to penetrate the alcove glinted off the golden chains securing the Maiden’s veil.
My partner’s footsteps gave away his movements before he struck. Pivoting, I cut his sword down, nearly knocking it from his grasp even though I checked my strength. I glanced at the second floor as I leaned back, dodging the swipe of a thick blade.
Another row of golden chains glinted from the shadows. She must’ve turned her head. For what? Who knew? She was alone. Well, relatively speaking. No one was right beside her, but Rylan Keal, one of the two Royal Guards who served as her personal guardians, stood farther back in the alcove. She was never truly alone.
When she was with the Lady in Wait that I usually saw her with, a guard followed. When she was in her chambers, her doors were manned.