Page 41 of The Duke and the Disciple

“Oma was a quarter Medvedev. They may be known as peaceful druids, but their magic isn’t well understood in the kingdom. Easy to exploit that lack of information, to point to your blood to make their claim. After all, who else among us can starwalk?”

“But no one ever said a foul word against Oma when she was alive.”

“Because it’s a shite excuse to make their play. They don’t need everyone to believe them to start a civil war. A few will do. There have already been pockets of riots. Not everyone is happy with a Wynter in this seat.”

Aesylt’s mind was racing. Marek had seenandspoken with Val after he’d left her, but it didn’t make sense. Val had kept her secrets for years, so what could have caused him to tell his brother her biggest one? The betrothal she could almost understand, but to share with Marek that Aesylt had taken him to a place forbidden? When Val and his brother had never been close? It didn’t add up. “What now?”

“I’m not selling you to the fucking Barynovs, if that’s what you’re asking.” He rustled through a stack of documents on his desk before shoving it all aside. “And Marek is a dead man already, he just doesn’t know it yet. Esker might be right behind him.”

“Val may never... may never wake up anyway,” she countered. “Maybe we should agree, knowing it won’t ever?—”

“Never, cub. We don’t negotiate with seditionists. We deal with them. Decisively.” Drazhan lowered his head with a hard laugh. “Though, Esker has graciously informed me that in the event his youngest son doesn’t make it, his eldest will do.”

Aesylt’s hand shot to her neck. Drazhan followed it with a dark look. “Marek?No. No, no, no.”

“No,” Drazhan stated. “That’s what’s next.No.” He lifted to his feet with a weighty sigh, dropping himself over the desk with a glance at her. “As long as you’re behind a locked door when the sun sets, then you’re...” He sucked his teeth. “Free to move about the grounds during the day. The groundsonly, and no wandering off where no guards can’t see you. At night, if nothing has gotten worse, I’ll approve more trips for you and the scholar to the observatory. Is that a fair compromise?”

Aesylt’s heart sank and soared in concert. “Yes.”

“Good. Cub... practice restraint. Do your experiments. Try not to kill the poor scholar. And trust me to handle the matters of our house.”

Aesylt didn’t havea destination in mind when she left her brother’s office, but her feet carried her to the rear courtyard and the row of barns. They were all occupied with horses and mules except the last one, used for storing tack that had fallen into disrepair. Others in the kingdom might have discarded such leftovers, but the Vjestik let nothing go to waste. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to show up asking if they had any leather scraps or metal tines to spare.

She’d always chosen the end barn because it was quiet. Cobwebs and old board creaks revealed how seldom anyone ventured inside. As a girl, she’d sit on the old saw table, leave the barn doors cracked, and watch the men banter before they rode off to attend to their business. They’d occasionally spot her, but no one minded a precocious girl running around. None foresaw the day when that same precocious girl would take all she’d learned and run the Cross for years in her brother’s absence.

It was the one thing she needed to say to Drazhan but couldn’t:I do know how to do this job because I did it. For years. While you were out grinding your jaw and dulling your sword on other men, I kept the fires burning. Neutering me now may assuage your conscience, but it re-opens a very deep wound in me.

Aesylt sighed and climbed up onto the table, her legs swinging under her heavy woolen gown. The courtyard was empty beyond the guards lining the perimeter with stoic, forward stares. There were no conversations to eavesdrop upon nor swordplay to study—only the enveloping silence of fresh morning snow.

Her hands traveled back to her neck, and the memory of Marek’s meaty fists... the rough dig of his thumbs. In a proper fight, she might have stood a chance. He was a large man, but she was quick on her feet and fast with a sharpsword, trained by some of the best warriors in the north. But the moment he got his hands on her, there’d been no recourse. She’d never know if Niklaus had saved her or if Marek would have returned to his senses. She’d never know how close she’d been to death. None of her celestial deaths had prepared her for the confusion of one in her world.

Motion in the barn next to hers disrupted her daze. She stilled to listen, but the yelling was easy enough to make out.

As were, she realized, straightening, the voices.

“You’re not listening to me! You always... You’ve always been like this, looking down at me over your little spectacles like I’m a child.”

Tasmin.

Aesylt carefully slid off the table, readying to leave. She shouldn’t be hearing what was obviously meant to be a private exchange, but as she angled her body through the small gap in the doors, another voice paused her escape.

“That’s simply not true, Tas.” Slow, patient delivery. “I love you. And I respect our bond too much to say nothing.”

And the scholar.

“And what would you know about love, Adrahn?”

“Enough. Enough to be confident in my words today.”

Aesylt froze in the gap. She’d inadvertently intruded on a lover’s quarrel. Or the end of one. Whatever they’d been talking about, the conversation hadn’t started in the barn.

“I’m leaving either way. You can support me or you can shun me, but if you truly love me, you’ll understand why I need to go. Some things are bigger than ourselves.” Tasmin’s voice was laden with sadness. “Of everyone, Rahn... You know me best in all the world.”

“I have tried reason, Tasmin, and it hasn’t worked. Begging... I cannot. You will do as you believe is best, but I will not pretend. I will not smile and wave as you ride off to a man who is beneath you.”

“Then stand alone. Seems to be the way you like it anyway,” Tasmin retorted and stormed from the barn.

Aesylt watched her friend march across the flagstones. A dangerous lump formed in the center of her throat. Waves of pinpricks danced along her skin as her belly turned with angst, unnecessary pain seeping in. It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t. She’d rationalized her inappropriate feelings for the scholar by reminding herself that love and respect were spokes on the same wheel. That she was simplyconfused.Even her suggestion for them to partner on the illicit curricula had been a challenge, to prove to herself she could leave emotion out of work, like a proper woman of science.

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