Chapter Twenty-Two
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sarai woke to a pounding head and the unfamiliar tightness of new skin around her neck.
Awareness brought with it bone-deep fury. Cursing Aelius and Tullus to the worst of the ten hells, she took in the noonday sun with surprise. She’d slept for over a day.
Momentarily thrown by the very visible dent on the chair by her bed, she touched the leather and was surprised by its warmth. A drowsy memory surfaced of a hand stroking her hair in the early hours of the morning, and she flushed. Impossible . Kadra had better things to do. Still, the prospect of facing him was nerve-wracking in a way that spoke of long-stifled hungers having received too much ammunition. There was no forgetting his arms around her or how beautiful he was up close in that stern, severe way.
Nothing has changed , she reminded herself throughout her bath. With calumnia hovering over her head, she had to focus on taking the teeth out of Aelius’s threat. There was no reason to keep dwelling on the way Kadra’s gaze had seemed to memorize her features, or … Realizing she’d paused halfway down the staircase with a stupid grin, she hurried all the way down, vowing never to think of it again.
Her newfound resolution lasted the few seconds it took to descend the stairs and spot the couch she’d had a panic attack on. She cringed.
She was surprised to find Kadra’s tablinum empty. A quick search of the atrium revealed no one. She listened for any creak, any footfall that would indicate his presence .
“Cato?” she called, his name reverberating through the atrium. “Kadra?”
The tower yawned before her, whispering of tantalizing possibilities, buried secrets, and answers on Sidran Tower. She couldn’t refuse the dare. If there was anywhere that Kadra hid his skeletons, it was in here. This wasn’t for Aelius. It was for her, finally being able to probe Kadra’s depths.
She proceeded to scour every inch of the tower, knocking on the walls to search for hidden chambers and testing the flooring for movable tiles. She came away empty-handed. The uppermost floors, above the mezzanine holding Kadra’s bedroom and hers, yielded Cato’s cozily furnished room and a vast library. Even the cellar—accessible via a trapdoor set into Kadra’s study—only contained cask after cask of wine.
She hesitated in front of his bedroom, plagued by embarrassment at going through his inner sanctum. Gingerly pushing the door open, she peered in, headfirst.
Done in the black and gold that adorned his robes, his seal, and gods only knew what else, Kadra’s bedroom contained the usual items found in such places: a bed, wardrobe, various instruments of torture … Sarai blinked.
The serrated metal instruments on a chest were as meticulously clean as every corner of the house had been. Hesitantly, Sarai examined the tip of a wicked-looking knife, and paused, seized by an awful truth. She could take these blades to Aelius. Granted, Kadra would be framed for some awful crime or the other, tossed out as Tetrarch, and forced to face a Summoning in the Aequitas.
But I’d be safe. Aelius and Tullus would reward her. Her sphere of existence could remain unperturbed.
Setting the knife down, she smiled wryly. The Elsar and their irony. Once, she would have done anything for this chance. Now, she couldn’t take it.
Turning from the blades with a hard swallow, she squinted at a threadbare ribbon nailed to his wardrobe. Likely once white, it had since yellowed with age. She touched the soft material with a frown. Below it were two words in Kadra’s script .
Never forget.
It sounded like the ribbon’s owner was dead, or far away at the very least. Her heart sank like a stone, something unpleasant and hot snaking around it. Whose was this? The words below the ribbon spoke of attachment. Regret. Was this the reason for Kadra’s celibacy? A long-lost lover?
Suddenly ice-cold, she looked away, wishing she hadn’t seen it. Forcing herself to complete her search, she went through Kadra’s wardrobe, patting at his folded tunics and trousers, before crawling under his bed. Nothing.
Returning to the tablinum, she leaned against one of Kadra’s wall-to-ceiling bookcases with a sigh and nearly jumped out of her skin when it clicked. Inching away from it, she paused. That sounded like a lock.
Upon closer inspection, an imperceptible horizontal handle jutted out of one of the shelves. She pushed, and the entire bookcase swung open. Sarai stepped outside to what had to be the orange grove she kept smelling around his home. Four rows of trees greeted her, their boughs laden. Woven baskets had been arranged at the base to catch any premature fruit drop.
She shook her head with a laugh. So these were Aoran Tower’s secrets. An unsettling ribbon, some tools of torture, and a few orange trees. Aelius and Tullus would be apoplectic if they knew .
