Chapter 15
Finding Eva waiting outside my apartments is a quiet relief after the heavy silence between Kaelzar and me on the walk back. The intimate moment we shared feels distant now, like something I dreamed. But his history and the truth of what binds him still linger at the edge of my thoughts.
He has as much at stake as I do. But what happens if we win? Returning to his people can’t be an option, not when he’d belong to the Archpriestess, as per the Trial’s rules. So what then?
I don’t dare ask him, not after throwing his mother’s death in his face. Shame still burns in my chest, so I promise myself to choose my words, and my inquiries, more carefully. At least, to try.
I should be thinking about the next challenge, about the Rust Hollow women, not about what victory might mean for my Godbeast.
“Gods above, Raylane, you smell like a distillery.” Eva wrinkles her nose the moment I step inside.
I shrug. “I may have had a drink or two.”
Truthfully, I expected her to be here. Eva always seems to appear when I need her most. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever repay her. Maybe when I become Archpriestess, I can send her to that alchemist university in Maraneethos, no matter what her parents say about her ‘respectable future’.
Eva arches her brow. “A drink or two? It smells like you bathed in it. What are you doing?” She snatches the wrinkled dress I’ve just pulled from my dresser.
“I’m changing and going to see Ryker,” I say, reaching for it. “After what Zyrel said, I need Ryker to denounce it publicly before the next challenge.”
It’s late, but not too late. The dinner festivities will still be in full swing, and after everything that’s happened, there’s no better time to find Ryker alone, to clear my head before my thoughts unravel any further.
Because if I can get him alone, I can make him listen. And if I can make him understand, maybe things will finally be right again.
Though, truthfully, I’m not even sure I know what right means anymore.
Eva hides the dress behind her back, glancing toward Kaelzar, who lingers in the corner of my chamber, clearly unwilling to leave even here, in the privacy of my rooms.
“Not until you bathe,” Eva says, her tone firm. Then she gestures at my head. “And brush out whatever nest you’ve got going on up there.”
I run my fingers through my hair and wince when they snag halfway through the tangles.
“I don’t have time for that,” I say. “I need to tell Ryker what really happened. I need to tell him… everything.”
The words catch me by surprise. They slip out before I can stop them, yet somehow they feel true.
I should have told him everything long ago—about my secret work with Peonica, smuggling food into Rust Hollow despite the Church’s decrees.
About my true dream: to close the Rust Hollows and bring the cursed women back into the world.
And about my mother, how, even after my father forbade me from seeing her, she still found a way to stay in my life. Even when she wasn’t supposed to.
“So?” Eva’s voice comes from behind.
“So what?” I ask, not bothering to look up.
She crosses her arms. “Why is your Godbeast watching you like a predator waiting for you to bolt? And why do you keep stealing glances at him like you want to be caught?”
I sigh. “It’s nothing.” I scrub my arms in the basin, watching the water go gray.
“Turns out, the chains around Kaelzar’s chest become real and cut into him whenever he lets himself think ill of Calista.
It was brutal. He was in so much pain that I had to distract him before his shadows tore the whole street apart.
So this… it brought us closer, I think.” The last words slip out barely above a whisper.
Eva blinks. “And how did you distract him?”
“I sang,” I mutter.
That earns a bark of laughter. “Well, that explains it. Your missing octave alone could distract anyone from anything.” She tilts her head, eyes softening. “Do you remember what your tutor used to say?”
I splash water over my face, recalling the stout old woman who endured my lessons with visible suffering.
“If you ever feel the urge to sing in public,” I quote flatly, “do everyone a favor and take a nap. Sleep cures many terrible ideas.”
Eva laughs and tosses me a towel. I take it, drying my hands before throwing it back.
“Well,” I say, forcing a chuckle, “terrible ideas seem to be all I have lately. And I’ll admit, the few drinks I had tonight didn’t exactly improve my judgment.”
Eva catches the towel easily, giving me that long, skeptical look. “You don’t need help making trouble, Ray,” she says dryly, then her tone softens. “Speaking of terrible ideas…”
I snap my head toward her.
“You saw Mael’s new accessory?” She traces a circle around her eye, mimicking an eyepatch. “Want to know how he got it? He went to Vapor Island to ‘prove’ his remorse. The island’s keepers had to drag him back, but not before the fumes took his eye.”
My stomach twists. I slap a hand over my mouth, as if that could stop the sick feeling crawling up my throat. “Was he really intending to become a Sibyl?”
Eva shrugs, folding her arms, her head tilting in disbelief. “He did it to prove to Ryker how guilty he feels. How sorry he is. His self-loathing runs so deep he was ready to throw away everything.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Mael? Self-loathing? Please. He loves himself too much for that.”
Unless…
A memory stirs.
Mael, standing at the top of the old sycamore tree in the Palace gardens, curls wild in the wind, a mischievous grin lighting his face.
“Watch this, Ray!” he’d called before stepping off the branch.
I’d screamed, running to where he lay crumpled on the ground, his leg bent at an awful angle. He’d cried big, heaving sobs and when I demanded to know why, asked if he’d done it on purpose, he’d shaken his head so fervently I almost believed him.
Almost.
I had seen him jump.
And yet, when they carried him inside, when he sniffled through his pain and reached for me, when I sat by his bed for weeks, guilt gnawing at my insides, I let myself believe him. Because it was easier. Because the truth was uglier.
