Chapter 34

He doesn't knock before charging into my room, throwing the door open hard enough it slams into the wall, and his face, twisted into a mask of fury, envelops the threshold.

Dusaro.

I rise from my perch on the red cushioned seat in front of the vanity, ready to face the wrath festering in his deep brown eyes. I knew he would come.

"What. Happened?" he asks, spit nearly flying from his lips as he shouts the question at me.

"What?" I feign a recoil to suggest his intrusion was not one I stayed awake waiting for all night.

"Don't play with me, girl. What happened with Bennett last night?"

I didn't utter a peep to anyone when I left Bennett's limp body in the woods last night, content to let his cold, lifeless corpse be a meal for the vultures and flies. And even that seemed too merciful for a predator of his kind. I barely slept a wink last night.

I waited for him.

Wondering if Sin would come to my room after he shifted and healed, but the door I left unlocked never cracked open. A hundred questions plagued my mind through the night, followed by a thousand accusations and names I wanted to scream at him, but I won't dare mention a word of it to Dusaro before I have a chance to speak with his son.

How can Sin be one of them? And why did he intervene if it meant risking I would discover his secret?

Sin appears in the doorway behind Dusaro, no sound of his footfalls preceding him. The weight of his stare is heavy, but I don't drag my eyes away from his father. Not yet.

"Bennett and I went for a walk through the gardens, and we spoke for a while. His mind was clean, like I've said a hundred times before. He invited me to Summerswind, and I later excused myself to bed. He escorted me to the entrance, but said he was going to stay out for a little longer to enjoy some fresh air before retiring to his chambers," I lie smoothly. "Why are you asking?"

"Bennett's body was found this morning outside the keep."

Outside the keep. He must have circled back and moved him after shifting, to hide that Bennett's death happened inside the kingdom's gates.

"Goddess above," I whisper, hooking my finger over my mouth. "What happened to him?"

"Throat ripped out by one of those godsdamned monsters!" Dusaro hollers.

I dare a glance at Sin who watches me intently, his jaw clenched, but I swear the smallest hint of relief flashes in his eyes. "Retaliation, you think? For Thatcher?" I ask.

"Possibly. Unless it was one of our own," Dusaro drawls.

I furrow my brow. "You just said it was a transcendent."

"It would appear so, but I also know some of us have a taste for… showmanship." He folds both arms across the lapels of his black coat. "I'm going to ask again, and this time, think very carefully. Did either of you," he glances to Sin then back to me, "have anything to do with the Langston boy?"

Looking square into Dusaro's dark eyes, I say, "Of course not." I sink claws into Sin's collective, waiting for his own answer.

He keeps his attention on me a moment longer, surely feeling my talons dragging their jagged nails across his mind, before looking at his father. "No." The word rolls off his tongue with ease, but his mind quivers as if it can't quite support the crushing weight of his lie.

Dusaro studies each of us for a minute then blows out a sharp breath. "Sterling left this morning to be with his family. This is a warning from Legion then—their way of saying they're coming. Keep your wits about you," Dusaro grunts to neither of us in particular. He turns and leaves the room, his long, straight hair swishing well past his shoulders.

The room grows heavier as soon as the door clicks shut behind him. I clear my throat and shift my attention to Sin. His irises have faded to their normal shade of green, no longer glowing with their yellow-green hue, and no longer encased in a face of raven black fur. A hundred questions threaten to tear out of me, but I read the unspoken word on his lips—later. I nod once in acknowledgment, and he follows his father out of the room.

* * *

Aldred intercepts me in the hallway on my way to the southern courtyard for sparring to fit me for armor. He has me try on a steel cuirass plate that covers my chest and stomach, with black winged pauldrons and matching gauntlets for my forearms. My thighs and shins are protected by plates of blackened steel but don't restrict me from moving freely enough to cast.

I spend the day wielding both magic and a sword in the armor, getting accustomed to the feeling of moving within the casing. Aldred spends the better portion of the day fine tuning my stance and lunges and correcting me firmly. The better prepared I am to fight, the lower the risk of causality for all of us. I don't take his gruff demeanor as anything other than him wanting to protect his people.

The distraction is welcome. Sparring with Aldred keeps my attention on the commander and his very lethal sword which he wields with alarming accuracy, and not on the Black Art and the gigantic secret I've unveiled. Or rather… the one he let me see.

When we part ways at sundown, I scarf down two bowls of lamb stew and head to the bathhouse, eager to scrub away any lingering smell of Bennett on my skin. I feel no remorse for him as I wash my thighs where his hands had grabbed me, and scrub at my sides where his legs had pinned me.

His face flashes in my mind.

