Chapter 2
brYONY
Two years later
THE CROWD ROARS beyond the gates as Theodora and I step out of the palace. My older sister and I wear matching gold gowns shot through with crimson, rubies glinting at our throats and earlobes. Our gaudy temple regalia as Princesses of the Blood.
Another day, another death.
The city sprawls past the royal square. Hellevig is a patchwork of ancient ruins and buildings constructed after the Godkiller Crusades, when the war between humans and gods nearly wiped this place off the map.
During the rebuilding, House Devaliant’s colors became the dominant palette.
Red spires. Red domes. Red pillars. Red arches.
Red, red, red. There’s a reason the capital of Luceni is called “the city that bleeds,” not just because of what my ancestress did with that blade, but because you can’t escape the color of Amalthea’s sacrifice.
Theodora’s nails dig into my wrist, jolting me to the present. To the crowd clamoring for our attention.
“Smile,” she tells me. She tucks an errant curl of copper hair behind her ear. “They’re all watching.”
No one could accuse me of being anything but well-trained, so I plaster on a smile and follow her toward the carriage waiting in the drive.
The portcullis groans as the servants heave it open.
“Princess Bryony!”
A girl darts under a guard’s arms before he can grab her, skidding to a halt in front of me.
My bodyguard tenses, but I wave a dismissive hand. “Stand down, Silas. She’s six, not an assassin. Just give her a minute.”
The last thing I need is an overenthusiastic member of my security pulling a sword on a child in view of a few hundred spectators. The broadsheets would have a field day.
I crouch down, my skirts pooling around me. “Hi there. What’s your name?”
“Ara.” She sticks out her small hand. “May I have your blessing?”
For a moment, I’m sure I misheard her. But no, those words definitely fell out of her tiny mouth, hanging between us like an accusation. Theodora goes rigid beside me. We both know blessings are the Eternal’s purview, not mine.
I bend and kiss her knuckles. “May Eternal Alexios protect you always.”
A standard non-answer. But the girl isn’t having it. Her grip tightens, nails biting at my Claim cuff. “Please, Princess. A blessing from you.”
Theodora’s lips press into a thin line, her expression hardening. No. Don’t you dare give that girl what she wants.
So I kiss the girl’s head and say the most neutral thing I can. “Fortune keep you, little one. Now get back to your mother before she worries.”
Silas scoops her up and deposits her behind the gates with a scowl darkening his face.
I smile and wave at the rest of the spectators, blowing a few kisses. “Remember to visit the temple and offer your tithes!” I call out. “Eternal bless you!”
I’m signaling our procession onward when a voice shouts, “The Princess will lead us to ruin! Alexios’ butchers will come for us all!”
My head snaps up, but I can’t see anything past the sea of faces. A ripple goes through the crowd as confusion gives way to anger. It looks like a fight might break out.
“Time to go, Bry.” Theodora’s grip on my elbow is firm as she guides me to the carriage.
The door slams shut, muffling the chaos outside. I stare out the window, watching as the guards attempt to calm down the masses and clear the road. Some people are still shouting.
“It’s always a delight joining you on temple day.” Theodora settles across from me and arranges her skirts. “I never know if I’m going to see a brawl or a parade in your honor.”
I glare at her. “Hilarious.”
The famous Devaliant skin is the only thing that marks my sister and me as related.
Our father once told me that Theodora got her looks from our mother, who died giving birth to me, while I inherited features from a dead grandmother.
Where my hair is nearly white, hers is a rich, glossy red, spilling over her shoulders in loose curls.
Her bone structure is elegant, with a willowy physique that resembles a dancer’s.
Mine is more petite. The Hellevig broadsheets often remark that we’re equally beautiful, but Theodora has an austere face that comes across as aloof. Remote. Cold.
People call her the ice princess when they’re being kind.
Frigid bitch, when they’re not.
“Should we take bets on when they build you a shrine?” Theo asks me. “Ten aurelii says it’s up by next week. Twenty says someone tries to steal a lock of your hair for a holy relic.”
“People are literally screaming about divine wrath, and you’re making jokes?”
“What else am I supposed to do? Uncle’s too busy drowning in wine and women lately to listen about the crowds outside our gates. Last week, he face-planted in his soup before I could even finish a sentence.”
