Page 78 of Claiming Glass

Mage lights hovered above Mariska and me, and behind me, Nikolai’s and Morovara’s cast their own shadows. My grandmother, Uncle Rada, and my mother lacked either the magic or skill to light their own. Once, this journey would have been as bright as day, the magic strong in our blood. Now, the royal family could barely manage to not trip in the dark. Vanya, an untrained Lowtown girl, had lit my chambers without trying. No wonder, I had not questioned her lineage.

I truly did not know my people.

Had she crafted these feelings to make me forget my duties and bring me closer to her sister’s cause before taking it too far? Like everyone else, had she used me for my rank and never seen me at all?

Outside, the sun would be rising, and she would hang. Descending into the dark, I questioned all my decisions and sought any other way than what was in motion. Went through all the things that could go wrong.

I could not wait any longer.

Pressing against the rock wall, I pulled my surprised uncle and then Nikolai ahead of me and squeezed in next to Mariska. Morovara walked last, and I felt her too-perceptive eyes on my back as I heard my uncle grumble ahead. But I was about to become king and only Solovyova, too far ahead to notice the breach in tradition, would have challenged me openly.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Mariska hissed, speeding her steps to pass me.

I grabbed her arm, pulling her close enough that hopefully our voices did not carry. “Hate me if you want to. I’m sureshedoes. But you must listen.”

She turned to me with rage such as I had not seen in my cheerful cousin before. Her red-rimmed eyes shone with fury. “You’re the one who should have listened. I told you Vanya wasn’t evil. I told you in the hospital she only did what she had to because—”

“You told me I shouldn’t push her. I didn’t. Don’t think I don’t want this.”

“But you’re doing it. She genuinely cares for you, has been cursed and killed h—and you are hanging her. If you really saw her, you would know she deserves better.”

She pulled away from my slackening fingers. I had enjoyed Tempest’s company too much to ask the right questions, and not because of her powers. I could lie to others, but here, in one of our holiestplaces, I would not lie to myself. Of course, she deserved better, but this was the best I could do. Perhaps someone cleverer…

We were almost all the way down when I grabbed Mariska’s arm again to stop her from pushing past her brother. We were creating a scene, my uncle slowing his steps to overhear and the high priestess on my heels. I could not trust either.

As the crypt opened before us, I shut my mouth and pushed away the need to go toherand damn the world. I had prepared a note for Mariska in case I could not talk to her. Better to get this over with fast than delay it with argument. If Solovyova noticed me disrupting the ceremony, we could be here forever. If she heard me still care about a mind mage, she would have me examined. I was not king yet.

The oldest bones, those which did not fit on the trees, surrounded us in the chiseled stone coffins. White death masks covered the faces, onyx eyes glittering, ever watching as we passed.

The seven of us—my grandmother, mother, two cousins, uncle, the high priestess, and me—spread between the effigies and took our places around the open central stone basin where three hundred years of kings and queens had been prepared for their eternal vigils.

Here, I would marry Helia von Heskin in seven three-days, and we would swear our oaths before my ancestors. I would place the crown on her head and be bound until my own death or, hopefully, I passed the crown to my unfortunate successor. I had already started a mental list with von Uster at the top. The only things speaking against him were his age and that I suspected he would reject the offer. Gossip said if love rather than marriage ruled the crypt walk, he instead of my grandmother would have walked second after my grandfather’s death. Or perhaps both would have gone together, as itwas said the three had lived and loved together while my grandfather lived.

Our dead king—father, husband, brother, uncle, son—lay naked under a black cloth embroidered with golden bones and roses. Griffons marked the corners, their talons carved ivory. Preservation sigils ensured my father’s body had barely changed since he took his last breath. I knew this and still, the wrinkles seemed deeper, the permanent frown when he looked in my direction prominent. He would never see the harbors of Mjors. I would never know if he would have tried.

When I thought him dead as he first sickened, there had been grief. This time, the duty of becoming king, the decisions and chaos in the world above, left little room for other emotions. If he had still been alive, we would have argued. He would have blamed me for not solving the issue of the impostor privately. Then cracked down on Tal until the food was found and citizens learned a revolt against the Crown would be met by swift death.

Or perhaps he would have surprised me. What did I know of ruling? Despite despising most of them, I had followed the Council’s every recommendation so far.

In spite of our heated words, Mariska’s hand slid into mine, and I realized the high priestess was talking. Morovara raised an urn that looked too heavy for her aged muscles above my father’s head. The scurrying and crackling I previously tuned out grew. She must have opened the lid.

My mother’s face held little grief, but my grandmother’s softened, tears gleaming in her milky eyes. Ivan, King of Tal, had once been Yanko, a boy I could not imagine. Did she see him when Morovara poured the black beetles into the basin?

My ownchild had never had the honor of being prepared and hung. The wind would never play his bones and calm his Spirit.

The high priestess placed the white death mask—so similar to the one Tempest’s sister wore when she attacked—over my father’s face, protecting us from the beetles’ consumption. There was no escaping theclick, click, clickof their movement. Once they were done, the bones would be dipped in melted gold—never to rust or break—then strung together and hung on the following three-day.

The high priestess’s voice rose in song, calling the Goddess to watch over the dead and turn away from the rest of those gathered.

We added our own voices—badly—to hers.

Was Vanya walking to the hangman at this moment?There was no way to tell the time. Pain entered my voice. Did she have anyone to call the Goddess for her? She had betrayed, fooled, and used me; that did not remove the emotions I wished to forget. I had protected her the only way I knew how.

One good deed does not erase a crime, the head of the Council had said when I explained in private how Vanya saved us on Dragon Bridge. According to Von Lemerch, someone cold-blooded enough to kill her own sister was surely capable of everything she was accused of.

I blinked the involuntary tears from my eyes as the last tone rang out.

The royals of Tal stood, unsure how to proceed. There was nothing more to be done down here. I needed to talk to the high priestess about the missing food and priestesses who seemed to control the undead, but Mariska had to come first. Above, the three-day coronation celebration and feast honoring my father would have started.

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