Page 110 of Claiming Glass

On the street in North’s Place, we had been so painfully close. My muscles had cramped as I refrained from holding her. At letting her walk away.

Dreaming since, I saw her dead sister’s face, slack and scarred, and woke bathed in sweat searching for Tempest’s body at my side. I had not slept a full night since she left my bed the morning of the fire.

I lifted the painting, feeling the uneven structure of the black against the creme background under my calloused fingers.

Only three things mattered: she had never been mine, she was alive, and no one knew of her existence. If only she had run like a sensible person.

The wedding was a racing coach too late to stop. The momentum had to carry me to the other side, and then I could pick up the pieces.

Von Lemerch was still out there.

Ealhswip.

I could not believe it, though Vanya was somehow convinced. She and I had both been deceived too many times. And using as much magic as she had often led to delusions. Not that it mattered. The councilwoman was gone.

I let the fine painting fall into the hungry flames. When I returned to Tal, I kept the fires lit to remind me of my vengeance, and flinched at each snap and crackle. Now, the flames had lost theirpower despite the memory of the fire consuming Tal, me and Alexei standing side by side, for Vanya saving me—the moment of dancing and laughing she had shared as I lay dying in the rain—overrode it all.

I opened the closet to retrieve my ceremonial coat, only to spot the single shoe sitting alone on the top shelf. The broken string—red for luck—explained how she had lost it. Knowing it was her sister’s, the woman who had tried to kill me, I had even less reason to keep it. But it was the only thing I had that connected me to the girl I argued and flew with. Who made me forget the world and propriety.

My fingers traced the worn but well-made leather.

Before I had processed the decision, the rashness of leaving the palace on my own wedding day to brave the celebratory chaos of the Day of the Dead and angry mobs, I shrugged into my least ornate coat and tucked the shoe awkwardly into the pocket.

Maybe if I returned it, if I saw her one last time and said a proper goodbye, knowing she was not out risking her life, I would be able to sit beside Helia today without imagining another.

Koshka had stood guard outside my door, and for once, shadowed me without question when I left. Her silent steps reminded me of Yahontov and all who followed me. I had to make their dedication and sacrifices worth it. A king was meant to serve. Still, I could not stop myself from leaving.

The added security should have made it hard to leave the palace unnoticed, but the final rush to get everything ready meant more people than ever were coming and going. Any guard who could be spared was at the warehouses in Gateways where we had stacked the food found in the tunnels alongside what we had managed to purchase. The promised goods from Oberwalden had yet to arrive.

In the courtyard, we had the misfortune to run straight into Nikolai. From his disheveled clothing, he was returning after a night of early celebration.

He blinked at me and ignored Koshka. “Running, are you?”

“Only last-minute preparations.”

“No one would fault you. After the death of your father and exchange of the bride. A bit late though.”

“It’s not like that,” I snapped.

“Riska was looking for you.” He yawned. “Something about the dead and gold and danger and the wedding.”

I backed up with a hand covering the shoe. Others were turning toward us. “I’ll see her tonight.”

At any moment, someone too important to ignore would approach and my opportunity would be lost. Nikolai waved me on as if he did not care. If something happened to me, this man—who thought life was one long party—would be king. Another reason to stay safe inside the palace walls.

Instead, I hurried.

During the trial, the Roja had investigated the house on Mandible Street. When I insisted, they had also given me directions on how to find it. In weak moments, I charted the possible routes from the palace to Lowtown on my maps—the fastest, the safest, the most circumspect—dreaming of showing up at her door.

We were crossing into Lowtown when Koshka grabbed my arm. Until now, I had disregarded her questioning looks. I could not ignore a grip strong enough to hold a griffon.

“You’re marrying the Oberwaldian princess.”

I nodded impatiently. “That’s why wemust hurry.”

Her grip did not slacken. “And keeping the traitorous doppelgänger on the side?”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

---