EIGHT #2
Patron Calix glances toward me, his eyes narrowing. “Isn’t it, though?”
“What are you saying?” Broderic asks, planting his hands on the polished tabletop.
Patron Calix’s thin lips curl into a vicious smile, revealing large, uneven front teeth. “Do you mean to claim the witch?”
“If you mean my sister—” Broderic stops himself. He drags in a deep breath before continuing with a more measured tone. “What does my sister have to do with the king’s assassination?”
“He was killed with the dagger from the Kindling.” Patron Velesont draws out each word, his eyes narrowing on me. Dread coils tightly beneath my ribs. “Your sister was the last one to use it.”
“It’s also missing,” Patron Calix adds, as though stealing the weapon might be a worse crime.
“Seriously?” I blurt out, and my brother kicks me under the table.
“Are you accusing my family of stealing a ceremonial dagger? Really?” Broderic scoffs, but he shoots me a sideways glance.
“What would we need it for? Tilling the soil?” I ask, and Broderic kicks me again. Harder this time.
Patron Calix leans forward. “It is covered in jewels.”
“And?” Broderic asks, his eyebrows shooting up.
He hasn’t figured it out yet, but I have. Because it’s always there, lingering under the surface. We might as well hang a sign around our necks.
We’re poor.
“Talk to your family,” I spit back at Patron Calix. “Your initiate Dimitri tried to kill me with it.” I turn a furious glare to Bishop. “Tell him.”
But Bishop’s face remains a stony mask as Calix snarls, “No one in my family would—”
“How dare you,” my brother cuts him off, pounding on the table like he’s finally taken offense. Nice of him to catch up. “You’re accusing my family of killing our king for some bloody jewels, you—you—”
“Gentlemen,” Queen Selestina interjects. “There has been enough ugliness tonight. We are equals here. Let’s act like it.”
Next to her, the patrons of Leontia and Velesont share a meaningful look, but they don’t say anything.
“I’m merely pointing out the obvious.” Patron Calix swivels his attention to the queen.
“The Stars tried to warn us.” He jabs a bony finger in my direction.
“We’ve seen an increase in raids on our southern border.
You’ve seen the reports. The Stars marked her as a harbinger to warn us war is coming. ”
“They marked her as a Ravenell,” Bishop corrects.
For a moment, Patron Calix hesitates, like he’s unsure whether or not to risk contradicting him despite the fact that Bishop is half his age.
“Yes, well, Ravenell or not,” the queen says, “Bishop is right. Order Icaros would not have stolen the dagger.”
I bite my lip. Not a thief. She didn’t say anything about murderer.
“But they cursed her, my queen. No one has been marked by Ravenell in more than five hundred years.” He shakes his head, glancing at the others for support. “We all know the history. And now the king is dead?”
The others begin to murmur, and Broderic shifts nervously in his seat.
But Queen Selestina raises a hand to silence the room. “It’s not for us to question the Stars.”
“Of course you’re right, Your Majesty.” Patron Velesont inclines his gray head, already attempting to slither into her good graces. I guess you don’t get to his advanced age without knowing exactly whose ass to kiss.
“Why now?” asks Patron Leontia, her brown hair still plaited into a long silky braid like she came straight from bed. She spares a sympathetic glance at me, ever the healer. “I’m not saying it isn’t strange, mind you. But for all of this to happen in one night seems … convenient.”
Honestly, I agree with her.
I’m not about to say that out loud.
“The only explanation is that it’s a sign of the return of—” Patron Velesont starts.
“It’s hardly the only explanation.” Bishop cuts him off. “And I’ll remind you, not all of us are patrons.”
He means me. I’m not a patron. I sit up a little straighter, wondering what Patron Velesont was about to let slip.
“It could be someone from the Lost Continent,” Broderic suggests. “Maybe they heard the rumors that Antares plans to build settlements.”
“If that’s the case,” Patron Calix says with a sneer, “it is an act of war. And that still makes her a harbinger.” He flicks a finger at me again, and my control slips.
“It’s not polite to point,” I say through gritted teeth. This earns me everyone’s attention. Broderic clears his throat, but I ignore the warning. “Why are you so worried about an omen? People think they see them all the time.”
But Patron Calix is unruffled, his beady eyes squinting at me. “They must not teach history in Damalis.”
“I guess I skipped the day we studied ancient superstitions.” If I’m going to be condemned, it’s not going to be by a man like him.
