Chapter 13

There had been no king to kill in Cautes after all. Marius the Mad was dead in his throne room by the time Adrian passed through the city gates. Not by his own hand, nor that of his guards, but by someone else.

Finian.

A ghost from Adrian’s past had appeared in that courtyard. It was as if sharing the story of their youth with Sorcha had conjured him from memory. He hadn’t thought about Finian in years, not since Finian had left the Horde behind. Even now, Adrian wished he could forget him and everything that had happened before the world had changed.

They’d all seen Finian. And they’d all seen Adrian fail to keep his promise. The news would reach Prince Eine, and his old anger would flare. Eine had released Finian from the Black Tomeis because of Adrian’s request. No one else would have dared ask. The only way out of the Horde was death. But Adrian had made it possible for one person.

“What happened back there?” Revenant demanded.

The question rang in Adrian’s ears. What had happened back there? He’d never hesitated before, never broken his word. He’d promised Finian he’d kill him if they ever saw each other again. He’d promised to kill his brother. Not a brother by blood, unless you count other people’s blood, but a brother in the soul—in the heart.

The pair had grown up together in a strange court, prisoners who became sons, sons who became captains and generals, leaders of the Horde. Finian had wanted out and Adrian had let him go. But with a stipulation, a promise.

If I ever see you again, I will not hesitate to cut you down.

Adrian had failed to follow through. Revenant’s confusion and anger clouded the air, a stinking heavy fog that roiled around them—poisonous and deadly. The man was horrified. Adrian, someone Revenant had known and followed from a very young age, had proved to have a weakness. Adrian could sense his second-in-command’s churning emotions. Doubt. Distrust. Disgust.

He’d failed in an extraordinary way. The kind of failure that could change his past as well as his future. In the middle of that burning courtyard, he’d faced down an old friend, and Finian had been ready to die. Then, a woman had run to his side—small and pale, blood on her skirts, soot on her face, afraid but determined.

The sword had been heavy in Adrian’s hand at the sight of them, and he’d felt a sharp pain in his chest, his hands tingling. He’d failed to raise his sword and cut them down. Even while his men waited hungrily for their leader to do what he had always done.

“He betrayed you,” Revenant hissed. “He betrayed us all. He abandoned us. And you let him live. You swore to us—not just the prince.”

Adrian didn’t respond, mind whirling with questions of his own.

“He’s a traitor,” Revenant spat.

Adrian held up a hand, and Revenant fell silent, anger seething between them. Adrian let out a breath, warm air puffing out, steaming in the cold night. He could feel the chill in his fingers and toes, making his bones ache, even through his gloves and heavy boots. Clouds hung low, rolling in and concealing any stars that might be overhead—the face of the sky covered and unable to witness these two companions ripping themselves apart.

The fires of the encampment were distant specks in the darkness, flames small in the night. It wasn’t enough to hold off the siege of the relentless darkness. But dawn was only a few hours away—a promise that could be taken back.

Adrian had proved that all promises could be broken.

He wanted to get on his horse and ride out into the night—travel away from this place, this confrontation. He wanted to see the next relic and know they were that much closer to things going back to the way they had always been. The way they should be. Before they’d taken the Golden Citadel. Before he’d seen the oracle. The vessel. The child of the Saint.

Get it over with and be done. He wanted to be out of Sorcha’s presence. If they could finish the search quickly, it would be for the best. He resented each moment spent with her, each question he asked himself for the second or third time. It was all second-guessing, all past and present and future in danger of being rewritten because this woman had stumbled into his life.

From the moment he’d seen her in the Citadel, everything had changed. He didn’t know how to describe it. He’d found himself wanting to alter how she saw him—how she looked at him. For the first time in years, he wanted to remove the mask he wore with everyone else and expose what lay beneath. He wanted her to see beyond the name and reputation.

But even he didn’t know what might be found there.

It had been a long time since he’d wanted a woman. It was the first time he’d been unable to control the emotion. He’d never given in to desire before. He’d never broken or bent his own private rules. He’d kept himself apart from everyone—the whole seething Horde, the glittering spoiled court, even the White Snake Prince himself.

He’d kept them all at a distance.

Especially his men after Finian had gone. That’s what it took to survive the prince’s ravenous empire. But the walls he’d nurtured were trembling and threatening to fall when Sorcha stood before him. Somehow, she’d slipped through the cracks, stepped inside the inner circle, and touched his heart. His mind. His soul.

He would never be the same.

He turned to face Revenant, trying to make out his expression in the dark. How long had they been together? They’d fought side by side, following orders for years. But Revenant hadn’t been a boy with Adrian and Finian, he’d arrived much later in their lives. He’d never been part of their inner circle of two. Adrian had kept him at a distance even then. There had been too much darkness in Revenant’s heart.

Adrian killed as Prince Eine commanded. Revenant killed for the joy of it.

The title of City Killer and Monster belonged to Revenant as much as Adrian. Revenant had never spared a life, never hesitated when he raised his sword. He never had the desire to do so. But Adrian had never reined him in, never stopped him.

How long had he been detached from it all? He’d pulled so tight in on himself, looked no further than the second, minute, and hour of each day. Never looking toward the future. There hadn’t been a future. Not until Sorcha.

Adrian met Revenant’s gaze, just a glitter of the distant firelight reflected in his eyes, overlaid with an animal sheen. A predator. A killer.

“Do you remember our first meeting in the Traveling City?” Adrian asked.

“It was a long time ago.” Revenant nodded. “Lifetimes. We’ve changed.”

It was Adrian’s turn to nod. They had changed. Back in those early days, Revenant had controlled his darkness. He hadn’t been so quick to kill. Now, the darkness controlled him,

“Our past changes nothing,” Revenant continued. “Finian is still a traitor. You are a leader. Your weakness is infectious. Why should we follow you when you can’t keep your word?”

