Lore gnawed on her bottom lip, letting the necessary pieces fall into place, the things he wasn’t saying. “So August just wants to kill you, then. And is using this as an excuse.”
“Very good.”
“But why? You’re his only heir. And why not just hire an assassin, if he actually wants you dead? Why go through with some charade of framing you?”
Bastian didn’t answer at first. They walked on, in and out of the shadows between streetlights. “My father and I have never seen eye-to-eye on anything,” he said finally, softly. “Not ruling, not religion. Frankly, I think it’s stupid for the crown of Auverraine to be determined by Apollius’s blessing. An absent god shouldn’t be the final say in the rule of law.”
“That’s heresy.”
“Quite.” Bastian rubbed absently at his side. A bruise was slowly forming there, the edges filling in lurid purple. “I think my father assumes these thoughts are only due to not wanting the crown myself. And he’s right. I don’t want it. But not enough to turn the country over to Jax and the Kirythean Empire.”
“So why kill you?”
“Eliminates the possibility of me changing my mind,” he said drily. “As for not just hiring an assassin: August knows this court. He knows that his disdain for me is no secret. If I were to just drop dead, or be accidentally killed, there’d always be rumors. The Arceneaux line is blessed, remember, avatars of our god. It wouldn’t do for one of us to be suspected of murder, not when he could frame me as a Kirythean spy and have a perfectly good reason for an execution.” He gave her a sardonic look. “He told you to stick close to me, right? He’s probably planning to plant evidence for you to find. Then he has the word of a holy man and a duke’s cousin”—he poked her shoulder—“to back him up. No one would question his motives.”
“So why don’t you run away?” Lore asked. “If you think your father is one good excuse away from having you assassinated, if you don’t even want the damn crown, why stay in the Citadel?”
“Because the Citadel is mine.” His answer came with a vehemence she hadn’t expected. “Even if I don’t want it, me running away won’t solve anything. I don’t want to be the Sun Prince, but I am, and that comes with a measure of responsibility. If I want to see anything change, I will have to do it myself.” He glanced at her. “And if my father is able to choose his own heir from the remaining Arceneaux relatives, which he would be free to do with me gone, it will not be someone who is good for Auverraine. I can guarantee it. My relatives are few, and all of them are awful.”
Lore thought of what she and Gabe had talked about up in their room, about one pebble trying to dam a river. Bastian wasn’t a pebble, though. Bastian was a boulder.
“I’m surprised he’s concerned with an heir at all, to be honest.” She fell into step beside the Sun Prince, following him down familiar streets. “He’s dosing himself with poison regularly, and I assume the Sainted King has a deathdealer who knows the right amounts. Seems like he’s trying to make the matter of passing on the crown as moot as possible.”
Bastian said nothing, but his eyes cut quickly to her, then away. His mouth firmed thoughtfully.
They rounded a corner, and Bastian took her elbow, steering her toward the culvert cut into the Citadel Wall—she hadn’t seen it, hidden in shadow. “You and Remaut are going to have to become better actors,” he said, changing the subject. “Everyone in the Citadel has a nose for bullshit, and he doesn’t look at you like a cousin.”
“How does he look at me, then?” Lore jerked her elbow from Bastian’s hold.
“Like he’s not especially pleased about that vow of celibacy.”
Heat flooded her cheeks.
With a smile, Bastian gestured toward the culvert with his sun-scarred hand. “After you, my lady.”
Lore crawled down into the tunnel, re-soaking her hem. Bastian splashed down behind her and took the lead, holding out his lighter.
“Gabriel knows how to get back to the Citadel, right?” Lore asked.
“He’s an industrious fellow, he’ll find his way.” The flame from the lighter shivered over the slick walls. Something rat-shaped scurried into the shadows. “Your concern is touching.”
The way he said it belied the words. Lore scowled at his back, gathering her hem high to avoid the water. “He’s just as caught up in all this as I am.”