The Beasts We Bury (The Broken Citadel #1)

21. Prospective Seconde Mancella Amaryllis Cliff

21

P ROSPECTIVE S ECONDE M ANCELLA A MARYLLIS C LIFF

|2 DAYS UNTIL THE ASSURANCE|

I don’t even have time to grieve.

As I thunder up the cliffside on horseback, I swipe at my own eyes so hard that I scratch my skin, unwilling to let a single tear stay on my face.

Then I attack my clothes, clawing at the dirt that coats them. I rip leaves out of my hair, tearing them out so harshly that my scalp stings.

I want it all gone . Every physical sign of what happened today.

If I could tear apart the memories as well, I would.

Plunging one hand into my neckline, I withdraw a small leather bag, one I’ve been carrying around for days. Close to my heart.

My lip curls.

I can hardly open it fast enough, can’t wait to shred the scrap of paper inside.

Because it’s the note Silver gave me on the day we met. A memento of when my life started to change. I had thought it would give me strength, would remind me that someone believed in me. Someone was there.

With a scream, I reduce it to tatters.

Then, panting, I bury my head in the horse’s mane and try to swallow everything down as the gates rise in front of me.

I’m used to burying things anyway. Every time I go into the arena. Every time I make small talk with my father. Huge sections of my heart need to be locked away.

This won’t be any different.

I release the scraps of paper into the wind.

When I reach the gates, there are fewer guards than usual. Only two, where there are usually half a dozen.

I pull my horse to a stop and then dismiss him, wincing as I land on my cut-up feet, and both guards rush to my side in alarm. One kneels in front of me, searching my face, and the other fingers his weapon, scanning the street behind me for pursuers.

“Where is everyone?” I demand. It sounds like an accusation, and the guard in front of me flinches.

“They’re… doing drills,” the other replies. “The whole company. The Prime had some new tactics he wanted to try out. Why? Is there danger?”

I smile sourly. Drills, huh? That can’t be a coincidence. No doubt my cousin found some way to put the idea into my father’s head.

“Has anyone come in or out since they all left?” I ask.

“Not a single soul,” the other assures me. He notices my feet and frowns at them in concern. “Should we call for a healer?” he presses. “What happened?”

I wave off his worry as I process his answer to my question. If no one’s come in or out, then maybe whoever Alect was expecting to arrive isn’t here yet. Maybe I made it in time.

Or maybe they just found another way in.

“You!” I say, jabbing a finger at the one kneeling before me. “Get the troops back here immediately. I have just become aware of a threat to the Prime and his family. Tell the Captain it’s an emergency, and a direct order from the Prospective Seconde. And you!” I swing my finger to the other, larger one. “Don’t let anyone through this gate. Or out. Unless it’s my parents, my sister, or me. You got that?”

They both nod, finally picking up on my desperation.

“Good,” I say. “Now go!”

Without waiting to see if they listen, I sprint past them, my mind already on the next task. They shout after me, but I filter out their words, too intent on getting inside and finding out what’s happening.

Finding out if my family still lives.

My feet are killing me, dirt and gravel aggravating the cuts from the Outskirts, but my pounding heart is worse.

Where should I go? Where would they usually be this time of day?

I swipe hair out of my eyes and crane my head back to look at the sun. It’s directly overhead, shining weakly through the clouds, so it must be around noon. Lunchtime, perhaps?

Our dining room is on the second floor, with a wall of grand, sparkling windows overlooking the realm, and I search it out, panting.

Then I rub my palms over my eyes to make sure I’m really seeing what I’m seeing.

They’re there. Right there. All three of them. My father is slicing meat and talking boisterously. My sister is picking at her rice and nodding along. My mother’s sipping a drink with a pinkie extended and not one hair out of place.

The way the windowpanes frame them, they look like a painting. Like the very picture of unalarmed normalcy.

My first feeling is relief, as I drink in my sister’s face. But when my father throws his head back in laughter at some joke that no one else at the table seems to find funny, I’m surprised by a flash of helpless dismay.

I shove it down, horrified. That’s my father .

But he’s also the one who has made my life torture.

And some part of me wishes that it could be that easy. That he could just be… gone.

I shake my head hard to dislodge the thoughts. There’s no time to unpack my web of complex feelings toward my father; I need to focus. Because none of this makes sense.

Was Alect lying to me about the threat? What would be the purpose of a bluff like that?

As I falter, replaying all the things he said and all the things he implied, a strange crack on the wall catches my eye.

