It’s the only way.
On the fourth morning after Gabriel left Astarobane, I wake early, tend to my garden, and see that Praxis is fed. He continues engrossing me in conversation, and the more he speaks, the more I understand their world.
Well, what little of it he reveals. He’s almost as evasive as Gabriel.
I try asking about Roland and Hector, but like the rest of his people, he skirts the truth. Instead, he tells me about the history behind Astarobane, and how the Bloodstone people built it after their fall from the gods’ grace. In the blink of an eye, they went from rulers to bottom feeders.
For decades, the other five tribes have retaliated by taking out the Bloodstones’ tribal leaders. In Praxis’ lifetime alone, he has lost his grandfather and uncle to assassinations.
I take in Praxis’ words with a placid expression and fire in my belly. It’s never going to leave until I carry out my duty and save the other tribes.
As much as my heart feels empathy for Praxis’ loss, I must keep to my mission. Before I leave this place, he’ll lose more family.
Maybe he and Luc will be better rulers than their predecessors. Maybe they won’t destroy entire villages. It’s my hope that a new sun will settle over the Bloodstone people, and they accept they will never rule Tarrobane again.
The thought has become my constant companion as I go about my duties in Gabriel’s absence. Soon, he’ll return, and I’ll have to engage him more.
It’s the only way. The only course.
Then, why does it make my chest ache? Why does it make that hollow sensation return?
It’s there every day. Every moment. Every night as I lie awake thinking about everything that has led me to this place.
Maybe it’s good that it’s there. Maybe it means I’m not callous. I care about taking the lives of people. Even Roland.
But it doesn’t mean I can stray from my course. Olah wills it. Mother deserves my faithfulness.
For her.
Always.
ChapterThirty-Six
Loud, obnoxious knocking wakes me from the throes of a rather enjoyable dream. I startle, sitting up in bed as the sound comes again—the pounding of a fist against wood.
I heave a sigh, throw my feet over the side of the bed and stand. A wave of dizziness assaults me as I gain my bearings. In quick movements, I yank on a nightdress, tie the belt, and grab the dagger Gabriel made for me from the table by the bed.
My fingers curl around the grip, and my heart eases to a slower rhythm. With the dagger clutched in my right hand, I angle toward the front door and call out.
“Who’s there?”
“Briley.”
The soft voice surprises me. I expected a man to be pounding at my door in the middle of the night.
“What do you want?”
“Praxis, my husband.”
My pulse throbs in my ears as I dart my gaze to the bedroom I left Praxis in. Gabriel said to not let anyone see him.
“He’s not here.”
“Liar. The butcher saw Luc and Gabriel carry him here. I demand to see my husband.”
I exhale and shift my weight from foot to foot. If he were my husband, I would want to see him.
“I’m sorry.” I continue in what I hope is a convincing tone. “But he’s not here.”
