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Spring is creeping closer, but enough winter crispness lingers in the air that plenty of other civilians are wearing their own cloaks. Once we emerge from the wagon and merge with the current of figures flowing through the streets to the Temple of the Crown, we blend in perfectly.
I spent twenty years of my life in this city and seven of those making the streets my home, but somehow the territory I’ve roamed through more than a hundred times feels like foreign territory today. I know the twists and turns of the roads, the steep slope that takes us the last short distance to the huge courtyard outside the grand temple, and yet nothing looks quite as familiar as it should.
Maybe it’s the murmurs passing through the growing crowd around us—not eager with anticipation the way they might have been for past events at the city center, but hushed and uncertain. My fellow citizens can’t have any more idea what their self-proclaimed ruler has in store for them than I do.
We’ve been sowing doubt and fear throughout the country as well as we can. I’m sure plenty of Florians have heard the claims against the Order. Some who first supported them will now wish them gone along with their horrific sorcery.
But how many have the means to stand up to the scourge sorcerers? How many would be prepared to risk their lives speaking out when even the queen has only done so through stealth?
They’re waiting for us—waiting for someone with real power to stand with.
My lungs tighten with the thought.
We’re working on it, I want to tell them. We’re coming to rescue you from these villains. We just have to make sure we do it right, or we’ll be lost too.
The stream of pedestrians we’re caught up in spreads out at the mouth of the courtyard. The vast space is already teeming with bodies pressing close together to make room for more. Other figures peer from the windows and balconies of the stately buildings around the courtyard.
I suspect by the time Lothar begins his announcement, even the side-streets will be packed with spectators. All of them poised to spread the word back to their neighbors who didn’t make it in time.
I grasp Rheave’s hand and lead him through the jostling bodies to one spot that is still familiar. Nothing’s changed about my favorite alcove where months ago I watched the execution of the last apprehended riven sorcerer.
The daimon-man’s height means he doesn’t need much of a vantage point to look over the milling crowd. I clamber up to my usual perch so I can peer over his head.
The sun has nearly completely set. The daimon we shook out of their sorcerous bindings will be gathering near Crow’s Close for the Black Talons to collect. Casimir hasn’t sent any signal through my locket, which should mean his end of the plan has gone smoothly.
He’ll be waiting for our wagon to pick him up. I hope he’s heard about this announcement and realizes we’ll have delayed to learn the news.
To my relief, no corpses dangle from the walls of the temple like they did the last time we visited this place. Dark stains still mar the pale marble where the murdered clerics and devouts once hung, a stark reminder of the penalties for drawing the Order’s ire.
As lights start to glow on the balcony where King Konram used to speak to the masses, my magic wriggles in my chest. If Lothar appears directly—if I can set my eyes on him and know exactly where he is—I have a chance to end this now, before he says anything at all.
But when the head scourge sorcerer’s looming, lopsided form appears by the stone railing, I’m not surprised to catch a faint flicker at the edges of his body. The former advisor isn’t taking any chances. He’s projecting himself as an illusion again.
Before he even speaks, the crowd below falls into an ominous silence. Clothing rustles as the spectators shift uneasily on their feet.
“People of Florian,” Lothar says, his voice resonating through the courtyard as if it’s coming from all sides at once, “I’ve gathered you tonight to make two important announcements. The first is one we can rejoice. You may have heard rumors that a series of kingship trials will be happening soon. That’s true—the ones the Order of the Wild will enact. We’ll determine the best ruler of Silana and discover whether the supposed princess will participate in a fair competition or forfeit the crown.”
I can almost hear Julita scoffing. Fair? Fairly rigged, I’d imagine.
No doubt. But any dark amusement I can take from that thought vanishes with the former advisor’s next words.
“You can look forward to witnessing the spectacle of royal worthiness in just four days, when Creadenala is upon us!”
My entire body goes cold. He expects to pull together his trials in just four days? I’d forgotten to even think of the standard festivals, let alone the one for Creaden soon approaching.
Will we be able to pull our own spectacle together in the fleeting time before then? If we can’t?—
Lothar’s voice breaks through my thoughts again, taking on a dire tone. “To my dismay, I must also warn you of a grave threat that’s come to my attention. Many other stories have been circulating through rumors and hearsay, but they’ve been spread by a source far more terrible than any of the supposed villains they point to.”
I frown, peering at him as intently as I can. What’s he talking about now? Is he going to say that Petra is some kind of brutal fiend?
I find it hard to believe this will simply be more bluster about how exploitive the royal family was. He must have something specific to say that he thinks will sway public opinion.
What could that be? Petra didn’t act in her royal capacity at all until after her father was murdered. I know she hasn’t done anything remotely criminal since then.
Lothar continues with a thump as if he’s stomped his foot for emphasis. “You’ve been deceived, but it’s understandable in the face of a vicious power like this. All of us in the Order of the Wild put our own lives on the line to bring you the truth.”
A deeper prickling of discomfort digs into my chest. Something about the way he’s phrasing his remarks?—
