The rest of my first day as heir flies by like a strange dream—like I’m living someone else’s life.
I’m not alone for a second.
Uniform fittings, tactical meetings, general battle plans (I’m not privy to the secret kind yet) … all of it while surrounded by Imperi guards, palace staff, and Salazar—Raevald’s personal assistant and my official handler. Of course, everyone is talking about the Return of the Heir Offering.
And each time it’s mentioned my stomach turns more and more sour.
I’m having a hell of a time separating myself from this heir person who’s going to have someone sacrificed in his honor. The guy who reveled with the High Regent over the gruesome fate of his closest friend.
But I keep reminding myself: 1. This isn’t the real you. 2. It’s only a means to a greater end. 3. The first moment you’re not surrounded, you’re going to search for Veda. 4. For now, do not think about or speak her name.
Point four is the hardest.
Point four is the most painful.
Point four is a lost cause.
I’m deep in survival mode, and it’s not even been a full day.
My room here in the High Regent’s palace is twice the size of the space I called my own the past eighteen years. Nothing is familiar. Not one item my own. Raevald offered to have my things moved here, but I declined. In part so he understands I’m starting anew and also to remind myself of that same fact.
I cannot get too comfortable in this role, because the moment I do will be the moment I let my guard down and accidentally sabotage everything. This thing I’m doing isn’t some game. It’s real. More serious a responsibility than I’ve ever taken on.
I stand at the window, look out over a midwinter Bellona afternoon, the land that will supposedly be mine one day. I can hear Raevald reacting to that thought as clear as day: If and only if you make the right choices, Mr. Denali.
Whatever those might be. I refuse to speculate.
As the Sun slowly sets, one by one, the lamps lining the walk leading up to the palace are lit. Fog mingles with the smoke of battle and hovers low over the ground. Everything is gray, muted, either covered in ash, dirt-soiled snow, or shadow. But among the gray I’m able to make out the place where a large crowd was gathered outside the palace gates until they were eventually forced away.
It’s vacant now but branches of pine, bouquets made from winterberry twigs, as well as handwritten signs welcoming back the heir, praising the Sun and condemning the Night, remain as proof they gathered there a good while.
The room, like the rest of the house, is all gold and ivory and sterile. Pretentious. There’s a bookshelf full of thick tomes. Lots of open floor space, you know, in case I decide to throw a banquet or something. A dresser, a closet twice the size of the bait stand where Veda used to work, and, of course, an ornate and separate sitting area.
Utterly exhausted, I fold into one of two lush chairs before the hearth. The image of Veda’s face on that posting, Raevald’s joviality when he told me Bellonians would vote on one of two horrible fates for her, haunts my mind.
But I can’t sit still.
I stand back up.
Pace back and forth before the fire.
Check the hourglass on the mantel.
I’ve got an hour at most before Salazar will collect me for a private dinner with the High Regent himself.
It’s risky. Probably stupid.
Definitely stupid.
But I can’t pace this floor all evening. Not when I know Veda’s somewhere here—under this same roof.
Without another thought, I march to the door. Open it a crack and listen.
All is quiet.
But my nerves falter the moment I leave the bedroom.
The hallway is silent. Vacant. Still, it’s as if eyes are always on me.
I force myself to put the idea out of my head.
This is why I’m here—to find Veda.
Besides, I have to assume most everyone is preparing for dinner, yes?
Yes, I answer myself. Not overly convincing, but I move swiftly down the hallway.
Thankful for the carpet that lines the marble floors, I walk swiftly. First order of business is to get as far away from the household wing as possible. Find my way down below the palace to a cellar or basement, tunnels maybe, where prisoners would likely be kept.
The palace is naturally dark. Lamps line the walls and what little sunlight that’s left of the day filters through the thick curtains, which have already been drawn for the evening. Sunrise flowers adorn the random hallway table or shelf attempting to warm this ever-chilly place. There must be a special building here that’s kept warm where they grow the flowers indoors because there’s not a bud or green leaf left in nature. Not between the cold and smoke and lingering musk of explosives.
