Page 104 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

The Heads of House rise from their seats, and some linger, talking amongst themselves.

Tanyl approaches Viridian, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I will speak to him.”

Viridian exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If anyone can speak some sense into him, it’ll be you, Uncle. Though I doubt it’s even possible.”

Tanyl laughs, though the sound seems forced. “Try not to worry. Use this time to prepare for your wedding.”

Viridian’s face falls, and he presses his mouth into a fine line. “I will.”

To me, Tanyl says, “You spoke well today.”

“Thank you, Lord Tarrantree.” I curtsy.

He hesitates for a moment, and then continues into the hall.

Slowly, I move from the council chamber and begin to pace. Worries and visions of the worst cloud my mind.

Father.

Maelyrra insisted the tensions haven’t reached the Gold Court yet. But if it’s true that the mining sickness’s death toll has increased…

Father could have fallen ill.

Or worse.

He could have already succumbed to it. And then, Acantha would have no one.

My breathing quickens. Anxiety grips my stomach.

“Cryssa,” Viridian says softly, approaching me. “What is it?”

“My father. I have to—” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “I have to know if he’s all right.”

Understanding crosses his face. “Of course. You must write to him.”

“But I can’t—I don’t—”

“You don’t what?” Viridian steps closer to me, tenderness filling his movements.

“I don’t know how to write letters,” I admit. Shame heats my cheeks. “I never learned.”

He cocks his head. “But you can read?”

“Yes,” I stammer. At home, I’d picked up enough to read shop signs, simple descriptions of things, and know the basics of what they were saying. Reading is one thing, but writing… “I know enough to get by.”

Not enough to write a letter.

He seems to understand what I leave unsaid.

“Oh, Cryssa.” He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my face up to his. There’s no judgment in his voice—only compassion and understanding, even though his background is so different from mine. “I’ll be your scribe. Tell me what you want to say, and I’ll write the letter for you.”

“Thank you.” I look up at him, into his eyes.

“Of course.” Viridian holds my stare. For the first time in days, maybe even weeks, he doesn’t look away. “Anything for you.”

That familiar warmth swells in my chest. I don’t want it to go away again.

“Come,” Viridian says, holding out his arm for me. “We’ll write the letter in the library.”

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