It cannot be true.
Roland is supposed to die by my hands.
“Surely, it’s not true.”
Malachi hunches even closer. “Astarobane is Roland’s city, and he’s been gone for well over six months.”
Astarobane is Roland’s city?
Oh, the sky above!
Gabriel said it weeks ago. I was just too blind to notice who he meant.
Alden said he would wear a livery if he was the chieftain. If Roland were dead, surely, he’d be wearing the gold chain.
Every time I mentioned him, these stubborn, tight-lipped people never said he was dead. Why?
Dismay prods at my mind, my hopes, my dreams. I try to quell it, to shove it down, but it keeps digging deeper and deeper.
I jerk my gaze around the room. Alden sits at the main table. Luc sits next to him. Everyone goes to Alden when they need something.
I denied the truth when I arrived, convinced myself that Roland was simply in a different city. The entire time I was living a lie. The last ten summers have all been a lie. All those months of planning. All those days. Those nights.
It was all for naught.
I am too late.
I grip the table with both hands, trying to find my calm. It remains an elusive shadow. An illusion. I inhale and exhale, trying desperately to not panic.
“Sol.” Malachi places his hand over mine. “It’s not too late to get out.”
Those seven words sink into my being, breaking through the fog immersing me.
I cannot leave yet. Not after the child born with the same mark as me. Not after I healed Praxis. I swallow through the sudden sour sensation in my throat.
I loosen my grip against the table. “No.”
Over the throng of dancing couples, my eyes meet Gabriel’s. Fierceness burns behind them as he watches us, and his jaw looks locked, as if he grinds his teeth together. He probably does.
“Sol,” Malachi says in that same low voice. “This place is a lethal tomb. Leave before it’s too late.”
With Gabriel watching me, I know I shouldn’t turn to look at Malachi. I do anyway. Looking at the man I once cared for. The one I shared my first kiss with. The one I told everything. The one who, with just a few words, could write my Fate in blood.
“I can’t.”
“Please, Sol. I beg you.” Desperation glints in his eyes. “You’re not safe here.”
My stomach twists into giant knots. Malachi has never sounded more afraid.
The day in the stables flashes through my thoughts. That day, Malachi was trying to warn me of something.
Is this it?
“Why do you say that?”
Malachi swallows and shakes his head.
“Mal. We’re friends. You wouldn’t keep something like this from me.”
