Gabe.
The former Duke Remaut wasn’t in irons. He’d spent the past two weeks since August’s death imprisoned in the Church, locked in a cloister—a favor, really, keeping him out of the dungeons. Lore had asked for that, but she hadn’t had to beg. Bastian agreed on the first mention, like he hadn’t wanted to keep Gabe in the dungeons, either.
Still, he looked haggard. Thin, bruised. He’d found another eye patch after losing his first, but it didn’t fit well, and his whole eye looked sunken.
Lore’s chest twinged.
She didn’t know what Gabe had been formally charged with. There were choices. Treason, accessory to murder. All things that could carry a person to the Burnt Isles or the gallows.
Myriad hells, surely Bastian wouldn’t do that. She’d speak up if she had to.
But she didn’t want to have to.
Gabe stopped in the middle of the floor. He took a deep breath, then looked up.
If he was surprised to see Lore there, he didn’t show it. His blue eye tracked to her, then quickly away, with no sign of emotion.
“Gabriel Remaut,” Bastian intoned, the same as he had for every penitent. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“Skip this part.” His voice was hoarse. “Can we just fucking skip this part? Your Majesty?”
Contempt dripped from his voice. Lore bit her lip.
But Bastian nodded. “We can.” He sat back in his throne, knees canted wide, taking up all the room. Even the throne fit him better than it had his father. “Gabriel Remaut, do you promise your loyalty to the crown of the Sainted King and to the Church of Auverraine, to lead it in steadfast devotion and piety as we await the return of Apollius?”
He said it so quickly, so nonchalant, that it took both Lore and Gabe a moment to parse the words. Gabe’s eye went wide. “I don’t—”
“Just say yes, Remaut.” Bastian tapped his fingers on his knee. “You know what it is. You’ve heard the annunciation before.”
Lore’s mind finally caught up with the pronouncement, with what it meant. Her mouth dropped open.
Gabe straightened. Nodded. “I will.”
“Then I pronounce you as the Priest Exalted.”
Silence. Neither she nor Gabe knew how to react, what to say. He’d gone from being a prisoner to being the second most powerful man in the country in a span of seconds.
And Bastian just looked bored.
“Now,” said the Sainted King, flicking his fingers dismissively. “Get out of my sight. My deathwitch and I have much to discuss.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book, and all of my books, wouldn’t exist without the incredible work of my agent, Whitney Ross. Here’s to tons more stories in the future, hopefully growing increasingly bonkers.
I’m endlessly grateful to my editor, Brit Hvide, whose guidance is always invaluable and who makes me actually clarify things. （Thank you, I need it.） I love making books with you and look forward to many more.
The whole crew at Orbit is amazing, and I’m continuously thrilled at how lucky I am to work with them.
To my Pod—wouldn’t be here without you.
To all the wonderful friends who have been in all my acknowledgments before and will continue to be—Sarah, Liz, Nicole, Ashley, Chelsea, Jensie, Steph, Leah—I love you endlessly.
And to Caleb—you’re a dreamboat and I’m glad you’re mine. Gonna keep you.