Page 33 of Sanctifier

“Are you ill?'' The voice was clipped but urgent.

She turned to see Lord D’Luc’s pinched features regarding her. She knew Taryel was watching her too but couldn’t bear to look. He was too much right now. The artifact consumed her, overflowed in her. Everything was far too much.

Lord D’Luc’s hand found her arm, pressing fingers into flesh. “Are youwell?” Something in the tone of his voice was different, more present than a moment ago, harsher, almost… worried.

“I’d like to retire for the night,” Ru said.

The cakes and wine roiled heavily in her gut, and the smell of coffee made her stomach curdle. The intensity of Taryel’s gaze, Lady Bellenet’s knowing smiles, the laughter of the courtiers at the table… it had all become grating. Unendurable.

At Ru’s declaration, Lady Bellenet’s eyebrows rose above girlishly wide eyes. “Oh?” she said. “Departing so soon?”

“The cakes,” Ru said, forcing an apologetic smile. “You were right.”

“We’ve much to discuss, you and I,” said Lady Bellenet, “though I see that tonight is not the time. I’ll send for you.”

At this, Ru rose, unsteady on her feet. Hands shaking, she struggled to wrench her skirts free from beneath the table. The dress was creased and marred from her sweaty grip on its skirts. Disgusted with herself and everything around her, she turned to the door.

The sound of another chair scraping across the floor caught her short, and she glanced back.

Lord D’Luc stood behind her, offering an elbow. “I’ll accompany you, Miss Delara.”

She had no basis for refusal. The last thing she wanted was to raise a fuss. And whether she liked it or not, she could use a steady arm just then. Wordlessly, she took the lord’s elbow.

Ru caught a flash of annoyance in Lady Bellenet’s expression, and Taryel’s stare was dark and deadly as Ru and Hugon made their exit, arm in arm.

CHAPTER 11

For the second time in her life, Ru was escorted through the palace by Hugon D’Luc. She leaned on his arm, hating every second of her reliance on him in her heightened emotional state, hating that the overwhelming feeling upon seeing him rise from the table behind her had been relief.

Sybeth followed several paces behind.

“You’ll get used to her,” Lord D’Luc said, after several long minutes of silence.

The casual tone in his voice, the unexpected familiarity, caught Ru off guard. “Lady Bellenet?”

“She has an exceptional mind,” he added, thoughtlessly adjusting his arm around Ru’s, steadying her, “which she often uses to get what she wants.”

“How lovely.”

He glanced sidelong at her, as if just now noticing the sweat beading on her upper lip, the way she had to lean on him for support. He frowned slightly and looked away. “She can be difficult to… understand.”

“Her insults were shockingly clear,” Ru said.

The lord shifted, his shoulders straightening and his expression smoothing, mask-like. “Lady Bellenet’s actions are never without reason,” he said as if reciting a line by rote.

“Just like yours,” Ru muttered. She chewed her lip until blood soured her tongue. “How long have you known about Taryel?”

There was a moment in which Ru thought he hadn’t heard her or had chosen not to respond. They wove through the halls, past courtiers and footmen, under bright chandeliers, and past starlit windows.

At last, he said, “I could ask you a similar question. How many times have I asked about Fen Verrill, his powers, what he might do? And how many times have you evaded me?”

“His identity wasn’t my secret to keep,” said Ru. “That’s not the point. You have noright—”

“What right do any of us have?” he snapped. “I suspected Fen’s true identity not long after joining you at the Cornelian Tower. And when I saw that ghostly city from afar, Ordellun-by-the-Sea at night… of course, I was all but certain then. You must think me a simpleton not to have connected the dots. But it doesn’t matter, Delara. A centuries-old god walks among us. The Destroyer, the hand of death. There are bigger things to worry about than your ego.”

“He’s not a god,” Ru said through clenched teeth. “He’s just a man who…”Who what?she thought.A man who happens to be hundreds of years old? A man who leveled a city in a moment? A man whose heart belongs to me?

“Gods and men are not so different,” said Lord D’Luc. “What proof do we have that he isnota god? What my lady and I do here, spreading the word of Festra, enlightening those who would otherwise remain in the darkness, is for the good of all. And when you activate the heart, when you bring Festra’s flames down upon us, the world will rejoice. Because Taryel, LadyBellenet, andyouwill have made it so. Whether he is Fen Verrill or Taryel Aharis is immaterial. He inspires faith amongst the rabble.”

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