Chapter 23

Athousand torches and lanterns lit the Traveling City—tiny fires burning, the dark painted wood almost vanishing beneath the moonless sky. It rose above the trees, growing larger as they neared it—obscured, hinted at, until they left the forest. The city sat in a huge clearing. Trees for miles had been cut down around it, the earth trodden into mud. Snow clung to roofs and turrets—evidence of the weather farther to the north—and beneath the city, the oxen were penned up, out of the cold winds. Fires burned there as well, small campfires, the smoke curling up and sticking to the underside of the city, escaping in thin whisps around the edges.

It looked as if it had just begun to burn and soon flames would engulf it.

Sorcha rode between Domenico and Revenant, the latter’s eyes boring into her back. The pressure made her uncomfortable and dread began to fill her. Why was she being called back? She’d done as the prince asked. At one point, she’d considered drawing this out indefinitely—still aware of the tattoo she’d kept hidden from the Mapmaker. But it was inevitable that he would discover it. Was that why Revenant was escorting her here now? Had the prince discovered the hidden tattoo? But it wouldn’t matter. The story would end the same way.

Coming out of the bog, she’d expected to see Adrian. He might not have opened his arms for her to walk into, but at least he didn’t look at her the way the others did. But there had only been Revenant. And he had been watching her closely, waiting for her reaction at finding Adrian absent. He could see that Adrian’s feelings had changed. And he would tell the prince.

Adrian always aligned himself with the prince’s desires. But she’d changed him. He wanted her, she knew he did. Would it be enough for him to go against the prince? She wasn’t sure. Not when it came down to a hard and fast choice. She hadn’t asked, and she couldn’t force his hand.

Whatever might happen, she shouldn’t count on him once they were before the court.

Sorcha watched the Traveling City grow—otherworldly in the night. A single bell broke the silence, and another followed. The sentries had spotted them. The prince knew they were here.

* * *

Adrian flexed his hand, his leather glove creaking. The desire to wrap his fingers around the hilt of his sword was so powerful he could practically feel the weight of it. The bells had finally stopped ringing a few minutes before, announcing the vessel’s arrival. He’d hoped they would arrive without any fanfare, without alerting the whole court of their presence. Instead, they were forced to wait in an antechamber as various lords and ladies shuffled past them.

The lords and ladies had rushed to be here. Many hadn’t even bothered to put on full court dress. Some had hastily thrown on rumpled finery, others breezed by in simple nightgowns and robes. Their curiosity had been too much to resist the call of the bells.

The steward rubbed his face and then covered a yawn. Even he had failed to put on his usual full court dress. He was so tired he didn’t even speak, and for that, Adrian was glad.

The candles in the room dipped and jumped each time the outer door opened, the curious passing through, the inner doors sending the candles streaming out again. They wandered by one and two at a time, not even bothering to hide their excitement at what might happen. Each one was here in the hopes that blood would be drawn and someone might die.

Maybe even the Wolf would meet his end tonight.

Adrian kept his eyes straight ahead, muscle jumping in his jaw. It took everything he had not to turn to Sorcha and offer some kind of comfort. But Revenant and Domenico stood in the corner watching them. Domenico held the last relic Sorcha had retrieved—a golden foot crusted with cut stones, just as the others had been. Adrian’s palms itched, the urge to protect Sorcha stealing over him. Danger waited for them beyond the doors. But there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

A gong rang out—tones shivering through the air—and the inner doors swung open. Incense wafted through, thick and cloying, and reminded Sorcha of the temple. It hit her—vision or memory—an image of the temple on a late fall day with fresh incense burning and someone singing in the distance.

“This way,” the steward said, gesturing them forward. “Prince Eine will see you now.”

Sorcha glanced at Adrian, searching for some kind of sign or hint at his emotions. She’d wanted to run to him when they’d entered the antechamber—Revenant and Domenico two steps behind. But his face had not been welcoming. He’d nodded to his men and refused to make eye contact with her.

Now he walked beside her, silent and stoic, into a room full of people who wanted to watch them all die. Even Revenant and Domenico. It was a palpable sensation—vicious curiosity and blood lust.

Prince Eine paced at the foot of the dais. In the empress’s chair sat a single wooden bowl. Sorcha was surprised that such a humble item would be placed there. But then it struck her. The empress must be dead. She could think of no other reason their presence would have been demanded.

As one, the group knelt before the prince. She’d been bathed and dressed before appearing in the antechamber to wait. Once again, she’d been gifted beautiful things, and the dress this terrible man had chosen for her was as lovely as all the others. It billowed and pooled around her in a swirl of crimson. Adrian was to her left, Revenant to her right, with Domenico behind them.

