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"I don't like this at all, Lola," Tulip says. I forgot she was here, and I turn to see her sitting next to Morrow, their thighs touching but their postures rigid, ignoring the contact. "Whatif we lose you again?"
It's habit to try to run my hands through my hair, but I can't with today's style, so instead, I scratch the back of my neck. "What else would you have me do, Tulip? Leave them behind?"
"No, I just mean-"
"Cirrha helped get Viola out," Zeph interrupts. "I couldn't have gotten her to you without Cirrha's magic."
"He's right," I say. "There's no other option. This is the only way we can help them." My tone is firm, stopping all room for argument. "It is not ideal. It is probably not even smart. But I will not have their blood on my hands when I know I have a chance at saving them."
Plume whispers into her hand, and I hear the soft buzz of Air magic carrying the message away in the hopes of being heard by the right person. I turn to Solarius, to tell him that this is why we need his help, and find he is not there.
Chapter 33
Himureal, the Frostweaver
Imbeciles.
All of them.
How can they not see the things I can do for them? They willfully choose not to follow me! They believe I am not worthy of their devotion, as if I am some false God.
False God.
False God.
The words are disgusting, and they are against everything I am, everything I believe in. All I ask for is a little loyalty. But they cannot even give me that.
They're rotten, rotten, rotten, the lot of them.
Like that worthless high priest of mine.
He stole my Shadowweaver. She was mine, finally, blissfully, willing to stand by my side, and he ruined it. Took her away and left me alone again.
"Frostweaver, I-" the blue-haired Water wielder pokes her head into the doorway to my chambers, her body hidden on the stairs. "I came to see if you were going to hold court today."
She is loyal. She listens.
What was her name?
Right. Right.
"Of course, I will be holding court today, Nimh. Do you have the next group ready for their judgment?"
"I do, my God." She bows her head respectfully, as she should.
I rise to my feet, my white robe falling to the ground around me. When did the bottom become so dirty? Brushing my hands down the front to smooth it, I cross the room to Nimh. "And are you ready for your judgment?"
Since the traitorous high priest Zeph, I have taken to judging the blood of Nimh every day to ensure she stays loyal to me. She extends her arm, and I drag my shadow blade in a thin line right above the one from yesterday. Her blood smells like the green weeds that wash up on the shores after they have sat in the sun for a few days. It is not pleasant, but tasting it is a sacrifice I have to make to ensure the safety of Ytopie.
As I saw yesterday, she is loyal. Loyal. Her intentions are pure, a swirl of gratefulness to have a place to belong.
Split between Summer and Winter her whole life, with no idea where her Water magic fell, she has always felt out of sorts.
It's amazing what someone will do for a place to belong.
I follow her into the great hall, where twenty fae have gathered to submit to their judgment. The sconces are lit with a low-smoldering candle, allowing long shadows to grow across the wide space. The swirling marble floor is stained with small droplets of blood from the sacrifices and judgments that fill this hall daily.
I refuse to let them clean it. This blood is for me. Sacrificed for me. Offered to me.