I slump against the seat with a sigh. When the emperor spirals like this, it never ends well. Last time, he vanished for half a year, hopping on our family’s private train to screw his way across the empire while Theo kept the capital from crumbling.
Not that I could blame Idris much, to be honest. It’s tempting to throw yourself into any random vice when your life revolves around scheduled ritual sacrifice.
That’s the price House Devaliant paid when we brokered peace with the gods three hundred years ago.
Meanwhile, every other citizen gets off easy with a fingerprick and a single drop of blood for their tithe.
I trace the notches I carved on my inner elbow—five cuts, five steps to resurrection. Breathe. Feel. Name. Present. Real. To remind me that I exist and that I’m more than just a vessel.
Outside, gravel crunches under the carriage wheels as the vehicle makes a turn. Silas bellows at someone in the crowd who strayed too close, “Back the fuck off before I remove your head!”
I wince. “Could Uncle not find me a bodyguard who’s less… threatening? He made three children cry yesterday.”
“Listen, that man might have a brain like a rusted bear trap and the personality of a hostile brick wall, but he’s very large and enjoys hurting people who come near you.
” Theodora taps her fingers against her armrest. “Which, given current events, makes him more useful than our wine-soaked excuse for an emperor.”
“At least Uncle isn’t riding with us.”
“Oh yes, I’ll miss his lectures on our many failings.
” She mimics Idris’ voice, slurring slightly.
“‘Theodora, you empty-headed waste of space. Probably dropped you on your head as a baby.’ Like he has any right to criticize when his idea of leadership is bellowing at people until his face turns red.”
Laughing, I peer out at the streets rolling by, at the stone towers and their massive stained glass windows.
Every pane depicts some Devaliant sacrifice in revolting detail.
You can’t walk ten feet in Hellevig without seeing our family’s offerings commemorated somewhere.
They’ve made our deaths into decoration, our suffering into architecture.
And perched on the hill in the center of the city, with spires piercing the low-hanging clouds, stands the temple where I’ve been summoned for my tithe.
Alexios’ holy building is the only structure built entirely of pale marble, probably because blood shows up better on white, and the God of Storms enjoys watching us all bleed from wherever he is in Scillari.
The facade comprises multiple twisting steeples that loom over the landscape like jagged teeth.
I hate that damn place.
Theo’s hand finds my knee. “You okay?”
“Fine. Thanks for coming with me today. You didn’t have to.”
“Please. I’d crawl through broken glass to escape the palace. Made the stupid mistake of smiling at the new footman, and now he thinks we’re destined for true love.”
“Is he the one who’s been leaving flowers at your door?”
“Flowers, poems, and yesterday, a note comparing my eyes to ‘emerald pools of eternal longing.’” She shudders. “There are only so many times I can hide in the library before it gets pathetic.”
“And here I thought you came for moral support.”
“Well, that too.” Theo sits back. “Speaking of support, I’ll tell you my new coping mechanism for when the Oracles shove that blade in.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Of course not.” A wicked grin spreads across my sister’s face. “I think of all the filthy things I’m going to have Kas do to me when I wake up. Really takes the edge off dying when I know I’ll be riding my guard’s cock within the hour.”
I choke on air. “Theo!”
“What? It’s practical. Strategic.” She lets out a satisfied sigh. “I ride that man before the carriage even leaves the temple grounds. You wouldn’t believe how hard he gets when I’m still covered in blood from the ceremony. Something about seeing me come back to life really does it for him.”
The noise I make is something between a retch and a whimper. “Stop. Stop right there.” I hold up both hands. “I don’t need the visual. I don’t want the visual. The visual is burned into my brain. What in the Eternal’s name is wrong with you?”
“So many things. Want the list alphabetically or by order of moral depravity? We’ve got time before we reach the temple.”
“I’d rather throw myself in front of a train.”
“Maybe save that move for after your wedding. And remember, if you need to plot your new husband’s tragic end, I know people who know people.”
I elect to ignore that in favor of hunching in my seat.
The last thing I want to dwell on is my wedding to Markus von Reding tomorrow.
I’ve only met him three times, and I don’t think he’s ever bothered looking above my breasts.
But I suppose that doesn’t matter. The marriage is purely transactional to get me pregnant.
Devaliants are only good for two things—dying and breeding more Devaliants to die.