Bishop hesitates, then says, “A harbinger foretold the coming of the Last War.”
“And there hasn’t been one for five hundred years,” Patron Leontia says calmly. She reaches over and pats the queen’s hand. “The rumors can be squashed before this reaches a head. What happened tonight is a tragedy, but we do not have to allow more violence.”
“An execution is hardly violence,” Patron Velesont says, stroking his thumb over his cane’s rounded handle.
Execution. My mouth goes dry as I suddenly understand what we’re really debating.
Patron Calix nods in agreement, a rabid gleam in his dark eyes. “If we do nothing, that sends a message.”
They both want me dead. I clutch my armrests to stay upright. Two of the patrons will vote to execute. Even if Bishop sides with Broderic … I shake away the thought. I won’t fear two greedy old men suffering a bout of irrationality.
“And what message will executing her send?” Bishop leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his blue eyes stony.
This time, Patron Velesont doesn’t shrink from him. Instead, he whacks the handle of his cane on the table. “That we take security seriously. I should think that’s a message you would be eager to send.”
The certainty I’ve been clinging to cracks, and something inside me wavers—just for a second, but it’s enough.
“What are you implying?” Bishop arches a brow.
“Perhaps being patron and bishop is too much responsibility. If Order Marius isn’t up to the task of protecting our king, even …” He taps his cane again, smiling like he’s already won.
The little snake waited to strike, but Bishop shrugs a shoulder. “Your concern is noted. Perhaps we could alleviate some of the strain on my troops by removing the ones stationed in Isoldoro.”
The older patron stills, the strike landing. Velesont’s province is a cluster of wealthy islands that oversees all trade in Antares. If enemies from the Lost Continent or beyond attack, they’ll likely be hit first.
“Not with a war about to begin, if it hasn’t already,” Patron Velesont backtracks, clearly realizing the same thing. He looks toward the queen, his knuckles going white around his cane, but his gaze travels past her to the high vesper. “What do the Stars say?”
The high vesper places his hands on the back of the queen’s chair and meets my eyes.
My pulse stutters as he measures me. Wisdom reflects back at me, ancient and patient despite his age, as though the years spent in that spiraling tower with the Stars have prepared him for this precise moment. “No cycle has begun.”
“But she is marked a Ravenell. She will cause another war,” Patron Calix says, lifting his bushy eyebrows.
The high vesper looks down his long nose at him. “That remains to be seen.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing up there?” Patron Calix needles him. “Seeing these things? You’re saying that you didn’t see that star in the Night’s Scar?”
Queen Selestina flinches, wincing slightly like the words sting. “Enough.” Her chin quivers. “The high vesper has spoken.”
Relief leaks through me.
And apparently, that’s that—until Patron Velesont taps his cane loudly on the floor.
I really hate that fucking cane. “Her magic hasn’t manifested yet.
That is precisely why we act now. A Ravenell with fully awakened magic …
” He pauses like he’s giving us time to remember every terrifying story we’ve ever heard about the witches.
“Executing her may be the only way to stop the cycle from beginning. Are you willing to risk that?”
The words land like a punch to my gut. I should have known it wouldn’t be as simple as one person’s verdict. I glance around the table at Patrons Calix and Leontia, even the queen, and for the first time, all of them look nervous. Fear floods through me, and I turn toward Broderic.
The panic in his eyes is somehow worse than anything on their faces. As if he’s watching someone slam a door he can’t reach in time.
Something inside me gives way, threatening to drag my body down with it. My shoulders sag as it hits me.
I’m not leaving Wintour with my family.
Not alive, anyway.
“Harbinger or not, the Stars chose her,” Bishop counters, then hesitates before adding, “and executing her might begin the cycle.”
What is this starsdamned cycle? I turn to ask, but Patron Velesont grunts, “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“No one is executing my sister,” Broderic says with quiet firmness.
“That will be up to a vote,” Patron Calix says, one corner of his mouth turning up cruelly. “Her magic won’t stay quiet forever. We don’t know what she’ll become. I’d rather end this while we still can.”
I should be running or fighting or throwing my chair through the window.
But my body won’t move as I listen to them discuss the relative merits of murdering me for participating in their stupid ritual.
I stare at my hands on the table. There’s still dirt under my fingernails from this afternoon.
That alley and the thief seem like a lifetime ago.
I fought then. Why am I just sitting here now?
Why does it feel like all the forces of the heavens have strapped me to this chair and cut out my tongue? Speak. But I don’t know what to say.