Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Jesenia stood near the plaza, her arms full of freshly cleaned folded linens, when a sound rolled down the narrow streets.
It was a jagged, uneven roar that split into fragments she couldn’t yet make out.
Then came the pounding of boots against cobblestone, the rush of bodies pressing into one another, voices rising sharp and panicked into the cool air.
She dropped the linens without thinking, weaving through the cluster of people until the street opened into a corridor of chaos.
It was worry over grain rations. The commotion always began with food.
Dozens of Solmiris’s citizens surged against the low market walls, their anger loud and sharp as they shouted accusations at the refugees clustered defensively near the steps.
Someone had screamed thief, and the word caught like fire in hay.
Stones clattered against the worn brick, children cried, and hands gripped whatever they could find to hold as weapons.
And then the banners appeared—crimson and ivory, the Hastati moving in formation, halberds catching the weak sunlight. Val-Theris was with them.
He walked ahead of the line of soldiers, pale wings drawn wide, his presence like thunder rolling into the storm. The sound of him moving through the crowd wasn’t just command, it was gravity, pulling everything into stillness as he passed.
The citizens fell back in restless murmurs, some lowering their fists, others shifting uneasily but refusing to yield. Jesenia saw the soldiers form a shielded line at the base of the steps, keeping the two groups apart, the hum of tension vibrating sharp beneath the quiet.
One of the merchants spat toward the ground at Val-Theris’s feet.
“Protecting them again,” the man said, his voice rough, bitter. Val-Theris’s head lifted, his gaze steady and unyielding as he turned to face the man directly. A soldier stepped forward to detain the man, but the king stopped him with a raised hand.
“We are one people within these walls,” he said, his voice calm but edged in steel, carrying easily through the square.
The merchant’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more.
Behind the wall of guards, Jesenia pushed her way forward, her shawl clutched tightly around her shoulders. She’d thought—foolishly, perhaps—that staying quiet would keep her unseen, but the closer she came to the king, the louder the whispers, darting like embers through the crowd.
Lunarethians spoke with awe: That’s her. The Angel’s voice. She walks the palace halls.
And then, sharper from the Imperial edge of the square: The foreigner. She speaks in his ear. This is her doing.
Heat prickled against Jesenia’s skin, her pulse rising beneath the weight of too many eyes. She wanted to melt back into shadow, but Val-Theris’s gaze had already found her, and that single look only spurred the unrest forward.
The riot didn’t break. The air remained sharp and dangerous, the threat of violence lingering above them all. The guards began dispersing citizens in either direction, separating Imperial-born from refugees, voices hard and clipped as they forced distance.
“Get her out of here,” Val-Theris murmured low but firm to Rohannes. The words reached Jesenia across the space between them, and for a heartbeat, she froze.
Rohannes approached, gesturing her toward the palace gates beyond the plaza, but she shook her head, her voice breaking out sharper than she intended.
“I’m not leaving them.”
Rohannes glanced toward Val-Theris for confirmation.
He met Jesenia’s eyes for a measured moment before giving a single small nod.
He had more important things to worry about, and Jesenia knew this argument was not worth the time.
The rise of clashing voices already swallowed them both whole, and bodies pressed against bodies separated them in the narrow streets.
Solmiris’s citizens shoved against refugee barricades, steel and wood slamming against makeshift shields, voices sharp with fear and hatred.
Jesenia moved through the chaos with her shawl drawn tight, weaving between frightened children and screaming mothers, shouting until her voice was raw, trying to pull her people back from the fray.
“Stop—please, stop!” she begged, her words nearly swallowed by the roar of the crowd. “This isn’t the way!”
But no one was listening anymore, too caught up in their own hatred to care about anything else.
A heavy stone struck the wall beside her, splintering in a spray of dust. The second hit closer, clipping the edge of her shoulder, sending her stumbling into the crush of bodies as pain shot sharp down her arm.
Jesenia gasped, forcing herself upright, but before she could retreat, someone shoved her hard from behind.
It was likely an accident, but with so many people in the streets, the force pushed her to her knees.
Her joints scraped the cobblestone ground as she fell, the heat of the crowd pressing in until she could barely breathe.
