Page 102 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

Not even a moment later, the door swings open so violently, it crashes against the wall. Viridian darts inside. Immediately, his hands find my shoulders, and he scans me for injuries. Worry widens his eyes and drains his face of color.

“Are you all right?” he asks, voice jumbled in a panicked frenzy. “Cryssa, are you hurt?”

“No,” I assure him. “I’m fine. The arrow missed me.”

“Thank the gods.” He closes his eyes in relief and pulls me to his chest, wrapping me in his arms.

I close mine, too, and take deep breaths while I rest my head against him.

Viridian’s mouth curls.

“Who did this?” Holding me even tighter now, his head snaps toward the servant that came with him.

“Human miners. There’s at least fifty of them gathered outside, on strike, Your Highness,” the servant says. “They’re demanding an audience with the High King.”

“Human miners?” I ask, pulling back a little.

“It’s the mining sickness,” Viridian tells me, his voice softening. “The death toll…” he turns his face from mine, as if he can’t look me in the eyes. “It’s increased. Dramatically.”

My stomach drops.

Father. Acantha.

Since we visited Loren in the dungeon, I’ve been so focused on Viridian that I completely forgot about the world outside. About the mining sickness and the mines draining of metals.

I can only imagine how much worse it’s gotten in all that time.

“Come,” Viridian says, taking my hand. “My father must hear of this, if he hasn’t already.”

I nod. We move swiftly through the halls and down the main staircase until we reach the council chamber.

The door is closed when we arrive, and the muffled voices behind it tell me that the council is in session. A guard stands in front of the room, blocking our access.

“Let me in,” Viridian says, his voice low with warning.

“Your Highness, the council is—”

“Must I repeat myself?” He takes a step closer and lets go of my hand. Power thrums through the air. “Let me pass.”

The guard’s eyes widen. He swallows and steps aside.

Viridian looks back at me over his shoulder and reaches for me, intertwining his fingers with mine. Now that we’re closer, I can begin to make out what they’re saying on the other side of the door.

“Your Majesty, we must act,” a male urges.

“They are refusing to work,” a feminine voice adds. “There are riots in the square—”

Still holding my hand, Viridian pushes the door open and steps into the council chamber.

Silence falls over the room, and all heads turn to look at us. Seated at the head of the table, the High King glowers at his son.

“What is the meaning of this?” He bellows, rising to his feet.

“Fifty human miners are gathered outside our walls,” Viridian seethes, his quiet rage settled into his voice. He pulls me closer. “A flaming arrow nearly killed my betrothed.”

For a moment, Vorr’s façade falls, and fear—true fear—flashes in his expression. Then he tightens his mouth, his hard demeanor restored.

The others at the table—the five Heads of House from each of the Courts, I assume—exchange nervous glances. The female bearing a close resemblance to Lymseia, her mother, Lady Kylantha, clears her throat.

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