She froze on the steps, one foot awkwardly raised. “Pardon?”
“The King.” The bloodcoat looked at her as if she were wearing a live peacock on her head. “He asked you to meet him in his chambers.”
Shit shitshit.
Alie nodded graciously, managing to make it the rest of the way up the stairs and into a secluded alcove beside the foyer before her fear made her double at the waist. Deep breaths, in and out, her mind already tripping over excuses, deals she could make, how she could salvage this.
A cool breeze slid across the back of her mind, gentle and reassuring. Kind. She felt a survivor’s guilt, sometimes, that the power she’d inherited was kind.
At Bastian’s apartment, Alie took another deep breath, did her best to calm her heart. Then she pushed open the doors and strode inside.
She expected Apollius Avenging, just like that awful statue in Courdigne, standing in a spill of light and sneering at her.
But instead of standing straight and strong, sharp and cruel as she’d heard Him moments before, Apollius was hunched over, nearly on His knees. His back heaved like He might vomit; sweat dropped from His forehead to the floor.
And when He looked up, it was Bastian staring out of his own eyes.
“Alie.” Her name was a rasp. “I don’t have much time.”
She froze only a moment before rushing to him, trying to grip his shoulders and pull him up, but Bastian waved her off. “Something is happening. He’s weakening. I can…” He trailed off, grimacing, as if fighting back a cramp. It subsided, and he started again. “I can see, sometimes. And I think I can hear His thoughts, look into them. It’s like the power is being pulled elsewhere.” His head wrenched to the side, teeth bared in a snarl as he tried to hold on. “I don’t fucking want it. I did, at first. Wanted the power, the security. But not anymore. I just want itgone.”
Alie had always been a quick study. “Can you see His thoughts?”
“Sometimes.” He winced. “Sort of.”
“Then there’s something you need to look for. A location, one He thinks is important. A place He’s hidden something.” She kept it vague. The ways Apollius’s and Bastian’s minds came together now were alien to her, but she knew that in the months before the god fully took over, Bastian wasn’t able to hide much from Him. If she kept things to broad strokes, maybe the god wouldn’t know exactly what Bastian was searching for.
Bastian seemed to understand what she was doing. He nodded, once, painful. “I’ll do my best. Now go—”
He fell fully to the floor, finally, his forehead pressed against the marble, his breath hissing between his teeth. One hand flailed toward the door, urging her away. She understood, backing up but not quite able to make herself leave.
Bastian thrashed. His body convulsed over the tiles, contorting into shapes that hurt to look at. He made a choked, gasping sound, a drowning moan.
Then He looked up, golden-eyed and all god.
“Sister,” Apollius said, standing gracefully and straightening His shirt. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was looking for Jax,” Alie said, the lie coming easily. “I was told he was attending You.” She almost asked if He was well, but that would be a step too far. Apollius knew she didn’t care.
“He’s not here.” Apollius smiled. “Though I am pleased to see you coming around to your betrothal.” He cocked His head. “They’re not so bad, the plans I have for you. You’ll come around to them, too, I think. You won’t have much choice.”
So calm as He threatened her. Sure He had won, and the only thing left was hemming up the ragged edges.
Alie didn’t respond. She just pulled her skirt into a quick curtsy and slipped out the door, those golden eyes burning into her back.
CHAPTER NINE
LORE
King Lucius Arceneaux once tasked the Burnt Isles guards with taking a census at the beginning and end of the year, to see how many prisoners on the Second Isle survived. There were nearly five hundred fewer inmates when the final census was taken.
No investigation was deemed necessary.
—Fabien Triou,Gods and Guards: A History of the Burnt Isles, 478 AGF
It figured that when Lore actually wanted to dream, she couldn’t. Ever since seeing that glimpse of Alie, she’d tried to make herself end up on that beach every time she closed her eyes. But her mind kept sending her mundane dreams instead, anxiety scenes of being naked in a city Ward or quizzed by Val in some nonsense language. Lore was on the verge of trying to knock herself unconscious with her pickax, just to see if that would make a difference.
But tonight, finally, she ended up on the beach.