And now, years later, here he is again, hurting himself for an audience. For sympathy. For power.
My pulse quickens as the pieces fall into place. He didn’t go there to atone. He went there to force Ryker’s hand. Mael gambled on me and lost. His position slipped, so he made another bet. Something drastic, something horrifying, something so grand that Ryker couldn’t possibly ignore it.
He wagered his own body this time, counting on his brother to save him. To believe him. To forgive him.
Because how could he not, after a spectacle like that?
I shake my head, exhaling sharply. “Unbelievable. So that’s how he weaseled his way back into Ryker’s good graces?”
Eva scoffs. “He probably blamed it all on you. Or the alcohol. Or both. Either way, he’s off the hook.”
My teeth clench, anger sparking in my chest. “And me risking my life in this godsdamned Trial isn’t enough to do the same?”
Eva snorts and pushes me down onto the stool. “What fun would that be?”
We don’t wait for my hair to dry. Eva’s fingers move quickly, weaving an intricate braid and threading red strings through its length in careful patterns that make them look decorative.
Woven this way, the red is almost hidden.
She finishes with a large decorative pin that pricks my scalp before settling snugly beneath her skilled fingers.
I change into a clean, golden silk gown and hurry out of my rooms. Kaelzar trails us as we go.
Four guards in stone armor wait outside, then fall in behind us again. This time at a respectful distance, thanks to Kaelzar’s warning glare and the faint ripple of shadows curling at their feet.
“Does he ever talk?” Eva whispers near my ear as we approach the dining hall.
“The beastie?” I say loudly enough for him to hear. “I ordered him to speak only if he has something nice to say about his Champion. He’s been silent ever since.”
“He’s too busy admiring your bare shoulders,” Eva murmurs behind me, nearly making me stumble.
Is he really watching me like that?
There had been a shawl with this gown, a delicate thing meant to clasp at my neck and drape to my elbows, but I’d left it behind.
The thought of never again having to wear what others expect of me, however small the defiance, fills me with a quiet, unexpected joy.
A pair of attendants open the great doors of the dining hall and soft strains of violin music spill through, wrapping the corridor in a haunting melody.
Even though Eva warned me what to expect, the sight still knocks the breath from my lungs.
What is usually a spacious room for casual dinners now overflows with noble daughters, their youth and beauty shimmering in the candlelight.
Their white hair—symbols of purity—gleam beneath the chandeliers.
Some wear braids, others let their hair fall in silken waves, and a few have pinned theirs in elegant twists.
Yet the effect is the same: they look rehearsed. Placed. A room full of white hair and insincere smiles.
My fingers twitch before I force them still, gripping the silk of my gown as though it might anchor me. This isn’t a dinner, I realize, it’s a parade of my replacements.
A cold hollowness spreads through my chest, warring with the sharp sting of betrayal. Was it always meant to be this easy? For them to erase me and offer someone softer, simpler, more acceptable to the throne?
Something inside me screams to turn and leave, to flee before anyone sees the hurt twisting through me. But a heavy, wordless presence lingers at my side. Kaelzar.
His silent nearness steadies me, allowing my defiance to root me in place against the quiet humiliation of being so easily cast aside.
Rows of duennas line the walls, seated primly with folded arms, their watchful eyes sweeping the room for even the faintest hint of impropriety. At the center of the hall, several young women twirl to the music, while platters of untouched food line the tables in lavish excess.
The nobles haven’t wasted a moment. With me pushed aside, they parade their daughters before the newly available king, each one hoping to secure her place as the next queen. The Consul will see to it that my absence doesn’t leave the position empty for long.
I squeeze Eva’s hand in silent thanks for insisting I freshen up, though the gesture feels small, almost laughable, against such a dazzling display.
I should have expected this. Still, I feel woefully out of place.
A whisper of my arrival slithers through the crowd. A noblewoman leans toward her companion, eyes flicking toward me before she murmurs something behind her fan. A man at the far end smirks, raising his goblet in a silent toast to my humiliation.
The whispers grow, rippling outward until the chatter fades entirely. Heads turn. Eyes follow.
Amid the sea of white-haired women, a clear path opens to Ryker. He stands at the far end of the hall, engrossed in conversation with Mael and a noblewoman fluttering her lashes at him.
The sight of her sends a blade of resentment twisting through me. But it isn’t only her.
It’s him. His silence. His ease.
Then Ryker turns.
My breath catches.
For a single, reckless moment, I let myself believe—hope—that I’ll see something in his face. That his gaze will soften, that there will be more than duty and distance in his eyes.
Our eyes meet across the room, and for an instant, surprise stirs there, warmth and recognition I once knew so well. But as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. His expression hardens, the warmth draining from his features until they’re carved from stone. The chill of it sinks into my bones.
I was foolish to hope.
Of course he wouldn’t welcome me back. The rift between us, one I tore open with my own hands, was never meant to close so easily. And now, reminded of everything I’ve done, of everything I’ve become, he looks at me as if I were a stranger.
But before I can move, something seizes me. An invisible force snaps through the air, latches onto me and yanks me backward with brutal speed. The dining hall blurs, chandeliers and startled faces streaking into ribbons of gold before the world collapses into suffocating black.
The last thing I see is Mael stepping in front of the king, arm outstretched, signaling the guards forward, as if to shield him.
From me.