Straightening my shoulders, coming up with a story should I be stopped—I’m restless and in need of a cup of tea before dinner … I’m searching for Salazar, I have an important question … I’m lost, could you please help me find my room … I have much on my mind and do my best thinking while walking—I pick up the pace. If I run into anyone it will likely be one of the staff or a low-ranking guard, and I don’t see either questioning me too much.
Like a quiet mouse, I lightly march along the hall, down a set of stairs, then past several closed doors. I take note of my route, leave mental breadcrumbs so I’m certain I can find my way back. It’s when I round a sharp corner that opens up to another long hallway that I see there is only one door. At the end of the polished floor and decorative rug is a single room. The door is simple. Wooden with a metal knob. But it’s been left open, and I can tell lanterns light a narrow and steep descent. It’s practically inviting me in.
Could it be?
Surely it wouldn’t be so accessible … so near to the High Regent’s own rooms …
But …
I was looking for a prison. What if it’s not? What if she’s just locked in a room? I wouldn’t put it past the man to turn everything upside down at this point.
I march straight for the door, push it open, step inside, and then close it behind me.
I’m on a wooden landing at the top of a spiral staircase. The steps lead straight down and the area around it is tight, all walls closing in and no space to breathe. This is definitely a single-file stairway. It’s impossible to see where it leads without actually taking the descent. Which, of course, I do.
The climb down is dizzying as it takes me in an endless corkscrew of circles.
When I reach the bottom, I’m sure to keep myself tucked behind the thick banister lest there be a guard or two awaiting me.
But there is no one.
Only a large, dark room awaits me. It’s a cellar, or so it would seem. Cool, a bit drafty, and all stone. There are shelves lining the space, and they’re filled with old books, small furniture pieces like candlesticks and flower vases. It’s part storage and part museum.
Paintings adorn the walls. Past High Regents. Their wives and children. And that’s when it hits me: I’ve seen zero presence of past family or rulers inside the main house. The only portrait is of the current High Regent himself. It extends mid-wall to ceiling and hangs in the main sitting room above the fireplace. Larger than life. So much like the real man.
Other than that, the only artwork is of Bellonian landscapes. Fishing scenes. Ornate hourglasses and detailed tapestries depicting the Sun, the island, the Great Sea.
My stomach drops in disappointment. Of course it wouldn’t be so simple.
This is not where Veda is or was ever kept.
But …
Just to be sure, I take a second glance around.
Nothing.
As I head back toward the stairs I notice a slice of white door peeking out from behind one of the bookcases. Strange to place a shelf in front of a door. Stranger that there’d be another room connected to what seems a glorified storage space.
I rush over to it.
There’s no latch or knob. It simply slides open to the side, leaving barely enough space for me to squeeze through. Before I do, though, I pick up one of the candles and light it with the flame from a nearby lantern.
I enter to find the space is no bigger than a closet. It’s dark save the light from the solitary candle I hold. I’m not sure what I’d expected, but as with the room outside, this one is equally disappointing. That is, until I spot a painting on the floor. It’s propped against the wall and there’s a mound of something sitting before it.
I make my way closer, shine my candle in front of what I see is a portrait.
Of a young Sindaco.
Then I see there are more paintings piled behind it. Some of the late Lady Raevald. Of the three as a family. More of the Sindaco as a boy. And it’s strange, isn’t it, that they’d be hidden away like this? Though I suppose I don’t put anything past Raevald, strange or otherwise. In his mind, his son is a disgrace. A stain on the family.
When I move to the mound on the floor in front of the paintings I expect to find more furnishings. A pile of old silverware, picture frames, or glass figurines. I unwrap the object to find there are multiple objects. Some sort of weapon.
I hold the light over the top of it.
I know this weapon.
It’s a quiver of spears and a wooden throwing device.
Veda’s atlatl.
The one she had with her the last night we were together.
