35. Luna
LUNA
Cheers ring out as the ceremony ends, but it’s the feminine wail piercing through the roar that catches my focus. Loud and shrill, like the woman’s vocal cords shredded on the first scream—an agony as recognizable to the ears as it is foreign to the heart.
Everyone ignores her. If it weren’t my hands responsible, I would too.
My eyes sweep the crowd as Thorne jumps into the arena. The smiles of the relieved shelter the source of the cries, and not a single wayward glance hints at the location of Alaric’s loved one.
My stomach curdles as Thorne steps over Alaric’s boots on his way to me. I’m standing tall, but he cradles my face as if I can barely stand.
“Are you okay?” he whispers. Crinkles fan from chocolate eyes; his lips ease in a pouted frown. All concern. All pain.
Later, I will tell him my ribs are fractured. That my injuries were worse than I realized, and that’s why Alaric managed to get to me.
“You’ve turned your back on the body,” I say—or maybe scowl—as I shove his giant hands off my face. Before he can correct his mistake, I step from behind his looming form.
I lift up my arms just as my father had and try to find him in the crowd. When our eyes lock, I hold his gaze.
“This is not a time for celebration,” I call out to my people. The cheers die a slow, halfhearted death. “This is a time for mourning.”
Father frowns. Openly, which is unlike him.
My arms lower as I roam my gaze through the crowd, searching for the hushed sobs of the—
There.
Three rows back, a set of clothed knees peek through a forest of legs.
“Today, we lost a brother. A warrior. And a friend… It brings me no comfort to be free of his loyalty nor his valor, and because you have trusted me with the safe-keeping of our home, I feel it is my duty to be transparent.”
Cupping my hands around my back, I roam the outer part of the circle. Every time my gaze draws to the sobs, I force my spine straight.
“Alaric was a good man who died because he followed orders that were not mine. I am not regretful of these actions. I cannot promise you a future where I will not take similar action.”
I stop, twist, and inhale a deep breath. “To follow a leader out of respect is patriotism. To follow one out of fear is tyranny. I have no desire to be a tyrant to my beloved people, and so I encourage you, I beg of you my dear brothers and sisters…” I spin on my heel.
“Those who believe my actions to be oppressive, stand up for our people and break your clay. I will accept all challengers at once, and in my final moments, you will know I honor the wishes of the Shadow Sanctum. For the unit must come before the self. Only then will we prosper.”
As I raise my hands one last time, people chant—no, yell, the words ingrained into all of us. “The Unit before the self!”
I feel their enthusiasm, their love for our home, and I let it wash over me. Let it fill the hole in my gut and smooth the wrinkles from my brow. I have half a smile when Alaric’s mate stands and pierces me with a stare.
My lips fall as I watch her turn and shove past onlookers, not even waiting for her love to be carried away.
Four Keepers step forward to lift Alaric’s body up while the crowd bows their heads to honor him.
I bow mine as well, but as soon as he’s through the gap people make, I take off toward the Keep.
“My love,” Thorne says as he takes my arm.
I pull away without giving him a glance—and to my surprise, he lets me go.
As I approach the Keep, my head tilts at Aiden who paces the porch with wild hair pulled from his usual ponytail. He doesn’t see me as my steps slow to a crawl.
Sawyer.
“Aiden?” I call.
He whips toward me, arms as stiff as steel. As soon as he registers who’s approaching, he releases his fists. “Your Grace.”
It takes all my concentration not to trip as I climb the stairs.
Sawyer.
“They told me you were fighting tonight… I was worried.”
“Is everything all right?” I ask, my voice somehow even. “Why weren’t you at the ceremony?”
Sawyer.
He grabs at his beard like he’s catching a fly, pink lips parting. In the second it takes him to respond, my lungs clench with a breath. “I tried, but… You said you wanted me to retrieve the new initiate.”
I wait for him to say more. But he doesn’t.
My shoulders fall as I release my breath.
The new initiate.
“You should save your concern for more serious issues.” My voice is five degrees too cold. I rub from my elbow to my shoulder before forcing my hands to my side. “But I’m sorry I worried you… I forgot the initiate requested we move up the day.”
My gaze moves to the door. Mr. Sanchez will be waiting for me in the sitting room now. I picture him in the loveseat, his back warmed by the fire. Or in the chair Cinder prefers, feet propped on a stool. It’s a stark contrast to the welcome arranged for—
No.
I’ve got to stop thinking about him.
Not everything must be tied to his existence.
“You should’ve asked me to fight.” Aiden lets go of his beard. “Any grievance you have is mine, Your Grace.”
“The prisoners needed time… That’s all I was doing.”
His eyes roam my battered face. The longer he looks, the more his face sinks, though it shouldn’t be too much worse from earlier.
I’d refrained from wiping the blood off my chin when I went to him for help, my hand clutching my side as I let every jab of pain flicker in my expression.
As if I’d need sympathy to get Aiden’s cooperation. His loyalty is matched only by Thorne.
“I wouldn’t start a fight I couldn’t win.” My feet turn toward the door. What a cowardly thing to say. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
I climb the last step but pause when Aiden calls for me.
Seconds tick while he works up the courage to say what he probably shouldn’t. I don’t rush him. The waiting initiate is the last thing I want to deal with tonight.
Finally…
“Are we doing the right thing?”
I don’t turn toward him. My tongue pushes along the bottom of my lip, tasting blood as I consider an acceptable answer.
It’s only a few seconds before I decide there is none and carry on into my home.
Are we doing the right thing?
I can’t answer it for Aiden, so instead I try to answer it for myself as I walk to the sitting room.
No. We aren’t.
To betray the Chief Elder is to betray the Shadow Sanctum.
And yet…
Is it possible for the wrong thing to feel right? To be confident in the choice anyway?
When is rebellion seen as noble and when is it seen as treachery?
I don’t have the answers for this. Not for either of us.
Mr. Sanchez stands facing the fireplace with a scotch in his hand, contraband of the worst kind. But necessary for this step. One must bait the hook to catch the fish.
And this fish…
This one I cannot lose.
His side profile shows a striking man with pristine brown hair combed over his head, flecks of gray he’s too confident to dye trading youth for power.
I come to a stop and let myself hover undetected.
It’s rare for me to see a man in a suit, but even with little practice, I can tell this man has his perfectly tailored.
It hugs an athletic build in all the right places and its navy color seems to match the silver band on his wrist by design.
“Hello.” I make my voice warmer than usual. As he turns to me, I try to smile, but it’s quickly smothered by a strike to my chest.
Caramel eyes take me in with a gaze somehow both relaxed—for him—and immobilizing—for anyone else.
They’re serious, his eyes. A window into an impure soul, speaking of danger, of authority, of complete and utter power. After months staring into the disarming blue irises of a charmer, it’s easy to look into the surety in this man’s gaze. His wealth, in an instant, makes sense.
He doesn’t return the greeting. Doesn’t bother to smile. I don’t imagine he’s gone a day in his life when he felt it was necessary to waste words, as evidenced by the seal of his lips and the firmness of his posture. I get a rush of respect, a sense of familiarity.
This man and I will get along.
“I’m Luna.” I extend my hand. “Welcome to the Shadow Sanctum, Mr. Sanchez.”
I don’t bother to add warmth to my voice. He doesn’t seem to need it.
He places his warm palm in mine, sending a dull buzz up my arm and down my spine. Nothing like the electric pulse I suffered with the last initiate. My heart rate never jumps, my skin never heats.
Yes. Good things are to come.
“Please… Call me Andre.”
To Be Continued…
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