“What have you brought me?” Prince Eine asked, gesturing to the bundle Domenico held.

“A relic, my Prince.” Domenico placed the wrapped bundle on the hardwood floor. “A foot.”

Prince Eine bent and flicked the velvet away. Gold caught the light, reflecting on the prince’s face before he covered it again. With a nod, he looked between the four of them. Finally, his gaze settled on Adrian. The entire court held its collective breath.

“What else have you brought me?” Prince Eine demanded. “You were trusted to escort this priestess to collect all of the remaining relics. Is this the only one?”

“No, Prince Eine,” Adrian responded, keeping his voice level. “There are others being transported as we speak. They should arrive tomorrow or the next day.”

“And the rest?”

“There is more to collect.”

“Why hasn’t this been accomplished yet?” Prince Eine’s words were calm, but his face was reddening. Then he shouted, and the whole court jumped. “She is wasting time!”

“We are making progress.”

Adrian’s voice was steady, though Sorcha trembled. Every inch of her felt exposed—mind laid bare, terrified the prince could see what she’d kept back. The deceit floated at the top of her thoughts, waiting to be picked from her mind and examined.

“Progress,” Prince Eine repeated.

“We would have accomplished more if we’d not been forced to return,” Adrian said.

A gasp passed through the gathered courtiers, and murmurings followed—surprise, shock, and delight.

The prince darted for the guard behind his throne, pulling the man’s dagger free and lunging for Adrian. Steel flicked out, and a line of blood appeared on Adrian’s cheek.

Sorcha made a noise of surprise—fear and horror for Adrian wrapped in it.

Prince Eine’s eyes moved to her, something dark and terrible surfacing. The intensity of the look pinned her to the floor, making it impossible to move or speak.

“Stand,” he commanded, a calm veneer covering the madness.

Sorcha hesitated, keeping her eyes cast downward as she gingerly stood. Adrian twitched, as if he might stand, but remained kneeling.

Prince Eine grabbed her arm, yanking her forward. The room was silent now, breathless as they watched. With one hand, he pulled at the neck of her dress as he brought the blade down with the other.

The thin fabric split and fell away in ribbons—floating to the floor as if made of nothing. The remaining tattoos were revealed, but most striking was the absence of them. The court could now witness what was left for themselves—dark flowing lines and even darker secrets. Sorcha kept her head up with her hands at her sides—nipples tightening in the cool room.

“Where are the rest?” Prince Eine asked, circling her, the blade inches from her skin. “I saw what the Mapmaker copied. Either his map was wrong, or your flesh is lying. Priestess?”

“They disappear as I discover the relics.” she said, swallowing, too afraid to tell him anything but the truth. “No one told me it would happen.”

“And this one?” He touched the dagger to her hip—against the tattoo she hadn’t shared with the Mapmaker. “I don’t remember seeing it before.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sorcha caught the barest hint of movement from Adrian. She opened her mouth to respond but could think of nothing to say. What had seemed like such a clever idea before now had become a huge mistake.

“It doesn’t matter,” Prince Eine said, waving the blade dismissively. “We only require one more piece.”

Before Sorcha could reply, Prince Eine grabbed her by the hair, their faces so close she could see how tired he was—bloodshot eyes and a muscle ticking in his jaw. When he spoke, it was to Adrian, though Eine never took his eyes from Sorcha.

“You have a map.” Prince Eine’s voice rose, hitting the high ceiling and ringing in her ears. He brought the blade to her throat, pressing it into the soft flesh. “How hard is it? Does someone else need to make her do it?”

Adrian shot to his feet, eyes blazing, hand on the sword at his side.

“I see,” Prince Eine said. “It wouldn’t do me any good to keep her here, to bleed her dry. I need the thing only she can call forth.” The blade slid down her collarbone, tracing the lines of the tattoo, pricking the skin, drawing the faintest line of blood.

Adrian’s sword rang as he drew it, but his face was a blank mask, eyes raging.

“Stop.”

A single word. Treason. Instant death. The guards around the room drew their weapons and rushed forward, waiting for the command from the prince. The court gasped in delight, anticipating more bloodshed.

The prince smiled. A promise of painful things. Hideous things.

“Revive the Saint, and you can have her,” he said as he dropped the blade at Sorcha’s feet and stepped back. “But if you take her, if you lower yourself to this, you will no longer be welcome in my city. In any of my cities. And who knows what would become of you then, without my protection. The most hated man in the Empire of the White Snake. The slaughterer of thousands. A monster.”

Sorcha’s skin prickled, fear growing in her chest.

“Wolf,” Prince Eine continued, low voice menacing. “How long do you think I’d let you keep her?”