In my bedroom.
Memories fill my mind, take over my thoughts. Images of Veda and me, our lips touching, the warmth of her body next to mine, how everything for that short moment in time was somehow peaceful and right …
My chest burns, and my heart quakes.
I cannot. Not now. Not here when I’m searching for proof she’s alive or dead and must snap back into the role of heir if I’m caught.
I shove it all down. Every last freckle that specks the bridge of her nose. Every last eyelash that fans her green eyes. Her light fingertips and the way she somehow wields a fishing pole like it’s second nature. How she refuses to put up with my shit.
How, after all these years, I give her shit just so she can call me out on it.
But I’m thinking about her like she’s here. As if I could walk to her house and take her out for a stroll along the canal.
That was a different life.
One lived under a different Sun.
I stand.
I go to grab her weapon, make a promise that I will return it to her. But as I’m crouching down to pick it up, the floor above me creaks. A door opens and then closes.
“Lord Denali?” calls someone from the top of the stairway. “Are you down there, sir?”
Salazar. Damn it.
Quickly, I cover the atlatl again, then I blow out the candle and bolt through the door of the secret room. It swings shut just as I see Salazar’s boots descending the stairs. I grab the first book I find, sit in a chair, and start flipping through it.
“My lord?” he repeats, coming around the last curve of the stairway.
I glance up, expression hard, thoroughly annoyed he’d dare disturb me while reading—I peek at the title: 100 Days by Ship: Navigating the Great Sea. “Yes?”
“The High Regent did explain I’d be fetching you for dinner, yes?” The guy is all legs and height. Lanky. He’s as tall as I am, but probably two-thirds my size. Maybe five years older than me. Uniform crisp, not a hair out of place, Salazar is flawless.
“He did, yes,” I say.
Salazar quirks an inquisitive eyebrow. “Planning a trip somewhere?”
“What?” He motions toward the book. “Oh … not quite. I couldn’t stand being in my room any longer. I hope it’s all right. I just needed a good book.” I hold it up.
He nods, expression slightly humorous. “You are aware your room is stocked with books—there are shelves floor to ceiling full of them.”
“Yes, well, walking helps my restless mind too. Normally I’d prefer fresh air, but that wasn’t an option, so I wandered, lost my way, and ended up down here.” I close the book. “I’m glad you found me, because I’m not sure I could get back to my room.”
“The palace is vast.” I’m getting the impression he’s onto me—but more that he thinks I’m going to be a pain in the ass, not so much that I’m scoping the palace out for the Lunalette.
I hope.
“Is it time for dinner already?” I glance at the hourglass around my neck.
“Almost that time, yes, but Lord Raevald wanted to meet with you for a few minutes before to go over a few details.” Salazar gives a smug smile.
“Of course.” I stand up. Set the book back on the shelf where I found it.
But he doesn’t start for the stairs just yet. Instead he takes a step toward me, bows his head slightly. “My apologies, my lord, but the next time you need a book or a walk, ring the bell in your room. Have someone summon me. Maybe I’ll even take you outside.”
“Ah. Thank you, Salazar,” I say, trying my best not to grit my teeth.
He then motions to the stairs, and I follow him back up.
I want to stay down here, keep searching for Veda or clues to where Veda might be but I can’t. Following Salazar is my only option. Meeting with Raevald isn’t something I can avoid or refuse.
In some ways, I suppose I’m a prisoner here too.
Only I chose to be here.
And it will either be my becoming or my undoing.
I’M TRYING TO CONCENTRATE.
Trying to sip this prized hundred-year-old brandy that tastes like varnish.
But all I can think about is Veda …
Her atlatl is in this palace.
And so is she.
“Now.” Raevald pulls me back into our pre-dinner session.
Except it’s now extended long into actual dinner.
He’s explained we’re to meet twice a day, morning and evening. Most likely over gilded china and lavish food and drink. When, he claims, he does his best thinking.
Boasting, more accurately.
