Page 84 of The Dead Saint

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Adrian flexed his hand, his leather glove creaking. The desire to wrap his fingers around the hilt of his sword was so powerful he could practically feel the weight of it. The bells had finally stopped ringing a few minutes before, announcing the vessel’s arrival. He’d hoped they would arrive without any fanfare, without alerting the whole court of their presence. Instead, they were forced to wait in an antechamber as various lords and ladies shuffled past them.

The lords and ladies had rushed to be here. Many hadn’t even bothered to put on full court dress. Some had hastily thrown on rumpled finery, others breezed by in simple nightgowns and robes. Their curiosity had been too much to resist the call of the bells.

The steward rubbed his face and then covered a yawn. Even he had failed to put on his usual full court dress. He was so tired he didn’t even speak, and for that, Adrian was glad.

The candles in the room dipped and jumped each time the outer door opened, the curious passing through, the inner doors sending the candles streaming out again. They wandered by one and two at a time, not even bothering to hide their excitement at what might happen. Each one was here in the hopes that blood would be drawn and someone might die.

Maybe even the Wolf would meet his end tonight.

Adrian kept his eyes straight ahead, muscle jumping in his jaw. It took everything he had not to turn to Sorcha and offer some kind of comfort. But Revenant and Domenico stood in the corner watching them. Domenico held the last relic Sorcha had retrieved—a golden foot crusted with cut stones, just as the others had been. Adrian’s palms itched, the urge to protect Sorcha stealing over him. Danger waited for them beyond the doors. But there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

A gong rang out—tones shivering through the air—and the inner doors swung open. Incense wafted through, thick and cloying, and reminded Sorcha of the temple. It hit her—vision or memory—an image of the temple on a late fall day with fresh incense burning and someone singing in the distance.

“This way,” the steward said, gesturing them forward. “Prince Eine will see you now.”

Sorcha glanced at Adrian, searching for some kind of sign or hint at his emotions. She’d wanted to run to him when they’d entered the antechamber—Revenant and Domenico two steps behind. But his face had not been welcoming. He’d nodded to his men and refused to make eye contact with her.

Now he walked beside her, silent and stoic, into a room full of people who wanted to watch them all die. Even Revenant and Domenico. It was a palpable sensation—vicious curiosity and blood lust.

Prince Eine paced at the foot of the dais. In the empress’s chair sat a single wooden bowl. Sorcha was surprised that such a humble item would be placed there. But then it struck her. The empress must be dead. She could think of no other reason their presence would have been demanded.

As one, the group knelt before the prince. She’d been bathed and dressed before appearing in the antechamber to wait. Once again, she’d been gifted beautiful things, and the dress this terrible man had chosen for her was as lovely as all the others. It billowed and pooled around her in a swirl of crimson. Adrian was to her left, Revenant to her right, with Domenico behind them.

“What have you brought me?” Prince Eine asked, gesturing to the bundle Domenico held.

“A relic, my Prince.” Domenico placed the wrapped bundle on the hardwood floor. “A foot.”

Prince Eine bent and flicked the velvet away. Gold caught the light, reflecting on the prince’s face before he covered it again. With a nod, he looked between the four of them. Finally, his gaze settled on Adrian. The entire court held its collective breath.

“What else have you brought me?” Prince Eine demanded. “You were trusted to escort this priestess to collect all of the remaining relics. Is this the only one?”

“No, Prince Eine,” Adrian responded, keeping his voice level. “There are others being transported as we speak. They should arrive tomorrow or the next day.”

“And the rest?”

“There is more to collect.”

“Why hasn’t this been accomplished yet?” Prince Eine’s words were calm, but his face was reddening. Then he shouted, and the whole court jumped. “She is wasting time!”

“We are making progress.”

Adrian’s voice was steady, though Sorcha trembled. Every inch of her felt exposed—mind laid bare, terrified the prince could see what she’d kept back. The deceit floated at the top of her thoughts, waiting to be picked from her mind and examined.

“Progress,” Prince Eine repeated.

“We would have accomplished more if we’d not been forced to return,” Adrian said.

A gasp passed through the gathered courtiers, and murmurings followed—surprise, shock, and delight.

The prince darted for the guard behind his throne, pulling the man’s dagger free and lunging for Adrian. Steel flicked out, and a line of blood appeared on Adrian’s cheek.

Sorcha made a noise of surprise—fear and horror for Adrian wrapped in it.

Prince Eine’s eyes moved to her, something dark and terrible surfacing. The intensity of the look pinned her to the floor, making it impossible to move or speak.

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