Adrian’s fingers itched to draw his sword, the sensation so intense he almost gave into it. The blade could solve this problem. And it was a problem, one that would only grow as the days passed, as Sorcha moved among them like a ghost—a siege weapon, a trickster goddess intent on ruining them all. This growing venom poisoned the air. Their relationship was souring right before his eyes. But Finian was a symptom. They both understood the cause was Sorcha.

“If you wish to leave, do it,” Adrian said.

“No.” The word was harsh, a stone thrown at Adrian, meant to wound. “I will not abandon my position.”

Implication and accusation colored the words—threat and promise all in one. The prince would know of all this. He would be told everything in a loud, clear voice, loud enough for the whole empire to hear and understand the truth if Adrian did not make a correction now.

“I would not disobey the prince.” Adrian spoke softly.

Doing so was a death sentence. And Revenant loved death.

“It’s hard for me to separate the past from the present at times,” Adrian continued, disgusted with himself for showing any kind of weakness, for exposing his throat to Revenant. He continued slowly, careful with each word. “And seeing Finian was a reminder. One of when things weren’t so hard. When life was easier.”

Revenant said nothing, stepping back into the night, and Adrian let him go. There were no footsteps, no trace that the man had been there at all. But from the darkness came a whisper.

“The man I knew would have kept his promise.”

* * *

The Red Priestess, Kira, studied him with a gaze that reminded him of a cat watching a mouse—predatory and calculating. Prince Eine needed her knowledge. He’d thought he could do it without her help before, with his own mystics and sorcerers, but now he knew better. When it was over—when the empress recovered—he would make sure she would never see with those suspicious eyes ever again.

“What is it you want?” Kira asked.

He leaned back in the chair, arms resting on the armrests, hands limp at the wrists, feet stretched out before him. He tipped his head back until the painted ceiling came into view—a summer sky with clouds, colorful birds, and, in the corners of the room, hints of flowering trees. His mother had it painted long ago. She’d made the Traveling City what it was—a grand creation, the talk of the empire, an unbelievable reality.

The empress had ensured its safe travel over the mountains, overseeing the careful dismantling of it—piece by painted piece—to move through narrow passes. How many men had died in that process? How many oxen had succumbed to the cold and crushing burdens of turrets and polished floors? But she’d seen to it all, observing with a cool, steady gaze. She’d taken the city over the mountains and into the plains so that as the empire expanded, the city could follow.

It moved from place to place, across kingdoms, swallowing the worthy from the cities they razed. She oversaw the conquering, collecting artists and philosophers, astronomers and seers, and anyone and everyone who could add beauty and culture to her city. They had filled the blank walls and turned a house full of shadows into one of light. If the oxen and men could have borne the weight of tile and stone, she would have covered it in every manner of precious thing, but it needed to remain movable, as light as possible, so she had it painted to reflect all the finest things the world held.

Every day, he moved within the world his mother had created, the thing she loved, a small part of her heart. It could not go on without her.

“My mother will be dead soon.”

His voice was crisp, not wanting to leave the woman across from him any room to wriggle in under his skin, to pry his eyelids back and examine his thoughts. He could feel it, the way she spoke to him, the way her attention lingered. She was searching for a way to control him.

“Your mother is dying,” she agreed. “But what would you like me to do about it?”

He sat up straight, hands clasped in front of him, staring at her now. Silence unfolded, heavy and absolute between them.

Her eyes flicked down, to the side and away from the heat of his gaze, moving across the ceiling to the sparse furnishings.

“I’ve already told you what I know, shown you how it will happen.” An edge of uneasiness colored her words, confidence wavering. “And you’ve begun the journey. Already, pieces of the Saint are in your possession. You have history books and sacred texts. You know more than many in my own order.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “And yet you came to my court and offered me your loyalty. You offered your help. So far, you haven’t given me anything more than what I’d already discovered from the others. So many of your faithful dead, so much knowledge given freely. But you claim to have more, something they did not.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he held a hand up.

“You’ve said that when the time is right, you will reveal secrets. I’m choosing to accept this answer for the moment. But each day, death moves closer. It is reaching for her, and I’m still missing relics. What good are rotting bones if I don’t know how to put them together?”

“The vessel—” Kira began.

“Will bring him back. So you keep saying. So did the others. I must believe you because I have no other choice. And your sacred texts say very little about the actual resurrection. Each member of your order that has died has been convinced they would return, that your vessel would recall him, and I would face judgment.”

She remained silent, waiting for him to finish.

“So, if I killed you now, here, in this room beneath a false sky, would the Saint be able to resurrect you?”

She swallowed, muscles in her throat moving, a muscle in her jaw tensing.

“If I burned your body, cut you into a thousand pieces, if I ground you beneath the hooves of the oxen and the weight of my city came down on you, would there be anything left that the Saint could call back?”

“I don’t know,” she said, voice subdued.

“And my mother? You’ve been unable to tell me how he would resurrect her. I had hoped to understand how everything works before she died. I had hoped you would be more helpful than you have proven yourself to be. I am out of time. You are out of time. And death is here.”

“The vessel,” the Red Priestess began again.

“The vessel has gone to find the missing pieces. I’ve seen her tattoos. I understand it’s a map, but not every piece is listed. It’s all there, laid bare on her skin, but it is incomplete.”

Kira remained frozen.

“Where are the others?”

She jerked back, denial written all over her face, poised to fall from her lips.

Lie, lie, lie.

The prince leaned forward, the chair creaking beneath him, the room held captive by this moment around them.

“Tell me about the other pieces,” he said. “Tell me what happens when those are found.”