This evening, he tells me about the excitement circling around the upcoming Offering. How he’s certain he’ll outdo himself with the promotion he has planned … It’s sure to galvanize excitement.
He continues, and I force myself to be fully present, pushing Veda to the background. “The first rule of rallying a following, especially a reluctant one, is fear. Everyone relates to it, and no one likes it.” He takes a long, slow swig of his drink, gazes at the fire in the hearth at our feet. “But fear is real. And it’s not an outright lie,” he defends his dishonest actions, “the Sun does and will indeed retaliate, but also, reward. It’s Bellona’s duty to see to appeasement. Our duty”—he motions between the two of us—“to govern that appeasement. To decide on the right course of action and to rally the public behind those actions.”
You’re full of shit. “Yes, yes, I completely agree.” I can barely get the words out but quickly swallow the filth down with a small sip of my own brandy. To this point I haven’t really been drinking it, only allowing it to wet my lips. I must have my wits about me.
“That being said, the bar has been set exceptionally high for this Offering. We can’t afford to let anyone down.” Raevald eyes me pointedly.
I nod. “I understand. The people look to us for guidance and protection, to mediate between them and the Sun. If they’re let down it means we’ve let them down, yes?”
“Exactly.” A proud smile stretches across his face, but it quickly smooths over with a stern grimace, and I see the moment he catches himself. Like he let down his guard for a fraction of a second. He returns to his drink.
“Sir?” I risk a question that’s been plaguing me. The High Regent sort of moans in response, but he doesn’t look away from the fire. “You’ve accepted me into your personal quarters, as heir of your nation.” To this, he looks up. “Why? I mean, why me?” Showing a bit of doubt is good. It proves humility. Certainly, that I’m under no illusion he’s not the one in charge here.
He’s only nodding, and I start to regret the question. It didn’t come out quite right. I’d thought it would give me a chance to stroke his ego, grovel a bit. But I’m worried it came out ungrateful or cocky.
As if to pull my suspense out further, he motions to the two house staff standing by the door to begin clearing the table, tops off his drink, and then stands, moving our conversation to the sitting area before the hearth.
Of course, I follow.
Once seated, his full brandy perched next to him on the arm of the chair, he finally speaks. “Mr. Denali, I originally chose you as heir because your family is one of the oldest and most loyal on the island. If I couldn’t choose one of my own, I always knew your family line would come next.” He raises his eyebrows. “As we know, what’s left of my family are no longer Raevalds. They’re unfit, ungrateful, and unwelcome here on the island, much less in any sort of leadership position.” I nod so he knows I’m in agreement, because he’s talking about Veda and the Sindaco. “My estranged son is cunning, very charismatic. I assume his daughter gained those same traits and you fell victim to it.” I take in a deep breath I hope he thinks is disgrace but is really my nerves over how I should be searching for Veda and not sitting here pretending to sip brandy from fine crystal. “You’ve got a lot to prove. That day at the Coliseum, how you were made to help with the execution of Miss Adeline, it was merely punishment for a series of bad choices on your part. Had I done any more, the whole island might have revolted.” He adjusts his sash, which has gone slightly askew. “There’s no denying it, the people adore you.” Raevald makes eye contact. “And adoration is not easily earned. It’s a gift.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Should it happen again…”
He doesn’t have to finish the sentence because his icy stare is enough. “I understand, my lord. It won’t happen again. I assure you.”
“Good … Good…” Raevald pauses, eyes hardening like he’s hoping to read my mind, really figure me out. “You know, actions speak louder than—”
A pounding at the door interrupts him.
One of his guards opens it, allowing in two more soldiers with another beaten and bloodied Imperi officer between them. “I’m sorry, sir,” one of the guards pleads, “he insisted it was urgent.” The injured soldier composes himself and stands at attention, his eyes passing over me and then to Raevald. The two guards also stand at attention but stay just behind the officer near the door.
