FIVE #4
“What exactly,” Broderic says through barely moving lips, “is he talking about?”
What happened to the ritual not being a test?
Because I sure as hell feel like I failed.
I force my mouth into a smile and meet the king’s eyes.
Behind the laughter, there’s something darker that nearly sends my knees buckling.
“You’re mistaken, Your Majesty. I saved your bird.
” I can’t help glancing at Bishop. He’s not hiding behind a hood tonight, but his expression is so unreadable that he’s basically wearing a mask. “I was expected to kill it.”
The king’s amusement deepens. “Then I suppose I’ll be in your debt … if we ever find the creature.”
I hope they never do. I swallow and incline my head, trying to keep my mouth shut.
“We can always catch another,” Bishop says in a gravelly voice that sends a shiver dancing down my neck.
King Ophelian beams at the most dangerous man in the room, looking like a small child about to pat a rabid dog.
My gaze flicks back to Bishop’s. He’s only slightly older than the king, but he holds himself with the vigilance of a warrior.
Even now, Bishop seems to be bracing for a fight.
The king, on the other hand, looks like he’s never seen one.
There’s something so innocent in his shining eyes that I can’t stop myself.
“If I can be so bold, I might be more careful with my next pet if I were you.” The warning slips out of me.
“Indeed.” His face lights up like I’ve delivered another joke, and he almost laughs before catching himself. “I look forward to attending your ritual tonight, Lady Icaros. Thank you again for saving my bird.”
He tips his head to signal he’s done speaking with us.
Broderic steers me away swiftly, his grip on my hand still painfully tight.
Behind us, laughter spills from the royal table, and my cheeks burn even hotter than before.
We pass the first table of nobles, and they lean toward each other, murmuring in lowered voices.
But every one of them has their eyes on me.
It’s the same with the next table and the one after.
It seems Petitions aren’t really private.
Or about responsibility. Or whatever other bullshit they’ve swallowed that justifies exchanging cruelty for power.
I lift my chin and focus my attention straight ahead, trying to ignore the whispers. Part of me wants to walk right out of this ballroom, say fuck tonight’s ritual and fuck them all, especially Bishop.
Our family’s magic has waned so much in the last few generations that honestly, I probably do more in the fields to feed the kingdom than my brother does with his nochtimetry.
I hold my head high, refusing to look at any of them. It was all a game to the king, and why wouldn’t it be? It’s easy to sit on a throne and sacrifice what you claim to love when the world conspires to give you whatever you wish. What is one dead bird when another can be caught?
Broderic drags me away from the crowd before leaning in to snap in a low voice, “You let it go? There’s only one task in the Petition, and you didn’t perform it?”
Until now, I hadn’t allowed myself to believe Broderic had known about the sacrifice—let alone performed it himself. I stare at my brother, afraid that I’ll never see him the same way again. I shake my head, searching his face. “Why kill something just because you’re holding a knife?”
“To prove you can follow orders, Arden!” He pinches the bridge of his nose like one of his headaches is forming.
It probably is. My siblings and I are usually the leading cause of them.
“I was told to do what I had to do.” Perhaps our instructions were different. Maybe all of this is just a big misunderstanding. “Killing a bird wouldn’t show the Stars I’m ready for my magic.”
Broderic’s face softens. “Sometimes unpleasant things must be done for the greater good.”
“You really made the sacrifice, didn’t you?” I ask softly, unsure I want him to answer.
He takes a deep breath. “Yes, Arden.” His gaze sweeps around the room. “We all did. No one wants to anger the Stars.”
It takes me a moment to realize the sadness in his voice isn’t over what he did. It’s for me—for my failure.
My nerves wind tighter as neither of us speaks until we finally make our way back to our table, but the whispering continues in our wake.
“What did you say to King Ophelian?” Isidore asks as I take my seat. Broderic cuts her off with a single sharp look.
The first course arrives—delicate arrangements of things I can’t identify.
I’m dimly aware of Andry groaning and Isidore chastising him.
But my thoughts are far away from here, circling somewhere distantly like that bird in the night sky.
When I finally force myself back to the present, force myself to smile, force myself to eat despite the churning in my stomach, I can’t help but look at the king’s table to find him and the rest of his table casually feasting like all of this is normal. All of them but one, that is.
Bishop Marius is watching me.