Circling back to the metal gates marking the start of Kadra’s wards, she found Cato sitting outside, cup of tea in hand.
He looked up at her, concerned. “Sarai, how are you feeling?”
She tensed even as she reminded herself that he couldn’t have heard her searching the tower. “Much better. Where’s Kadra?”
“At the Grand Elsarian Temple. Something about questioning the Master Cleric.”
Why had Kadra suddenly decided to interrogate Ur Dinyé’s highest religious official? “I’ll head out too.”
“Are you sure you’re well enough?”
She nodded reassuringly. “We’ve two Tetrarchs to ruin. ”
Cato hid an odd smile in his tea. And as she left to saddle Caleum, she could have sworn she heard him chuckle that Kadra wasn’t going to know what hit him.
Ur Dinyé’s largest house of worship to the Elsar was a mile past the Favran Tower Gate, steps from the Aequitas. Carved from the same ascetic white limestone as the courthouse, the Grand Elsarian Temple’s cluster of domes rose almost as high as Aelius’s statue. Oak doors barred entry into the temple. Her breath caught at the black-robed figure before them.
Remember, nothing has changed.
Surprise lit Kadra’s eyes. He caught her reins as she dismounted. “You should be resting.”
“I’m feeling better.” The words left as a croak, and she cleared her throat. “Much better.”
Like Cato, he didn’t seem convinced. “You don’t look it.”
“Lovely—” Before she could finish being affronted, he clasped her wrist and placed two broad fingers against her pulse, eyes narrowed in calculation.
Hav?d. She willed her pulse to cooperate.
A notch appeared between his eyebrows. “Your pulse is fast,” Kadra pronounced grimly. “You should be in bed.”
Torn between horrified amusement and sinking to the ground in humiliation, she settled for a strangled smile. “I’m fine.”
He studied her for a moment before releasing her hand. As he did, his thumb brushed an absent stroke across her wrist. She quelled the rising heat in her. Nothing has changed.
She gestured at the Temple. “Why the Master Cleric?”
In response, he withdrew the letter of Livia’s that had confounded them from his saddlebag. “Gaius told me you were searching for ‘pre-Tetrarch walls.’”
It hit her. “He was referring to the Temple? ”
“Oldest walls in Edessa.” Kadra’s lips rose a fraction when she rubbed her hands in excitement. “And it has a library.”
Of course . “They were looking into whether the scuta actually called on the gods for protection,” she realized.
The doors creaked open. A young cleric-in-training bowed. “Master Cleric Linus will see you soon. Please wait within,” he stammered and fled at Kadra’s nod.
“Will Linus give us anything?” she wondered, following him in. “I imagine the temples must be benefiting from the story around the scuta.”
“I’m sure we can make him talk.”
Sarai almost felt sorry for Linus. She watched with slitted eyes as Kadra crossed the temple’s threshold. Catching her perusal, he raised an eyebrow.
“They say evil can’t pass the High Elsar’s doors.” She shrugged. “I was expecting you to burst into flames.”
“Expecting?” He gave her a dark smile. “Or hoping?”
“I’d have saved you.” She tilted her head meaningfully to a nearby fountain and the devastating grin she’d witnessed only twice made a return.
“I thought I was a hav?d sadist.”
“You still are.” She strode past him, one hand over her racing heart. His huff of laughter followed her inside.
The Grand Elsarian Temple was an excellent distraction. Meticulously hewn from white limestone with the floor worked in red porphyry, it boasted statues of the High Elsar and several Saints from the minor pantheon of the Naaduir. She bowed before Lady Radiance and jumped when Kadra’s voice brushed her ears.
“I didn’t take you as devout.”
Sarai scowled. “A little respect won’t doom the country, Kadra. In fact …” Trailing off, she indicated a statue of Lord Wrath. Unlike the Academiae’s figure, this sculptor had given the god hair flowing to his waist, and a longsword, but there was no doubt in her mind as to whom those cruel features resembled. Kadra eyed it before giving her a droll look.
“Unlike Aelius, you’ll never have to commission a marble tribute to yourself.” She gave him a bland smile.
Faint lines crinkled at the corners of his dark eyes. “I’m Wrath?”
She nodded.
“Shouldn’t you be cowering? Pleading to serve me?”
“You mean, kneeling and requesting to service you—I mean serve you. Serve! ” Biting her tongue as a predatory look crossed his features, she resolved never to speak again.
