Chapter 17 #2
He kissed her hard, one hand sliding into her hair, the other gripping her waist exactly where it had been in the water. Sabine kissed him back just as hard, her hands going into his coat, pulling him closer.
The mark on her palm flared hot.
Lucien backed her against the cold stone pillar. The contrast between freezing stone and his body made her gasp against his mouth. He took advantage, kissing deeper, his hand tightening in her hair.
Sabine bit his lower lip.
He made a rough sound and his mouth moved to her throat, kissing down to where her pulse hammered visibly.
The bond pulsed between them, making every touch feel sharper, hotter, more necessary than it should.
Sabine dragged him back to her mouth, refusing to let him retreat, her fingers working open the fastenings of his coat because she needed skin, needed heat, needed him closer than fabric allowed.
His hand slid from her waist to her hip, then higher, fingers pressing against her ribs where the bruises were worst.
She should have flinched.
Instead she arched into his touch, and Lucien groaned against her throat.
The river wind cut across the balcony, cold and sharp, but Sabine barely felt it because Lucien was burning hot against her and the mark was flaring with every place their bodies met.
Then he pulled back.
Not far. Just enough to stop.
His breathing was ragged. His hand was still in her hair. His forehead rested against hers.
“If I keep touching you here,” he said roughly, “I will forget where we are.”
Sabine’s fingers tightened in his shirt. “Maybe I want you to.”
“That is exactly why I have to remember.” He stepped back carefully, his hand sliding from her hair to her marked palm. “We are on a palace balcony. Anyone looking from the right window can see us. And the temple is already preparing to use the Blackwater retrieval against you.”
Sabine forced herself to breathe normally.
He was right.
She hated that he was right.
“The music,” she said. “Lysa helped me dry it near the fire. There was a message beneath the notes.”
Lucien went still. “What message.”
“Not the first. Not the last.”
His face drained of color.
“Isolde knew,” Sabine continued quietly. “She knew the rite had consumed women before her. She tried to leave warning for whoever came next.”
Lucien turned and gripped the balcony railing hard enough that his knuckles went white. “How many.”
“I do not know. But the Blackwater shrine is old. Older than the current version of the Trials. If the temple has been controlling what gets recovered and what gets recorded, there could be more hidden.”
“The circlet fragment went into Serast’s custody.”
“Yes. But I still have the music.” Sabine touched the false lining of her sleeve where she had tucked the dried strip temporarily. “And the message is clear enough. Isolde was part of a pattern.”
Lucien stared down at the black water moving below. “We need Elara. She can help decode the musical notation and cross-reference bride records in the archive. If there are other women who vanished or died under suspicious circumstances, the pattern should be visible once we know what to look for.”
“Serast will notice if I start researching dead brides.”
“Then we do it carefully. Through Elara. Through servants who can access records without temple oversight.” He turned back to her. “But we do not let the temple isolate you before the next trial. Whatever Serast summons you for tomorrow, I will be there.”
“That will make it worse.”
“I no longer care about making it worse. I care about keeping you alive long enough to break the rite that killed Isolde and will kill you if we let it proceed unchallenged.”
Sabine crossed to him and took his hand. The mark pulsed where their palms met.
“Then we do this together,” she said. “No more pretending distance will protect us. The court already knows. The temple already knows. We might as well use what they see.”
Lucien pulled her against him briefly, his arms wrapping around her in a way that felt less like passion and more like fear he would not voice.
“Do not let Serast take the music,” he said against her hair. “Whatever he threatens. Whatever he offers. That message is proof, and proof is the only weapon we have.”
Sabine nodded against his chest.
Then she stepped back before anyone watching from the palace could see them standing like lovers above the river that had tried to claim her.
Lysa was waiting when Sabine returned to her chamber.
On the desk sat a sealed temple notice.
Sabine broke it open.
High Hierophant Serast requested Sabine’s presence at dawn in the Consecration Hall.
Reason: irregularities in the Blackwater retrieval requiring formal review.
Sabine set the summons down carefully and crossed to her travel case. She opened the false lining and withdrew the dried strip of music.
The message was still visible beneath the notes.
Not the first. Not the last.
“He knows you found something,” Lysa said quietly.
“Yes.”
“And he will demand you surrender it.”
“Yes.”
Sabine tucked the music back into its hiding place and locked the case.
Outside, the Blackwater moved through the city in the dark, carrying whatever memories the shrine beneath the temple chose to preserve.
The river had not finished with her.
Neither had the temple.
But now she had proof that the rite had been consuming women long before Lucien’s first bride entered the Vow Chamber.
And proof was a blade that could cut both ways.