Page 28 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

What will become of Acantha and Father if the gold mines run dry?

What if they already have?

I feel utterly powerless. If I were home, maybe I could help. I could do something. As long as I’m trapped here, there is nothing I can do to save my family from ruin.

I can’t stay.

Whatever I’m going to do, I must do it soon.

Viridian is quiet at dinner tonight. Again.

The main course for tonight’s meal is roasted duck served on a bed of fresh greens. The meal is wonderful, no doubt, but I can’t stop thinking about what I heard earlier. I think of the metals being drained from the land and wonder what will become of all the human families who depend on them.

Fear grips my stomach.

What will become of Father and Acantha if the gold runs dry?

“Has the duck offended you?”

“What?” I look up, torn from my thoughts.

“You seem very intent on cutting it into a thousand little pieces,” Viridian says, briefly looking at me. Something flicks across his face, though it’s too brief for me to make out what it is. “Has the duck done something to offend you?”

“No.” I rest my fork.

Viridian’s eyes meet mine, and he holds my gaze. The tight expression he wears softens.

“What is it?”

I cock my head. My voice comes out hard. Cold, even. “What is what?”

“What’s wrong?” His tone matches his expression, even after I spat venom his way. The softness shocks me. I struggle to make sense of it.

“Nothing,” I tell him, picking up my fork again. The bitterness doesn’t fade from my tone. “There’s nothing wrong.”

Viridian doesn’t look away. The tightness returns to his mouth, as if he doesn’t believe me. But even if that’s true, he doesn’t press me for more.

“Thank you,” I say awkwardly, changing the subject. “For the drawing supplies.”

I feel like he’s won this battle, and I’m returning with my tail between my legs. I hate being indebted to him, even for something as minor as a sketchbook. How is it that even when he’s done something kind, I despise him for it? For the way it makes me feel?

“Of course.” His voice is subdued, as if he doesn’t know how to respond.

Then the tense silence I’m becoming all too familiar with falls over us. And my mind can’t help but run in more circles.

“Why were you there that night, in the stables?” I ask. There’s a sting of accusation in my voice, as if he were somehow at fault for Theelia making her will be known.

“I don’t know, really,” Viridian admits. His candor surprises me. I would have thought that he’d refuse to answer. “I was in the Gold Court for political reasons.”

“Political reasons?”

“Yes,” he replies. “As you may know, relations between the Gold and Bronze Courts have been… strained, since the last Pelleveron queen’s death.”

“Ah,” I muse in understanding. “The Lady Maelyrra isn’t one to let go of old grudges, is she?” Even with what little knowledge I have of her, that wouldn’t surprise me at all.

“No.” Viridian lets out a long, tired sigh. “She isn’t.” He continues, averting his gaze, “When I’m overcome with worry or stress, I ride. Sometimes I do it when I can’t sleep.” He pauses, looking up at me now.

My eyes lock with his, and I can practically feel my hardened stare melting as he speaks.

---