“Service?” His wine-rough voice turned the word even filthier. “The gods have it good.”
Her resolve vanished. “Damn it, Kadra!”
A rusty laugh filled the air. Not the ugly, sardonic thing he made on occasion, but genuine, unguarded. The sound curled up in her chest, and she stumbled, nearly careening into one of the statues. Kadra smoothly caught and righted her.
He watched her thoughtfully. “Why believe in the gods at all?” His thumb skimmed over an invisible scar. “You’ve every reason not to.”
“I didn’t for a while after … it happened. Recovery was difficult, and I had no one,” she admitted. “But I did recover, and I found purpose. That was enough.”
“I expected a miracle,” he said dryly.
“I think this is the miracle,” she mused. “A northern barmaid, here, beside Ur Dinyé’s maddest Tetrarch, scars and all.” She met his eyes with complete sincerity. “Thank you for not minding them.”
“There’s nothing to mind.”
True . Bereft of words, she squeezed his hands in thanks. The doors leading into the priests’ chambers snapped open. A white-haired man in beige robes strode into the temple, stately features irritated.
“The temple is closed for rest,” the Master Cleric haughtily informed them .
“I wasn’t aware the gods needed rest.” Kadra ignored Linus’s sputter of displeasure. “My Petitor will need access to your library henceforth. As you did with Jovian and Livia.”
Linus’s jaw tensed. “You need to leave.”
Sighting the danger in Kadra’s too-pleasant smile, she considered the temple’s opulent furnishings and recalled Aelius’s order to Tullus.
“Perhaps people should know how you’re funded,” she mused.
“What do you—”
“You received a substantial donation last night, didn’t you?” Satisfaction filled her when he paled. “Tullus pays you for absolution. The dates of the donations are kept here, I imagine? I wonder what I’d find if I looked into what Tullus did on those days. I’m sure your congregation would be keen to know.”
Linus turned ruddy. “You can’t threaten me in a house of the gods!”
Kadra chuckled. “They aren’t exactly stopping her. What’ll it be?”
The Master Cleric’s face was a map of indecision, fear warring with loyalty. “Fine. But I don’t know why you’re bothering. Even Tetrarch Aelius’s current Petitor scoured the place after Petitor Jovian’s death and found nothing.”
Sarai’s eyebrow drew together. “Cisuré wasn’t acquainted with Aelius then.”
“She wasn’t?” Linus snorted, and a strange sick premonition rose in her as she thought back to haltingly answered questions and the odd hints of history between Aelius and her oldest friend. “Four years ago, he brought her here and vowed before the Elsar to make her his Petitor.” He shuddered. “And here we are. Like he knew that the previous three would die.”
She staggered in shock. “They knew each other before the Robing?”
He looked at her like she was dim. “That girl has been trailing after him for years now, from the temple to his vigile station. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was a regular in his bed—”
“Enough!” she interrupted sharply. “I asked for facts, not defamation. ”
Relishing his dropped jaw, she took a steadying breath, ordering the gaping hole in her stomach to close. She would make sense of everything later, from Cisuré signing the warrant to why she’d lied to her. Right now, she had a job to do.
“Besides the scuta, have you heard of any runes or magic that require faith to work?”
“A Summoning could qualify,” Linus muttered. “But that depends primarily on the summoner’s will, though that can be intertwined with faith.”
So there’s no precedent for Aelius’s supposed ancient runes . Another strike in her favor. “Our magic isn’t infinite. It gets depleted and needs recovery like any other muscle. So why do you think the scuta work every second of the day?”
“Faith doesn’t tire,” Linus mumbled. “I don’t understand what you two want. Jovian asked the same questions. Not a lot of faith in him either and look at where it got him.”
Exchanging a glance with Kadra, she thanked the disgruntled Master Cleric and left with his reluctant promise to let her rummage in the Temple’s library.
An ever-increasing din greeted her outside. Just past the gate fencing the Temple, thousands descended upon the Aequitas, elbowing each other for entrance.
Admia’s trial . Her shoulders sagged. Aelius had wasted no time in rushing the conviction. All the evidence on iron dust that she’d been hoping to Materialize from Admia’s head was going to be lost upon her death.
“He’s charged her with treason for offing Helvus. She’ll be subjected to a Summoning,” Kadra murmured behind her. “Only two events command this high a turnout. The Robing. Or a god.”