“Well, at ease. What is it? What’s happened that you’ve been allowed to interrupt my dinner with your heir?” Raevald says, dismissive and annoyed.
“My lord, I apologize, but we’ve had an Imperi officer defect.” To this news, Raevald stands. “She was accompanied by a Basso prisoner.”
The High Regent’s nostrils instantly flare, his face suddenly glowing red. “How did this happen?” Raevald’s gravelly voice steadily rises.
The soldier, an officer and fairly decorated, fidgets with his sash. “Sir?”
“Well,” Raevald’s eyes narrow in on the poor guy, “if you were close enough to see her defect, you were close enough to stop her.”
“I…” The injured officer shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, readjusts the bloody rag he’s holding to the side of his head. “She threw an explosive at me. I’m sorry, sir, but I was knocked unconscious.”
“Then how can you be sure?” Again, Raevald’s a master of zero emotion. Is he angry? Concerned? Indifferent? There’s absolutely no way to tell.
“Before the explosion, she and the prisoner, a thief boy, exchanged words, then ran from me. It was obvious they were working together.”
“Indeed.”
“And … there’s more.”
Raevald sighs, folds his hands casually before his waist. “Of course there is.”
“The prisoner … I have reason to believe he wasn’t really a boy. The voice … From what I heard, I’m certain the prisoner was actually a girl.”
At girl my insides jump, hope pumps new life into my heart, and, with a jolt, the memory of that Basso prisoner I saw with the Imperi officer outside the palace wall hits me.
To this news Raevald strides toward the soldier. “What’s your name, officer?”
“Givanni, my lord.”
“Officer Givanni, why would someone go to such lengths to hide their identity?”
“I suppose … if they’re wanted…”
“Yes, yes … See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“No, sir,” Givanni murmurs.
Raevald’s eyes dart toward his guard, his jaw flexes like he is grinding his teeth. “The cellar—check the girl’s cell. If she isn’t there, I want a full manhunt deployed.”
“Sir,” one of the guards gingerly steps forward. “That’s … that’s been done, my lord.”
“What?” Raevald hisses.
“You see, High Regent, sir, when Officer Givanni first came to us with his story, this afternoon, we immediately checked the prisoner’s cell.”
“And what, pray tell, did you find, Captain…” He squints to see the guard’s name. “Dupont?”
“She’s … she’s gone.” Dupont risks a step forward. “We didn’t want to alarm you, my lord … We were confident she couldn’t be far and that we’d have her returned in no time … However … It would seem…” But the good captain doesn’t risk finishing his sentence.
Calmly, the High Regent strides to the window, gazes outside. This sends a chill through the room, and no one, myself included, dares even breathe. Then, without warning, he slams his fist on the table beside him, sending the vase and flowers over onto the floor.
Raevald turns and faces the officer and soldiers again, laying into them. As if knowing what’s sure to come, Givanni cringes.
“How could you let this happen?” the High Regent shouts.
“I’m not certain…,” Givanni backpedals. “It might not have been her…”
“Don’t insult me, officer.” Raevald shakes his head. “It was her. Where exactly was this? When? How many precious hours have passed?” Givanni loosely explains, and I immediately recognize the location isn’t far from Veda’s home. Former home. The High Regent looks to the remaining soldier. “Have the guards search the area.”
“We have, sir,” Dupont says, moving forward and grabbing Givanni by the arm.
“Search. Again,” Raevald says through a clenched jaw. “All. Night.” He pauses for breath. “Do not cease until she’s found.”
Before they leave, Raevald sets his sights on Givanni. “Thank you for your service.” The words are stressed with finality. He then motions for Givanni to be taken away.
Not missing a beat, the High Regent walks back to the sitting area before the hearth, picks his glass back up, and once again settles into his chair.
I follow his lead, but each step, each breath, is equal parts torture and the purest joy I’ve ever known.
I have to calm down.
But my walk is too bouncy.
My shoulders too relaxed.
My smile—
I cannot smile.
Raevald eyes me, takes a long sip from his glass.
