A whoosh, a snap of smoke. The flame was back in Gabe’s hand, hovering right over his palm. “You,” he seethed.
Bastian curled his hands into fists. He could let Gabe take this one.
The woman—Lore’s mother, the Night Priestess—didn’t seem surprised by their reactions, though her expression was slightly perplexed at the way Bastian yielded to Gabe. “I guess you got Him out?”
“I did,” Bastian said with a poisonous smile. “So you’ll get both of us doing our level best to make you pay for what you did to her.”
The flame in Gabe’s hand grew. “I go first.”
“Hold on.” Alie dropped her bag, coming once again to stand between Bastian and Gabe and a brawl waiting to happen. “Lilia has been helping me. She wants to kill Apollius, free us all, and bring Lore home.”
“Fancy that,” Bastian said. “A bit like a child changing teams every time it seems the other may be winning.”
“Fair assessment.” The threat of flame didn’t cow Lilia. She gazed at them both with a shrewd eye, much in the way any mother would weigh suitors who came calling for her daughter. It was a new sensation for Bastian, to be measured up with the possibility of failure by anyone other than his father. Galling, too, when she was the one who’d tried to murder Lore.
Gabe gave his thoughts voice. “Wonderful to hear that you’ve changed your tune,” he snarled, “but sins have their consequence.”
“That’s a Tract, isn’t it?” Lilia cocked her head. “I don’t know my scripture as well as I should, considering.”
The flame in Gabe’s hand shrank, just a bit. A confused look crossed his face, as if he hadn’t meant to quote anything holy.
Lilia’s expression softened. “You have every right to hate me. Both of you. But Alie is telling the truth. I want to help.”
“And what kind of help can you be?” Bastian asked.
She looked at them shrewdly, weighing her words. “The kind you will need,” she said finally. “If things have gone truly fucked.”
Vague, but time was ticking down. If they were leaving imminently, there were kingly things he had to see to.
“Alexis,” Bastian said, straightening, clasping his hands behind his back. Authority had never been something he came into naturally; he had to put it on like a costume. “You’re in charge while I’m gone.”
Alexis’s eyes widened. “Majesty—”
“There’s no one else in this damn city I trust,” Bastian said, interrupting their protestations. “I’d love to avoid a battle with Caldien, but if it’s inevitable, the navy knows what to do. They’ve had orders for this for ages. You just have to give them permission to do it.” He paused. “And if they make it on land, order all the citizens of Dellaire to enter the Citadel. We aren’t well equipped for siege, but it’ll be safer than the rest of the city.”
Part of him was reluctant to leave his people like this, in the hands of another. Bastian had never relished being king, but it came with a level of responsibility that he felt deeply.
Though in honesty, the people of Auverraine were probably in better hands with Alexis.
With a dry swallow, Alexis nodded. Then they chuckled. “So I’m acting as King and as Priest Exalted. Guess Anton finally got what he wanted.”
Gabe did not laugh. Neither did anyone else.
Sensing their joke was not well-thought-out, Alexis sobered, nodded. “I’ll do what is needed.”
“Excellent.” Bastian swept his hand toward the door. “Then let’s go.”
Malcolm fell into step beside him as they all marched out. He put his hand on Bastian’s arm, wordlessly asking him to slow. Bastian did, letting Gabe take the lead, his char-marked hands clenched to fists.
“Watch him,” Malcolm said quietly, when everyone else was far enough ahead of them not to hear. “I’m worried.”
“About Hestraon?”
“About all of it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ALIE