She cursed. “How did no one question the scuta? Why pay for and plant something outside their homes without knowing how it worked?”
“Some questions are dangerous,” Kadra said softly. “The scuta are a culmination of every ounce of the people’s faith in the Guilds, the Tetrarchy, and the gods. Unknotting that tangle means daring to question all of it. Few ever start.”
“You did.”
A grave sigh left him. “And it changed nothing.”
“It brought me here,” she said and sensed him turn to her. She watched the crowd surging into the Aequitas. “I should go see it, shouldn’t I?”
His gaze ranged from her clenched hands to the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. “Aelius is presiding over it.”
She raised her chin, mounting Caelum. “I’ll have to contend with him at some point.”
“Your friend will be there too.”
“I—” Her voice cracked. “I know.”
He watched her for a moment. Then, moving to Caelum’s side, he reached up and gently cupped her cheek.
“Come outside when it’s over. I’ll accompany you home.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with worse.”
“I can tell.” His voice went even softer. “But you aren’t alone anymore.”
He turned abruptly and mounted his horse, veering toward his Quarter in a blur of black and gold. Spreading her fingers over the warm impression of his hand, Sarai decided that they’d both gone mad. Everything has changed.
When not involved in a trial, Petitors held the best seats in the Aequitas: in the first row, to the right of the dais where the presiding Tetrarch sat, and directly before the defendant.
Admia was a wreck of blood. It trailed from lacerations in her flesh, dampening her tunic as Aelius’s vigiles gave her a few choice prods across the stage. A month ago, she’d swanned about Aelius’s convivium. Now, she raised her head at his command, battered features emanating loathing.
Sarai’s palms grew clammy. That could be me.
Beside her, Anek’s expression was unreadable. Harion was surprisingly quiet as well, a bruise on his cheek. She wondered if it was Tullus. A man like that didn’t conserve his violence for women alone .
She drowned out Aelius’s lengthy speech on the evils of social chaos, focusing only when Cisuré stepped forward at the end, sunset and firelight painting her golden. Sarai could scarcely recognize her.
Who was this girl with confidence in the line of her spine, directing a sneer to Admia as though she were garbage? When had her friend vanished?
“Admia of Edessa, you have forsaken Urd law and the law of the Elsar by taking a life so vital to this country that its extinguishing amounts to treason. Now you must beg the gods’ mercy.” Cisuré’s voice was frosty. “Whom will you Summon?”
“Lord Death.” Admia spat the name of the Elsar who would likely be her doom.
A nod from Cisuré, and Admia was unbound. She collapsed, dripping blood onto the stage.
This was all wrong. But no one seemed to care that Admia had been sent straight to execution without any recounting of the events leading to the murder. It was a spectacle to the crowd. They applauded when Admia daubed her fingers with blood from her wounds, and jeered when she faltered.
“Pitiful,” Harion muttered under his breath when Admia tottered at one point.
Anek’s eyes were chips of slate as Admia completed the first rune, safsher for “sword.” The air quivered with anticipation. Something cold and panicky roiled inside her with each stroke of blood over marble.
Admia completed her rune after rune. The Aequitas pulsed with magic, a painful buzz building with each symbol. Sarai recognized some; Anek filled in the others. Safsher, yaris, riukhen, naiya, khon, frazam, layk, and modrai . Sword, flame, strength, heart, blood, end, unity, and, finally, the rune for Death himself that Jovian had fearfully painted across his study.
Tendrils of black mist rose from the symbol. Before completing the last stroke, Admia looked up, turning pleading eyes to Cisuré and Aelius. Bile crept across Sarai’s tongue at their near-identical expressions of serenity. Admia closed her eyes and drew the final line .
A falling pin could have been heard in the subsequent resounding silence. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Then the Aequitas trembled with a strident crack as black fire flared from the runes, rapidly growing high. The agonized screech of a voice broken beyond straining filled the air as Admia bent backward at the waist, radiating— no —being drained of power.
The crowd gasped as Admia was lifted from the ground by an unseen force. Her eyes bugged out of their sockets, filling with blood as she shrieked her throat raw.
Sarai’s white-knuckled grip on the railing tightened, and Anek shot her a concerned look when her teeth clacked together audibly. But she couldn’t explain the horrible twisting in her chest, an awful mix of dread and dark familiarity.
Bright crimson ran in a stream from Admia’s nostrils, her wails like nails on slate as she rose and rose until she was a beetle-sized figure at the very top of the Aequitas.