Not Bennett's. Cathal's and his treacherous smirk as he watched his friends beat and berate me. I remember hearing his laughter off to the side as they took turns claiming my body for their own, when I was too young and ignorant to know how to defend myself. I would have killed Bennett before I let him repeat what others had done to me before. I would have accepted the consequences of his blood on my hands, would have truly tested my ability to control her. If I had failed, Cosmina would rather die than know I had to lie down for another monster.

I brush out my hair and slip into a jade night dress and matching silk robe. It is hours past sunset, but I need to see him.

I tap the back of my knuckle on his door twice, not that I have any doubt his transcendent hearing heard my footsteps approaching his bedchambers. The lock clicks free, and the door creaks opens.

Sin stands on the balcony with his back to me, looking out over the castle's grounds with his shoulders slumped forward and his hands perched wide on the ledge. A half-drank glass of amber liquid sits next to him on the railing. He unlatched the door with magic then, likely waiting for me, knowing I would come looking for him here.

I step into his chambers. The space is as I remember it—the large four-poster bed draped in blankets, the dark wood armoires along the walls, plush gray rugs laid across the floor, the buttery soft leather chair in the corner. I cross the room and pause at the open doors leading onto the balcony. He doesn't turn around but picks up his glass and takes a deep pull.

"You moved the body," I say, shattering the heavy silence in the room.

"Had to."

"You were afraid they'd blame you?"

Sin shakes his head lazily, teetering the glass between his thumb and forefinger. "No. They would have blamed you," he says softly.

His words send a shiver down my spine. He is right. Even if Dusaro knew for certain Bennett died at the hands of his son, he would have pinned it on me. I would have been sentenced to death, and not a soul would've questioned it.

"How did you move him outside the gate without the guards seeing?"

"There are… passageways," he answers carefully. Hiddentunnels.

"But no one would have seen him leave. Surely Dusaro is questioning the guards posted at the gate last night."

"Already taken care of. I spoke with the men on watch last night. They'll remember seeing him now," he replies, his tone almost disinterested.

My head nods in understanding, even though his back is to me and can't see it. I walk to the small table on my right and pour myself a glass of mead from the crystal decanter. The sweet, honeyed beverage is cut with distinct notes of clove and nutmeg. I savor the flavors while I gather my thoughts, thinking of how to phrase the questions that have been stewing in the back of my mind since last night.

"How?" is all I manage to choke out.

"Persuasion is a skill of mine, little witch," he drawls, not understanding I'm not asking about the guards anymore.

"No. I mean… how? How are you doing this? Fighting against the very people you belong with."

"I do not belong with them," he snarls, turning to look at me over his shoulder.

"You're a transcendent."

His only response is a low rumble from somewhere deep in his chest.

"Is your father also?"

He turns around to face me fully now. "No." His black shirt is unbuttoned, and I scan his bare skin for injury, but there's not a mark on him, no sign the incident ever even happened.

I take a step towards him. "You could end this, Sin. This stupid prejudice. You could unite everyone, I just don't under—"

"It's not that simple, Wren," he cuts me off. "Do you really think I can show up in the cities and shift in front of everyone? After everything the kingdom and I have done to them… showing them what I am would inspire a war far deadlier than what I'm planning. I just killed one of them for attacking a mundane, and a day later, I killed someone while in transition. That is not something they'll forgive."

"So you would rather slaughter innocent people than accept the mistakes of your own? That is what is unforgivable. You wouldn't have to show anyone what you are if you didn't want to—you could just stop the fighting."

"And do you understand how suspicious that would be? If after decades of the kingdom pushing against them, I just stopped. If anyone ever discovered what I was, I'd be dead before the next sunrise."

I shoot him an incredulous look. "You're the Black Art, Singard."

"That doesn't make me invincible!" he roars, slamming his glass down on the ledge behind him and then running that hand through his hair.

"I don't understand how you are—"

"It's not something I'd expect a bloodwitch to understand," he snaps. "Don't pretend your problems are worthy of being compared to mine."

Heat burns in my cheeks like a fire ignited in my throat, choking out my words before I can spit them. How dare he? The Black Art that hides behind his throne while wearing a crown of lies dares to insult my character?

My hand flies open before I can think better of it, and I slap him across the face.

A small part of me regrets it as I lower my now stinging palm, but a much larger part of me almost wants to hit him again.

A humorless smile widens his lips, and he flicks his tongue across his teeth as he rights his head to look at me again. Wrath emanates from him, juxtaposing the chilled air sweeping across my chest.

"Go," he orders, his voice low and tone clipped, but he makes no move to strike me back.

I turn my back on the man that keeps his emotions buried so deep inside himself that I'm not sure even he remembers where to find them, and storm out the door.