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At the sharp cheer that rings out, I wince. Another tremor runs through my body.
Rheave touches my leg as if to steady me, but I barely feel the warmth of his hand.
Then more light flares beside the temple platform, and an image of a figure that’s closer to my looks than I want to admit shimmers into being. An illusion drawn from Lothar’s memories and those of his followers who’ve seen me?
My pulse hiccups, and I drop down from my perch.
Lothar’s voice booms through the courtyard again. “This is the woman you must beware. This is the riven who intends to destroy us all. The Order will be showing this image all across the country so you can protect yourselves—and inform us if you’ve spotted her. Don’t approach her yourself. We’ll bring our own magic to bear and ensure Silana’s people are safe. But any information will be hugely rewarded.”
Gods smite me. I fumble for the invisibility charm and yank it over my head. Rheave does the same and snatches my hand.
Without another word, we bolt along the edges of the crowd and out of the courtyard, fleeing the mass of my fellow citizens now baying for my blood.
Thirty-Four
Ivy
The wagon jolts to a halt when we’re still half a mile distant from Baron Cyris’s summer residence. The driver calls back to us in a wary voice. “There’s someone coming to meet us. They’re signaling for us to stop. I’d better wait and see what she’s about.”
I rub my eyes, bleary after the fragmented sleep I forced myself to attempt on the trip back, and peek through a gap in the canvas covering. A figure on horseback is riding toward us at a gallop through the thin dawn light, braided hair streaming behind her.
It’s hard to read her expression at this distance and with her moving so swiftly, but her rigid stance makes me tense up in turn.
Rheave adjusts his position beside me, setting his hand on my shoulder. I’m aware of Casimir sitting across from us, though I can only see a hazy impression of him if I squint.
Even though we’ve almost reached our current “home,” it doesn’t feel safe to remove the charms concealing us just yet.
The rider arrives with a thunder of hoofbeats and a disgruntled-sounding huff from her horse. She cranes her neck to eye the wagon before focusing on the driver. “You’ve brought the three of them back from Florian?”
“Of course. Is something the matter?”
“Word’s been spreading.” Her voice drops to a hush as if she’s hoping I won’t hear. “About her. The baron doesn’t want her on his property anymore. I’ll let the others know you’ve returned. Wait here.”
She whirls the horse and races back toward the residence without waiting for a response. My stomach has plummeted to somewhere in the vicinity of the floor.
Word’s been spreading… about my riven magic. About the sister I killed with it.
About how my own mother is condemning me and calling for me to be struck down.
Some of our allies already knew, but my men and I never emphasized it. I’ve rarely used any magic in front of any of them.
I made it as easy as possible for them to dismiss or ignore the nature of my power. Now Lothar has shoved it in all their faces.
My throat constricts, and a hand wraps around mine. Casimir has pushed forward and found me in the dimness of the wagon.
“Petra will sort this out if no one else does,” he says. “She knows you’re not a threat—she knows how much you’ve done for her and her family.”
She does. And one of the things I did, no matter how many times she says she doesn’t blame me for it, is get Lothar access to the room where he slaughtered her parents.
My stomach settles into a simmer of nausea while we wait for the rider to bring additional orders. We have our own urgent news to pass on, but the messenger didn’t give us a chance to say anything. Every minute could make a difference.
Doesn’t the baron care about that?
Finally, I peek outside and spot a small procession on their way.
Whoever that woman was, she isn’t with them. It’s just Stavros, Alek, and Sulla, on their usual horses and leading three other steeds including Toast, with Petra and a couple of her guards riding behind them. Our horses are loaded with bulging saddle bags.
My queasiness bubbles right up to the base of my throat. It doesn’t look as if they’re coming to say all is well and we should return to Baron Cyris’s residence after all.