“She can’t hold on.” There was no emotion in Anek’s voice. “She’s done.”
“Lord Death,” Aelius’s voice boomed. “Is this woman worthy of pardon?”
The flames rising from the runes across the stage winked out of existence. Admia jerked, limbs splayed wide as the force that had anchored her to the air vanished.
And Sarai knew what was going to happen.
Look away . Don’t watch. But she couldn’t move as Admia dropped like a stone, hurtling to the ground, gaining speed with every second.
Look away—
Admia slammed into the marble floor of the stage with a crack, neck snapping in two. Staring at the exposed mess of her vertebrae, at her splintered skull, and at the fragments of her hands, Sarai blinked once. Twice. Three times.
Then, she collapsed.
Anek caught her arm, sitting her down. Around them, the crowd booed their disappointment .
Aelius didn’t bat an eye. “Lord Death has provided his judgment.”
“As the Elsar will it,” the onlookers chorused, starting to file out of the Aequitas.
Nausea rose hard and fast. Muttering a brief thanks to Anek, Sarai raced out of the Aequitas and vomited onto the grass. She leaned against the wall, attempting to steady her breathing when a hand tapped her shoulder.
“Sarai, are you alright?”
She turned, every movement stilted. Slow. “Should I be?”
Cisuré swallowed. She took a step back, sucking her lower lip between her teeth. “You’ve heard about the warrant.”
“The one where I die on a whipping post? Certo .” Sarai couldn’t hide her bewilderment and hurt. “What I want to know is why .”
“One of us had to make the right choice.” Cisuré’s eyes welled. “You’re headed for disaster, and I won’t see you go there. You weren’t going to stop. I had to!”
It took Sarai several minutes to hoist her dropped jaw. “Please don’t discredit your intelligence and mine. You can’t expect me to believe your only option was signing off on that warrant and having Tullus roast my throat!”
Cisuré’s eyes widened. She pulled Sarai to a deserted patch of grass. “What do you mean?”
It poured out: Aelius, Tullus, the burning. Throughout her explanation, Cisuré’s face grew increasingly baffled until it was a mask of horror.
“He hurt you?” The other girl wrenched down the collar of Sarai’s tunic and paused. “I don’t see anything.”
“I healed it, but he almost went through my jugular,” Sarai whispered. “I thought I was going to die.”
Cisuré bit her lip. “Are you sure?”
Sarai froze. “What?”
“I’m not doubting you!” Cisuré said quickly. “I only mean that Tullus hurt your neck at Helvus’s, didn’t he? Perhaps he accidentally inflicted the burns, and you didn’t notice. You were both troubled at the time, so it’s understandable.”
Sarai wondered if she was dreaming. She had to be, because none of it made sense.
“Cisuré, I’m not lying.”
“I’m not saying you’re lying! But it’s been so difficult for you. You’re confused.”
“I’m not confused ! I felt him searing my skin on your Tetrarch’s command!”
Impatience rippled across Cisuré’s face. “Tetrarch Aelius had no reason to do that. You were going to agree to search Kadra’s tower anyway.” At Sarai’s silence, her eyes narrowed. “Weren’t you?”
“Why should I after what Aelius—”
“ Tetrarch Aelius!” Cisuré glanced skyward, searching for patience. “If anyone burns people alive, it’s Kadra. He could have done this to you and tricked you into thinking that it was Tullus.”
Sarai stared at her oldest friend, something bitter building in her but refusing to bubble over. Because that would prove Cisuré right.
“You don’t believe me,” she finally said. “You can dress it however you want, but the truth is that you’d rather believe that monster you serve over me.”
Cisuré paled at the eerie calm of her voice. “I’m being objective. And let’s not point fingers at who really serves a monster.”
“Right.” Tears pricked at Sarai’s eyelids. “The thing is, I didn’t choose mine.” Cisuré tensed. “I didn’t go into the Grand Elsarian Temple and vow to be some smooth-talking snake’s Petitor and lie to my stupid, scarred friend thousands of miles away about it every single day for four years .” Her voice escalated until each word was a snarl. A few vigiles some distance away cast a wary eye at them.
Cisuré blanched. “Who told you?”
“It should have been you ! ”
“I didn’t want you to feel bad!” the other girl yelled back. “You were broken. Ruined. How could I tell you I was doing better than you ever could?”
