Elodie squinted at the spotted moth. “What do they mean?”
“Are you not familiar with the Republics’ religion?” her brother asked.
“I am not,” she said tersely. Tera Warnou had always kept a strict separation between theology and the throne.
Rob shook his head derisively. “You have been so distracted by the crown that you have failed to see what was right in front of you.”
His bravado irked her. “Please, speak plainly.”
“The Republics do not worship the New Maiden,” Rob told his sister, pressing a hand to the carriage window. “They were founded on the word of the Second Son.”
13
Sabine spent the morning stalking the hallways of the castle, a wounded animal searching for refuge. The warm, blissful glow of Elodie’s attention and affections had been snuffed out by her swift dismissal. The queen’s ask had been entirely reasonable. Still, it made Sabine feel as though she were a child who needed minding. Out of place and in the way.
She fiddled with the unfamiliar neckline of Elodie’s borrowed dress, the gown straining uncomfortably beneath her arms. She had hoped her time with Elodie would be healing, but instead a harsh truth came to light: If Sabine relied on other people to fill her emotional well, she would always be depleted the moment she was left alone. The absence of her darkness made it impossible to navigate loneliness, left her chasing something just beyond her control. If Sabine was ever to regain authority over her emotions, she needed to find new ways of centering herself.
She thought she’d start with some food. But the moment she turned the corner, she ran headlong into another distraction.
“Don’t tell me,” Tal said, at the sight of Sabine’s glum expression. “Too much peich-nat last night?”
Sabine shook her head, toying with the cuffs of the gown’s long sleeves. “Difficult day.” She had no desire to share with him the specifics.
“Already?” His lips quirked up in amusement. “The servants haven’t even cleared away the breakfast trays yet.”
Sabine was in no mood for his teasing. Any other time, this reminder of her darkness might be welcomed. Today, it hurt.
“I’m sorry.” Tal abandoned his mocking tone as quickly as it had appeared, almost as though he could read her mind. “Whenever I’m in a foul mood, it always helps to stab something.” He looked at the New Maiden curiously. “Want to try it?”
In that moment, what Sabine truly wanted was companionship. And so she told him yes.
Back in the now familiar training room, Sabine chose the dagger with the inset stone from its place on the wall, adjusting her grip the way Tal had shown her. The floorboards yielded beneath her feet like the docks in her neighborhood, albeit without the harbor’s creaks and moans. She sliced at the air in front of her half-heartedly, certain she looked ridiculous.
“You won’t feel better if there’s no power behind it,” Tal said. He had ignored the sword strapped to his waist, opting instead for a twin blade to Sabine’s. He brandished the dagger wildly. “Make it mean something. Use this as an opportunity to grapple with your demons.” He darted forward and back, impossibly light on his feet. It was clear he had done this hundreds of times.
“You have a lot of demons, I take it?”
“Yes.” Sabine had asked the question in jest, but Tal’s response held no levity.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t be.” Tal waved away her apology. “You are haunted, too.”
“I…”
“It’s all right, Sabine,” Tal said, tossing the dagger over his shoulder and catching it behind his back. “You don’t need to pretend. I see you.”
“Do you?” The New Maiden could not keep the amusement from her voice.
“Don’t you feel it?” Tal asked, as he returned the dagger to the wall. “This thread between us?” He unsheathed his sword, slicing at the air in the shape of an X.
She knew the strangeness he spoke of. In Tal she found comfort where it shouldn’t be. Despite their competition for Elodie’s attention, Tal’s presence was certain as stone, his words soothing as the sea. She had not realized he felt the same.
Unnerved by his line of questioning, Sabine tightened her grip on the dagger. She cried out in pain as the blade sliced the thin web of skin between thumb and pointer finger. The weapon clattered to the ground as Sabine searched the pockets of Elodie’s gown for a makeshift bandage. She emerged with a handkerchief, a square of red fabric the same shade as the one amidst the ashes of Harborside’s ruined chapel.
Her blood ran cold. What reason could the queen have for possessing such a thing? It was not the Warnou color, nor did it look particularly well loved. But before she could truly panic, Tal used his sword to snatch the fabric from her hand.
“Where did you get this?” Tal looked just as betrayed as Sabine felt.
“It’s Elodie’s.”
Perhaps it was not that the queen didn’t trust the New Maiden. Perhaps she was actively working against her.
“I know it’s Elodie’s,” Tal said, voice strangled. “I gave it to her. I’m asking why you have it.”
Sabine suddenly recalled that Tal had been in Harborside just after the fire. Watching as the flames devoured her sanctuary.
Distrust made her cruel. “I’m wearing Elodie’s dress. I borrowed it this morning.”
Tal’s face twisted as he pieced together the implication. When at last he understood, the soldier went unbearably still. Then he strode forward and knocked a shield from the wall. It clattered loudly against the ground, continuing to rattle until he stilled it with the sole of his boot. “But you’re no one,” he said breathlessly, expression pained. “How can she love you?”
Tal’s feelings for the queen had always been obvious. Sabine had not intended to use her relationship with Elodie to hurt him, but then, it seemed, they both had secrets they were keeping from each other.
One by one, pieces of the armory were ripped from the walls and thrown to the floor. But Sabine paid no attention to the noise. Instead, she focused on Tal’s face. His expression was contorted as though he were being scolded. Throughout his phantom berating, his eyes were empty, glittering gold instead of green. And then all at once, as though a match had burned out, Tal and his green eyes returned.
Sabine realized she was looking in a mirror. Tal, too, was plagued with a darkness—harassed, questioned, and criticized by the intruder in his own mind. A force so powerful it could belong only to someone who had drawn from the same well of resentment for hundreds of years: the Second Son.