I take a short drink from mine, the dark liquid lingering as a tingle on the tip of my tongue, the sour instantly wiping any notion of grinning off my lips.
His stare still scrutinizing, Raevald tips his goblet to mine. “I believe we know exactly who will be Offered for your first ceremony.”
“Sir?” Because I’m honestly not sure to whom he’s referring.
“I apologize … I assumed you were following. It will either be Officer Givanni or the girl when she’s found. Perhaps both.”
That’s when I remember who I’m dealing with.
Who sits across from me.
My stomach turns over, and that joy I felt only moments ago quells.
Because Veda is not safe.
Not until she’s back in the Lower, and right now she could be anywhere. On the run and in danger. Possibly still here in the palace somewhere.
I’ve got to find out.
But I’m stuck playing heir for the moment.
So I tip my glass right back.
Share in his joy over the idea of Offering up two sacrifices. One of them my best friend.
And, I think, maybe I’m beginning to win him over.
Yet … there’s something in his eyes. Something not quite right.
Something that undoubtedly resembles suspicion.
He breathes a deep breath, sets his glass heavily on the side table, and stands. “Salazar will be by your room first thing in the morning to inform you of your tasks and schedule.” Raevald strides to the door. “Good evening, Mr. Denali.”
“Thank you, sir.” I bow my head.
As he leaves, I catch the spot on the back of his head that’s clearly balding, the skin there speckled from years of exposure to the Sun’s cruel rays. He stands tall but walks with the slightest limp. I can’t imagine he doesn’t get lonely. The monotony of living here with all this space closing in on you, only guards and house staff—stiff, smug Salazar—to order around. No one to truly talk with. It’s almost sad.
Almost.
Take him out of the uniform and put him in common clothes, you’d easily mistake him for a kindly grandfather.
But the man’s a monster.
I’M DAYDREAMING ABOUT VEDA, imagining her safe and sound in the caves of the Lower, surrounded by hundreds of adoring Night members welcoming her home. She smiles. Rightfully.
But the image is cut short when, at the turn of the hourglass, right on cue, Salazar enters the dinner parlor to escort me back to my bedroom.
“My lord,” he breathes. “I just heard the news.” His words are tense, his stare wide with shock. I can’t help wondering if he’s already gotten an earful and probably a sight full from Raevald himself—it’s nearly been an hour since the High Regent left in a very restrained rush.
But before I speak to Salazar, I duck behind the veil I’m quickly learning I must use. One side is all light. The hope of seeing Veda again fills this space. The drive to do what I must to help stop this war lives here too.
But to achieve those things, I must live most of my current life on the darker side of the veil. The place where I’m heir of Bellona, willing servant to the Imperi and the High Regent. Here, my only thoughts of Veda are of capture and revenge. In this place the Night, the Lunalette, they are the enemy. This side of the veil is power and force and the rule of law. No. On this side of the veil, I am the law.
And that’s the place I force myself to tap into at this moment.
I set my glass on the table.
Harden my expression.
Stand and walk to meet him at the door.
“She won’t get far, Salazar.” His eyes dart to mine. “We’ll find her, and, Sun help me, she will pay.” I send a shiver down my own neck. “The Imperi will see justice.”
“If anyone can find her and bring her to justice, it’s the High Regent.”
“Sun willing.”
“Sun willing, indeed.” He shifts to the side, motions toward the hallway. “Shall we? It’s late, and you have a busy day tomorrow.”
I nod and follow him up to my bedroom.
Once there, he makes his way to my closet and pulls out my dress boots, sash, and hat. He walks to where I’m sitting at the foot of my bed.
“I’m going to get these polished and pressed for tomorrow,” he says, but doesn’t leave. We’re sort of staring at one another but neither of us is speaking.
“Thank you, Salazar.” He nods. “And not just for the clothes and boots, for everything today.”
“Well.” He lays the items atop my desk, sets my boots on the floor, and takes a seat at the desk chair. “It is my job.”