The breath vanished from Sarai’s lungs. “You thought I’d resent you?”
“Haven’t you always?” Cisuré’s voice cracked. “All you talk about is poverty and disparity—”
“Because that was my life and still is! I just got beaten and burned —”
“This is what I mean!” Cisuré’s eyes were hot with anger. “You’re unbearable ! Even when Marus beat me and forced me into being the most-talented daughter anyone could ask the gods for, you still hated that you didn’t have my life, didn’t you? But now that you’re here, can’t you see why you got so much less? You have no regard for centuries of established law or social order. These are the consequences! I never believed in your silly visions of tearing everything down, and I never will. I hoped for you to grow past it, but you’re still stuck playing the victim.”
“So that’s what you think of me.” Sarai’s voice was tight with pain. “Well, I’m glad you’ve finally let it out. It must have been difficult letting it fester all these years. And you say I hold on to anger.”
Cisuré jerked back as though she’d been slapped. “I—” She seemed to have finally realized what she’d said. “Sarai, I—”
“I’ll let the scuta go.” The lie came from the deep well of her long-held rage, and as it emerged, Sarai didn’t feel guilty. “I don’t want to fight. Tell Aelius I’ll have something for him before the trial.”
A shocked smile formed on Cisuré’s face. “By Wisdom, you’ve finally seen reason.” She hugged her tight. “Sarai, I’m so happy you came around. All it took was a little quarrel.” Releasing her with a watery chuckle, Cisuré fixed her gaze at a point behind her and turned murderous. “Watch out, here comes the monster. I’ll see you soon, then?”
Staring at the other girl’s excited grin, Sarai wondered how Kadra did it. No lovers. No lies. No weaknesses. Right now, she would give anything for the same.
“Of course,” she said listlessly. Her body didn’t feel like her own. At least Cisuré would convince Aelius and Tullus that she’d been cowed .
She carefully composed her expression before walking over to Kadra and their mounts, but his piercing eyes missed nothing. They cut to Cisuré, ice forming in their depths. Before he could walk over, and undoubtedly shred the other girl to the bone, she stepped into his path.
“I’m ready to head home.” As she said it, she realized she’d never referred to Aoran Tower as “home” before.
The violence on Kadra’s face faded. “Of course.”
In a blink, she found herself lifted and deposited atop Caelum. He smoothly swung up on his horse. Maneuvering past the crowd, they left the Aequitas, reaching Aoran Tower in silence. Accepting Kadra’s hand to dismount, she joined him in brushing down their horses, trying not to flinch whenever Cisuré’s angry epithets resurfaced to haunt her.
“You’ll have to tell me how you do it,” she said, after a moment. “Limiting who’s allowed in your tower. Refusing to work your way through every pleasure house in Ur Dinyé. All that.”
He didn’t balk at the question. “Lovers are a liability. Everyone has a price.” Moving behind her, he assisted her with brushing Caelum. “It’s easier to take care of my needs myself than foist them on others.”
Her brush halted in her horse’s mane, suddenly assaulted by images of him half-naked in a dressing robe, working himself in his bedroom, sweat gliding down his neck as he—
“Most people don’t mind a bit of foisting,” she stammered.
“They’re welcome to it.” He sounded unconcerned.
“Aelius could frame you even without the act. The person could just … use their imagination.” Her cheeks could fry an egg with how hot they were.
“Ah, the gods have blessed me with a very noticeable birthmark. It’s an easy charge to disprove, even if it means showing the audience my—”
“You—” She spun to face him, horribly aware that she was crimson. She scowled at the laugh he was barely suppressing. “You aren’t supposed to have a sense of humor.” It came out as accusation. “You’re all blood and terror.”
He flashed her a wry grin that threw her even further. “I sound unbearable. ”
She nearly said it. That he was. Then Cisuré’s words resurfaced. You’re unbearable . Her smile drooped. The stone in her heart sank deeper.
“Goodnight, Kadra.”
Watching her carefully, he nodded and followed her into Aoran Tower. A sliver of moonlight dappled their path, laying their shadows out beside them. Side by side.
Any other day, she would have been catatonic at the knowledge that her only friend thought so little of her. But for now, she took refuge in the fact that there was at least one person in Ur Dinyé who didn’t think her easily confused or eternally angry. Who saw her as strong, deferred to her judgment, and saw power in her rage.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the man beside her.
And if she wiped her eyes a few times too many, he said nothing of it.