Page 72 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

She must feel my eyes upon her because suddenly, her head snaps up and our eyes meet. With a faint nod, she rises from her seat and makes her way down the steps toward me.

I momentarily consider shielding myself. What if this feeble priestess is waiting for an opportunity to exact revenge for her suffering? But the closer she gets, the more I see the husk left behind after her ordeal. Perhaps once she could have been a formidable threat to the unsuspecting.

More than one head turns in the pews, and the glares aimed at the caster ooze with venom. Do they blame her guild for what has befallen them, or her in particular? She has certainly earned their hatred.

“Your Highness.” She bows, her shoulders hunched—from trepidation or the weight of all she carries, I can only guess.

“Walk with me, Priestess.” I lead her down the aisle, away from prying ears. “Is the sanctum normally filled with so many mortals?”

“It has been some time since we’ve seen so many patrons of their kind.” She follows my gaze.

“And what has inspired this sudden influx?”

“Some are here to praise Malachi for ending the blood curse.”

“But not all?”

“Not all. Many lost loved ones in the rebellion. Others have not seen their children since they were rounded up by King Atticus and pray to be reunited.”

“They have little love for you, it seems.”

“They blame me for doing the king’s bidding when I helped root out those with tainted blood.” She says more quietly, “I cannot fault them for that.”

I jut my chin toward her bandaged hand. “Something tells me you were not given much choice in the matter.”

“There is always a choice, Your Highness.”

“Comply or die?”

“Still, it is a choice.” In her eyes is a forlorn sadness that I have seen from time to time when I look in the mirror.

I gesture to the last pew. “Please, after you, Wendeline.” It took no effort to gather information on the only caster left in Cirilea, at one point a trusted advisor to the royal family. From there the stories fray in different directions, but all end in the same conclusion: she betrayed many.

Wendeline slides in. “I wondered when you would come.”

“And why is that?”

“You are the key caster who sent Romeria to us, are you not?”

“I am.” This one is intelligent, though I’m not surprised. “What did Romeria tell you about me?”

“Nothing for a long time.” A tiny smile tempts her lips. “She held her secrets close.”

“She’s a smart and deceptive little thief.” As I knew she would be. “Where is she now?”

“Now? I have no idea.”

“But she was here, only days ago, was she not?” The tales of the attack in the royal garden—of a powerful caster with glowing silver eyes and a flying beast much like the one the exiled king arrived with yesterday—point to Romeria, though witnesses swear it was not her face they saw.

There are also rumors floating that it was me. I haven’t dissuaded them.

“If she was, she did not cross my path.” Wendeline’s throat bobs with her hard swallow. At one time, I am sure she was adept at lying. How else did she deceive so many?

“You tell the truth, and yet you hide what you know. Given your current situation, I would think you wise enough to appease a powerful ally. As difficult as your time has been, I assure you, it can be much worse.”

She lifts her chin. “I have served my purpose, and I am prepared to die. But I will not be a part of any scheme meant to lure or betray Romeria or His Highness, the true king of Islor.” There is no waver in her voice, no falter in her heartbeat. She speaks the truth now.

“You are prepared and yet you are still here. Honestly, I am stunned you haven’t plunged a dagger into your own heart.”

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