I give a small laugh under my breath. “Fair enough, but I appreciate it all the same.”
“Of course, my lord.” I begin removing my boots, take off my jacket, when I realize he’s still staring at me and I glance back up. He’s taken out his pen and has his list before him. “I’ll be out of your way in a moment, but there are a couple of final items I should mention in preparation for tomorrow. Mildly significant, but relevant all the same.”
“All right…” I can’t imagine what this could be, but it feels more than mildly significant.
He gives a slight grin, twirls his pen in his fingers, and refers to his list. “Instead of a medallion to alert the chosen for Offering, the High Regent has requested that you make the announcement. Late morning. Publicly.”
“But isn’t it going to be the officer who let”—I nearly say Veda but catch myself—“the wanted Night member and that defecting officer get away? That was the impression I got.”
Salazar takes a breath, smooths out the red sash over his chest, and I realize he’s still in uniform very late into the night. Does he ever dress more casually? “It was going to be that officer. But unfortunately he’s been … well, he’s no longer with us.”
“Ah.” It’s only been an hour or so since Givanni was dragged from the dinner parlor. But time doesn’t wait for the swift hand of justice. Not in Raevald’s terms anyway. “I see.”
“What’s done is done. A new Offering has to be chosen.”
“And why not do it by medallion?”
“I don’t know, my lord. The High Regent gave the order. I merely take the order and carry it out. I assume he felt it a good opportunity for more practice to prepare you as High Regent.” He stands, gathers the items off my desk, and picks up my boots. “Dealing with the public, your loyal subjects and all.” Salazar makes to leave but pauses before he reaches the door. “And, Lord Denali?”
“Yes?”
“It won’t be pretty. The breaking from tradition … The fact there’s not been an Offering since the attack … They won’t like it.” This is the first glimpse I see of Salazar the man and not Raevald’s sniveling assistant. It’s like he’s giving me advice. Actually trying to prepare me. But in his own way, which is one part asshole and one part oddly caring.
“Thank you. I figured as much.”
“And it is your role as heir … The High Regent’s order…” He’s impressively able to jump right back into “right-hand man” as quickly as he leaped away for a moment.
“Of course.” My role … He has no idea. “But, Salazar? Would it be possible to still present the chosen with a medallion? I’ll of course make the announcement as planned, but maybe I could still give the Offered their Sun medallion? It just doesn’t feel right to break so far away from what’s expected.”
He’s nodding, brow pulled into a low V as if deep in thought. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He starts for the door but before he leaves, he casually mentions, “You’re to have very early tea with your parents. Right at morning bells and before we leave for the ceremony.” He grins like he knows it’s one of the last things I want to contend with before my first test as heir. Our relationship is complicated at times, but I love my parents. I’ve worried about their well-being, the worry they’ve been through these past weeks, and it made me sick that I couldn’t console them or, at the very least, let them know I was alive.
But as much as I’ve missed them, I’m just as nervous to see them. What if I’m not what they expect? The myth around the return of the heir has been built up so big—much of it my own doing—that I’m not sure they won’t see right through the façade. They know me too well.
I also can’t help wondering if Raevald planned the timing of our reunion on purpose. Yet another hurdle for me to jump over or tumble into.
“Perfect.” I grin back, forcing my concerns to the back of my mind.
“And, Denali?” he says so casually it completely catches me off guard. “Blessed be the light.”
“Blessed be the light.”
With that, he’s gone.
If I sleep at all it’s in tiny increments because I toss and turn, my mind unable to calm. Mostly, I think of Veda. How I’ll ever get in touch with her. It would seem I’m being watched or tailed almost every waking minute, and there’s no way I can leave this palace without being found out. If I try to get back to the Lower, I’ll most definitely be caught, and then I won’t be able to help anyone.
I must eventually fall into some sort of restless sleep, because the last thought I remember before waking up in the morning is, please send me a sign you’re all right.
Then, Sun help me tomorrow.