It’s a fairly large fracture, and I don’t remember it being there before, but there’s something familiar about it, something that gives me pause. The way it seems to pull in all the shadows around it is so peculiar. Almost deliberate. It reminds me of…

Of Prime Azele’s bodyguard. When he disappeared into a dark crevice in the earth and tore across the grass. Right before he reclaimed his form and severed the spines of three soldiers at once.

As soon as I think it, the cleft begins to move, slicing up the wall and creeping into the open window, feet away from where my family dines. Then it takes form, first outlining the shape of a person and then flooding that outline with color until Rift is there, painted into the picture. Changing it irrevocably.

I hear screams.

I take off running.

My feet don’t hurt anymore. I can’t even feel them. I have to get up there. I throw myself at the stairs, charging recklessly, clumsily. Shouts and pleas, crashes and bangs assault my ears as I sprint down the hall, and I feel attuned to every sound. Was that ripping fabric a dress or a tablecloth? Was that shout one of injury or victory, and who made it?

Then, a few feet before I reach the door, all noise stops.

I jolt to a stop as well, my hands flying to my mouth. Anxious animals squirm beneath my skin as I strain my ears even harder, hoping to hear any sound at all. Any footstep, any voice, any indication that it’s not over yet. That there’s still hope. There’s still life.

But I hear nothing.

I press my hands hard against my lips, swallowing the whimper that rises in my throat. Then I creep forward, trying to quiet even my ragged breaths as I press up against the door.

I don’t want to look.

I have to look. I have to know.

But how can I?

Biting down on my lips, I extend a shaking hand and nudge the door forward. When nothing happens, I peer into the crack.

And all I see is blood.

Everywhere. So much of it. The smell hits me like a wave and I resist the urge to retch. Shattered glassware and toppled chairs make my heart sink into my stomach. But I don’t see my family. Could they have… escaped?

Clinging to the pathetic hope, I lean in farther, searching the floor for bodies even as I pray not to find them.

Then suddenly my gaze collides with Rift’s.

His expression is blank, despite the blood spattered across his cheek. His eyes are that same lifeless stone I remember from the battlefield.

For a second he just stares at me.

Then he folds himself into a fissure again, skating toward me across the bloodstained carpet.

I fling myself backward, crashing into the wall behind me. Then I bolt back down the hallway.

He’s fast in this form. That shadowy split in the floor hurtles toward me, gaining every second. There’s nowhere to go. He’ll collide into me soon and then he’ll take form and destroy me.

He’s only a few seconds away.

Two.

One.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I jump, which is silly, but it’s the only thing I can think to do. Incredibly, it works and he shoots past me, careening down the hallway.

I land and then falter, unsure of what to do with my momentary advantage.

But he soon seems to realize that he missed me, and he skids to a stop as well. Then he reverses, swinging rapidly back and forth across the floor, searching for my feet, making shadowy scars in the carpet.

I throw open a window and clamber out, hoisting myself up onto the overhang of the roof and bending my legs at the knees so they disappear from sight as quickly as possible.

Once safely over the ledge, I lean back and slam the window shut again. Then I go still, listening for pursuit and keeping an eye out for any trace of shadow. When nothing comes, I risk crawling over to a skylight and peeking in.

He’s taken human form again, and he’s searching the hallway and the adjoining rooms, but he hasn’t checked the windows.

I hold my breath as he opens every door, overturning furniture and tearing tapestries off walls in his pursuit of me.

Eventually, he folds into his abyss again and skims away, returning to the dining room.

My mind races, not ready to relax yet. Has he really given up? Is he leaving the way he came? Maybe he’s not actually supposed to kill me. After all, I wasn’t supposed to be here.

On the other hand, maybe he’ll be right back. Maybe he’s laying a trap. Or maybe he’s just taking the time to check the bodies and make sure they’re dead.

The bodies…

My own thoughts echo in my mind, ripping through me now that I have a minute to process.

Did he really… kill all of them? My mother, my father, my sister? Was I mere seconds too late?

I realize I’m crying and wonder how long I have been. They were just right there. Eating. Talking. Living. And now… I’m alone.

My heart aches for my mother and my sister, for all the things left unsaid between us, but it’s my father’s death that I struggle to comprehend the most.

Because it doesn’t seem possible. He’s the most powerful person I know. It just doesn’t feel true that he could be cut down with a sword in an instant like any other mortal.

And, despite all my anger and disgust toward him, I don’t know who I am without him.

In that moment of hesitation in the courtyard, the one that possibly cost my family their lives, I thought I would feel some measure of relief at his death. That a burden would be lifted.

But all I feel is confused, and the burden is still there. And in fact, there’s another one.

Am I… the Prime now?