The threat hung in the air.

Adrian crossed to Sorcha and took her arm, turning to face the prince. “She will find the last relic and revive the Saint.”

The words were flat and final. Twitters of delight ran through the ranks watching them, whispers behind hands, delighted eyes focused on the flesh of the woman before them. They watched her hungrily, devouring the details, saving them to share later with the poor unfortunates who missed out on the entertainment.

Adrian turned her away from Prince Eine and hustled her toward the huge doors at the end of the hall. Her dress lay on the floor behind them, her nakedness on display—body open to the curious and prying eyes of the men and women they passed. Behind them, Prince Eine began to laugh, the sound growing and echoing, chasing them out of the hall.

* * *

“You made a mistake in there,” he hissed, hand tight on Sorcha’s upper arm as he guided her down the hall, looking for a dark corner.

They passed a handful of servants, who watched them curiously. The naked woman covered in tattoos. Thedark man in full armor who brought the scent of death with him.

The Wolf, known at a glance.

She stumbled, staring at him, watching the blood sliding down his neck from the thin slice on his face. Her own blood snaked down from her collarbone, slipping between her breasts, more than she would have expected from such a shallow wound. They bled together.

Dazed, head fuzzy, she tried to understand his words.

Adrian found an alcove and pushed her into it, shielding her nakedness with his body. With a snap, he pulled the cloak from his shoulders, the broach popping free and bouncing on the floor. He swirled it around her, wrapping it tightly around her.

He was angry, his face white with it, and she realized, with shock, that his fingers were trembling.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“He’s reminded us both of our places.” he whispered as he pushed her against the wall, his leather armor creaking, his full weight pressing her into the carved wood at her back. His hands were on her throat, shaking, his voice low and strangely calm. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in. “You shouldn’t care what happens to me. You made a mistake showing it in that room.”

Sorcha shook her head and reached up to touch him, to wrap her arms around him.

But he grabbed her wrists and pushed her arms out, pinning her to the wall. “He’ll use it against you.”

“And you won’t?”

He let her go and stepped back, leaving her cold. It had gone, the softness in his tone, the warmth of his body against her. She wanted it back, wanted the man who had been in the dark tent with her, desperate for the comfort he’d offered her then. But he was cold again—distant. A wall brought into place so quickly she was left reeling, struggling to understand.

Years ago—a lifetime—he’d made a choice, and now he was struggling to stand by it. But it had been the wrong decision. She knew it was. He did too.

“We need to go.” Adrian took her by the arm and walked her down corridor after corridor. “The horses are ready, and we’ll recover the last relic as quickly as possible.”

* * *

The prince stared down at his mother’s face—the smoothness of her pale features. The pain was gone. Behind him, her ladies were wailing, tearing at their clothes, scratching their faces—leaving bloody trails. Beyond the room, horns blared, vibrating through the city, echoing down halls and into rooms, searching for the source of their meaning, searching until they found her.

It all seemed unrelated to the woman before him. Cold, furious anger filled him. He wasn’t sad. He would see her again. The anger was all for the temple woman. He’d given her enough time, and she’d failed to bring together all the pieces of the Saint.

Only the Saint could bring back his mother.

He whirled away, leaving mourners behind, walking until the fresh air of her private courtyard blew the scent of death from him. He was aware of a single advisor who had followed—silent and ready, ever watchful. The man waited—face impassive—for orders he knew would come.

Eine looked up at the blue winter sky. It was so cold outside. The magicians of his court promised that snow would fall soon. The empress had wanted to see the snow one more time—feel it on her lashes, let it melt on her cheeks. He’d promised to give her that. But it hadn’t snowed.

Now she was dead.

But winter was just beginning. Before it had passed them by, she would experience the joy of a fresh snowfall. She would again be among the living. He would make sure of it.

“My prince, what would you like me to do?” the advisor asked.

“Have they gone?” Eine didn’t look away from the sky, contemplating the stretching hour of dusk.

“Yes, Prince Eine.”

“I want the fastest messenger sent to the Wolf’s second-in-command.” Eine crossed his arms over his chest as the cold settled in his hands. “What’s his name?”

“Revenant, my prince.”

“Send a message for his eyes only, and make sure the messenger is discreet.”

“What message would you like to impart?”

“If it comes down to it, he needs to make sure the task is completed at all costs.”

Behind him was death. His mother. His father. His brother. But ahead, shining like the golden star on the horizon, was life. It beckoned to him, sang a siren song he could never ignore. Soon, the death that filled his life would be driven away. And his mother would sit beside him in court. Eine nodded to himself and turned to the advisor, raising a finger in warning.

“But he cannot harm the woman. She must make it to the Wastes alive.”