Page 90 of Of Blood & Stone

“I brought you here to say something important,” he said, approaching her with the same graceful steps he always did, “And it’s to say I’m sorry.”

She scoffed, heat building in her neck as she met his yellow eyes. “Rare to hear an apology from your lips, Your Grace.”

“Sylzenya,” Nyla whispered in warning.

“No, no, it’s quite alright, Nyla. I’ve done a terrible thing to her, and I mean to pay the price in addition to seeking recompense.”

“You can do those things when you tell me where Elnok is.”

“I should’ve never sent you away on that forsaken mission with that thief,” the High One replied, his eyes turning glassy.

It made her sick.

He continued, “I’ve learned many a thing about him during these last few days. Pillaging villages with his notorious posse, plotting to kill his brother and take the Crown, killing multiple Vutrorian guards in his escape from the dungeons: a nightmare of a man.”

She curled her fists. “You know nothing about him.”

“And you do? After three days?” the High One questioned. “Come now, Sylzenya, you’re being naive. Nothing’s royal about him besides his blood, but enough about him. We’re here so you might be given your cure.”

Her heart stilled. The High One dug into his pockets, taking out a vial filled with a thick dark liquid.

“Come,” he motioned for her as he alighted a small set of marble stairs, “Stand beside me and allow me to explain, andthen we’ll waste no more time. Your power will be restored this very night.”

Nyla pushed her forward. Sylzenya stumbled, catching her balance as she gripped Nyla’s robe. Her limbs tingled, prickling like needles as she took in her surroundings. Tall willow trees encircled them, a white atrium covered in looping vines, and a single white marble throne sitting underneath it. The willow she’d created fourteen years ago stood tall behind the throne, and beneath her feet was the sacred soil bordered by marble.

The Willow Grove: the place where she’d failed her rite—where her father had poisoned her.

We never wanted to give you to the temple, Sylzenya,her father had said.It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

His words tasted different in this moment, sounded less like a plea for her to come home and more like a desperate attempt to save her from something.

Save her from what?

A small golden light sparked from her willow tree. Sylzenya furrowed her brow, staring at the tree in a long silence.

“Sylzenya, if you would join me?—”

“Did you know Aretta’s Willow still lived? That it existed at all?” Sylzenya interrupted, gripping Nyla’s robe, the heat rising in her skin. “Did you know about the compass? About the monster living at the bottom of the healing pool?”

The High One spun around, his eyes wide and brows dipped—as if he was hurt.

Her shoulders dropped. Guilt weighed down on her like a fallen tree, her heart faltering as the man that stood before her, the one who had comforted her in times of need, stared at her as if she’d caused him pain.

But things had changed. He’d led her to believe Aretta’s Willow was a myth, sent her on a petty mission to prove herselfworthy of her power, and then sent his warriors in a rampage to take back the compass which he’d sworn didn’t exist.

“Did you?” she asked again, the force behind her words causing her own spine to shudder.

He said nothing.

Tears stung her eyes. How many other ways had he lied to her?

“I swear on Aretta’s blood, I will never take your cure,” she said.

Slowly, his features shifted: dipped brows relaxed into a harsh gaze; his downturned mouth a straight line; his yellow eyes sharp and poised to strike.

“Know this, Sylzenya,” he said, his voice deep and grating, “things could’ve turned out differently tonight if you had so chosen.”

The High One returned the black vial into his pocket. A familiar glimmer of light shone before he closed it.

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