The carriage makes a hard turn. The road is closed to all but our procession, with storefronts shuttered until after we finish. Even the temple has been emptied to prepare for our arrival.
We stop along the rounded royal entryway, where a statue of Alexios glares down at us.
The sculptor caught the striking lines of his face, every feather of his wings.
He’s seated on a throne with one hand holding his sword and the other reaching down.
I can’t tell if it’s meant to look like he’s blessing me or threatening me, but maybe that’s the point.
The wind lashes my cheeks as we climb the steps and push open the doors. The smell hits me first, the heavy incense barely masking the strong, coppery scent of centuries of blood coating the holy stones.
The candles in the alcoves illuminate the reliefs painted on the walls. In one, Alexios sits in judgment while a human grovels at his feet. In another, he flies into battle with his sword held high, and his red and black wings spread.
And in the next panel is the Devaliant princess who changed the realms. Amalthea. Offering her life to anchor the Shroud, seal the Accords, and end the war that nearly brought both worlds to ruin.
At the end of the naos rises the altar stone, a simple slab of rust-stained white marble.
Three dark-robed Oracles stand around its base, their faces obscured behind gauzy veils.
I see them every fourteen days for the ceremony, but we’re not on friendly terms. It’s difficult to establish a cordial relationship with the women who’ve held you down and shoved a knife in your chest since childhood.
You don’t look so fondly on them after that.
I dip my chin in a curt greeting. “Good morning.”
The Head Oracle steps forward, her vestments shimmering. “Princess Bryony, the Eternal sent word that your tithe isn’t welcome.”
Theodora freezes, her breath catching in her throat.
I’m certain I’ve misunderstood. The incense fumes must be causing me to hallucinate. “I’m sorry. It sounded like you said—”
“You heard her correctly,” the second Oracle says. “There will be no anchoring ceremony today. Your tithe is no longer required.”
No longer required. The words make no sense. No longer required, no longer required, no longer—
All my life, I’ve been necessary. I’ve played my preordained role, a linchpin of the Shroud. One of Alexios’ Anchors in the mortal realm. I’ve bled for him since I could walk. Died for him again and again and again. I’d say it’s almost impressive how thoroughly I’ve debased myself.
And now I’m no longer required?
“I don’t understand,” Theodora says. “Has my sister offended him?”
The Oracle’s head turns toward my sister. “The Eternal’s will isn’t for mortals to question.”
It takes every scrap of courtly training I possess not to lunge across the altar and throttle the Oracle with her veil.
“Two weeks ago, I was indispensable. Now I’m nothing,” I say, my voice calm despite my pounding heart. “Did Alexios share his reasons, or does he prefer to keep us guessing?”
The third Oracle answers. “You live and die by the Eternal’s mercy, and he’s revoked it. There’s nothing more to be said.”
Mercy. How precious.
“Unrevoke it,” Theodora says sharply. “My sister is ready to make the tithe and do her duty.” She rakes them with the glare that earned her the frigid bitch moniker. “It’s your obligation to take her blood.”
“You’re not regent anymore, Princess,” the Head Oracle says. “You have no authority here.”
Theodora flinches, and I see the barb hit home. She swallows hard at the reminder of everything she’s lost.
“Ah, yes,” I say. “I’d forgotten that obedience is a requirement of Alexios’ faithful.
Tell me, do you gain your position only by being the bastard children of demigods and humans, or is there a test you have to pass for sycophantic devotion?
Does he screen for a lack of individuality? I’m curious how that works.”
The Oracles gasp. I think one of them might be choking on her own spit behind that veil.
“Bry,” Theodora says. “Come on. We’re going.”
I’m reaching for Theo’s arm when the third Oracle says, “If you doubt our words, Princess, look at your Claim.”
I turn back. “What did you just say?”
The Oracle points at my wrist—at the golden cuff that’s been there for as long as I can remember. “See for yourself.”
I fumble with the clasp, my breaths growing shorter. This has to be a mistake. Some sort of sick, ritualized humiliation.
The cuff falls away, and branded on my inner wrist is a slash through the eye of Alexios’ mark. The same sigil that’s declared me his Claimed since the day I was born and given the drop of his blood like every other infant in Luceni. Only now, the eye is closed.
And I’m marked for death.