Page 31 of The Revered and the Pariah

This wasn’t a nightmare and she wasn’t waking up.

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Arianna healed those injured from the explosion, trying to rein in the raw emotion forming in her throat. Those in charge speculated the event had been a ploy to lure her from the safety of the estate walls. It wasn’t the faction’s first attack and nobody thought it would be their last.

Arianna clenched her fists. This was her fault. No matter how she spun it, their deaths were on her hands. She should have left days ago, then maybe those who’d died could have returned home to their families.

Arianna hadn’t bothered to wipe the blood from her face or hands as she healed body after body. Rion stood directly behind her, his sand circling in a protective embrace. Most hesitated before approaching, their eyes darting between the queen they longed to see and the creature they all feared.

Talon had forced the masses to form a line and the warriors under his command searched the people for weapons.

They’d all tried to usher her back to safety, but she’d refused to turn her back on the sick and wounded.

Many had traveled from nearby towns after hearing rumors from Brónach’s traveling forces. They’d thought the warriors crazed or delusional, but those who believed had traveled to glimpse the impossibility for themselves.

Her stomach knotted.

Dusk came swiftly, but the injured were thinning. Thanks to Ellie and the healers, the ones with severe ailments had been some of the first in line. The rest simply wanted the chance to witness her power first hand. To have their faith proved true.

She wanted to keep healing them, to keep pushing, but her eyes were so heavy. Rion gently took her arm, his movements causing those around the area to step back. “We should get you inside. You need to rest.”

Arianna didn’t deserve rest. She’d been selfish, wanting to remain in the little cabin for the rest of their lives. For days, years, centuries. Anything to delay what she was about to face.

The royal city.

Her new home.

Her new prison.

Chapter Eleven

Arianna

She shouldn’t have been surprised to see all the dresses, but when Ellie led her into a room with an assortment of fancy gowns, shoes, and no shortage of elaborate jewelry, her mouth gaped.

“You’ve been planning this for weeks,” Arianna accused.

Ellie beamed, running her hands down a beautiful flowing gown that sparkled with hues of silver and blue. But there was another in the back that drew Arianna’s gaze.

This dress was darkest obsidian with black glittering gems inset in the bodice. A gold floral pattern wrapped around the waist and extended down the floor length skirt.

Ellie stood at her side. “Really, that’s the one you want?”

“No,” Arianna said, shaking her head.

Ellie cocked a grin. “Doesn’t seem that way.” Arianna eyed the open back of the dress and scrunched her nose. Did she like it? Absolutely. But it was bad enough having people stare at the scars around her wrists. She didn’t even want to imagine how they’d react if they saw the ones across her back.

“I’m not sure I want to wear a dress at all.” Not with the way those outside the gate had attacked her. She touched her cheek, fingers trailing over the cut across her skin. Rion had been furious and fussing over it. She’d assured him a million times she was fine.

But it had been too close. Had the blade sliced just a few inches lower, it would have been her throat. She could see the pain in Rion’s gaze and feel his guilt every time he looked at it. Ruadhán was a three-day journey and despite the armed escort, she needed to be vigilant.

“Well, I mean, we could dress you up as a warrior if you preferred, though I’m not sure what kind of patches to put on your uniform.”

“They won’t be looking for patches,” Rion said from the doorway. “And you don’t want to wear anything that’ll become a conversation piece you can’t explain.” Right, because she’d be under intense scrutiny.

Arianna sighed. She’d debated asking Rion to take her to the mountains to disappear for a few years, but then she’d be forsaking a promise, no, multiple promises. Not only to herself, but to all the people that had fallen. The slaves. Zylah. She clenched her jaw.

“So we go with simple, yet elegant,” Ellie said. “The only question is whether you want to wear Móirín or Ruadhán colors.”

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