For a moment, everything blurred—the rocks, the noise, the bodies surging and shouting around her. It was just like the chaos when Lunareth fell, only worse this time, for her people would have nowhere to go if they were abandoned.
Her vision swam as she pulled herself up onto her hands, her breath ragged, the sting of her scraped palms mixing with the sharp ache radiating down her shoulder.
The Hastati forced their way through the chaos, halberds raised, gold armor flashing in the sun as they drove the crowd back in a wall of steel and force. Shouts turned to screams as bodies pressed against each other, the narrow street dissolving into violence.
“Clear the square! Now!” Rohannes roared, his voice cutting through the square.
A familiar voice followed, deeper, sharper, closer: “Jesenia!”
She turned her head sharply, vision swimming.
Val-Theris moved like a blade through the chaos, his pale wings spread wide, sunlight catching along the ivory curve of each feather as he forced his way toward her.
His soldiers formed a line at his back, cutting a clean path through the still dense but scattering crowd, but his focus never wavered from her.
He reached her in a rush, dropping to one knee, his hand cupping her cheek immediately as his gaze scanned the shallow cut blooming red against her temple and the bruise at her cheek that she only just realized was there.
Val-Theris breathed heavy, and though his voice was soft, there was something wild beneath it, a tremor he couldn’t disguise. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“I’m fine,” she rasped, her voice rough from shouting, her breath uneven. “It’s nothing.”
He tilted her chin gently, his thumb brushing the edge of blood near her hairline, his jaw tightening. “This is not nothing.”
“I was only trying to—”
“You were in the middle of a riot,” Val-Theris said, his voice rising sharper than he intended before softening again, ragged and low. “You could have been trampled. Killed.”
His wings curved around them instinctively, creating a fragile shield from the chaos still unfolding in the square, the soft sweep of feathers brushing against her back as if to anchor her in his orbit.
“Why are they doing this?” Jesenia whispered finally, her throat tight as she steadied herself with one hand against his arm. “Why can’t they see this isn’t us?”
Val-Theris’s gaze lifted beyond her, scanning the street, the scattered remnants of overturned carts and broken glass and stones.
“They do see,” he said softly, his voice carrying something quiet and terrible beneath it. “They just don’t care.”
He rose, pulling Jesenia carefully to her feet, steadying her when her balance faltered. His hand lingered against her waist as he turned sharply to the Angelicus Prime, his voice carrying steel now.
“Lock down the quarter,” he ordered. Then, louder, so the lingering crowd could hear: “You’re all under curfew. Anyone out after dark will be detained until morning.”
Rohannes and what loyal men followed bowed sharply and vanished into the chaos, shouting commands as they pushed the last stragglers out of the square.
When Val-Theris turned back to her, his expression was stripped raw beneath the rigid control. His thumb brushed faintly along her cheek again, his voice quieter now, almost breaking around the edges.
“Let me help you. Please,” he whispered, the words pulled from somewhere deeper than his throat.
Jesenia blinked, startled by the weight of them, her throat aching as she searched his face. “Okay,” she said softly, though even she didn’t believe it would help the situation to receive his care.
Val-Theris exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening faintly as his gaze dropped to where blood had dried against her temple. With a hand on the small of her back, and his wings shielding most of her body, he led her back up through the terraces and into his citadel.
Despite the opulence of the structure, the palace walls felt smaller than they had ever been.
Val-Theris gave her a room of her own, and commanded her to sit on the plush bed. Her shawl fell to the quilt, and she didn’t have the strength to pull it back over her shoulders. Her scraped palms still stung faintly where bits of stone and dirt clung to the wounds.
Outside her chamber windows, the city murmured like a restless beast—distant shouts and muffled cries drifting faintly upward toward them, never allowing them to forget what lingered there.
She hadn’t spoken since she arrived. Not when the healer wrapped her shoulder and cleaned her hands. Not when the servants offered her hot soup. Val-Theris stood in the corner, his wings furled tightly behind him as though holding himself together by force.
“They hate us,” Jesenia whispered when they were alone once more, her hands clutching the folds of her skirt until the fabric wrinkled beneath her grip.
Val-Theris turned sharply from the window, his jaw tense, but he didn’t interrupt.